Here are four stories in which St. John Bosco coaxed sinners to go to confession, even when they had no intention of doing so, including one man who blasphemed God’s name constantly.
Don Bosco wrote of the swearing incident:
I heard the coachman blaspheme whenever he lashed the horses. I then asked him to let me ride up with him. He was willing, so I sat by his side. Then I began to say to him, “I would like a favor from you...” He interrupted me by saying, “Do you want to get to Turin soon? Good!”
He began to lash the horses with renewed vigor and cursed between every lash.
“This is not what I want,” I said. “It matters little to me whether I arrive in Turin a quarter of an hour earlier or a quarter of an hour later. What I want is that you don’t blaspheme anymore. Do you promise me that?”
“Oh, if it’s only this, rest assured that I won’t blaspheme anymore, and I’m a man of my word!” the coachman replied.
“Well, what do you want as a reward if you do this?” Don Bosco asked.
“Nothing,” the man replied. “I should not blaspheme.”
I insisted, and finally, the coachman demanded the gratuity of four soldi. I promised him twenty. Then the coachman lashed the horses and out came a curse. I warned him again, and he said: “Oh, what a beast I am; I’ve lost my head.”
“Do not grieve over this,” I added. “I will give you twenty soldi. But every time you swear, the money will go down by four soldi.”
“All right,” he replied. “Rest assured; I will earn it all.”
After a time, the horses slowed, so the coachman lashed them-and out came another blasphemy. “Sixteen soldi, my friend,” I said to him.
The poor man was ashamed and said, “Truly, that’s a bad habit I must overcome.” And he continued to mutter regretfully.
After another stretch of road, he lashed the horses and uttered two profanities.
“Eight, my friend,” I warned him. “We are down to eight soldi.”
“Impossible,” cried the man in a huff. “Evil habits are so bad and harmful. I am disheartened! Am I no longer master of myself? Besides, this accursed habit has already made me lose twelve soldi.”
“You must not grieve for so little but rather for the harm you do to your soul,” I said.
He answered, “Yes, it’s true; I do great evil. But on Saturday, I want to go to confession.”
Are you here from Turin?”
“Yes,” I said, “I am from the Oratory of Saint Francis de Sales.”
“Good,” he replied. “I want to go to you for confession. What is your name?”
“Don Bosco.”
“All right. We shall see each other again.” And he uttered only one more blasphemy all the way to Turin. Therefore, I owed him only four soldi-but I made him accept twenty for making such an effort not to swear.
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