MORAL DOUBTS.
FIRST DIALOGUE.
_M. de Flaumont_; _Henry_, _Gustavus_, _and Clementine_, _his Children_.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--Children, would you like me to relate to you twostories, which I have just been reading in a foreign newspaper?
THE CHILDREN.--Oh! yes, papa! are they very long?
M. DE FLAUMONT.--No! but you may perhaps be puzzled to give me youropinion on them.
THE CHILDREN.--How do you mean, papa?
M. DE FLAUMONT.--You will see, here is the first:--
An English stage-coach, filled with passengers, was proceeding towardsa large town. The conversation of the travellers turned upon thehighwaymen by whom the road was infested, and who frequently stoppedand searched travellers. They debated amongst themselves as to thebest means of preserving their money; each boasted of having taken hismeasures, and being quite safe.
An imprudent young woman, wishing, doubtless, to display her superiorcleverness, and forgetting that frankness, in such circumstances, isvery ill-placed, said, "As for me, I carry all my wealth about me in abank note for two hundred pounds, but I have so well concealed it, thatthe robbers will certainly never be able to find it, for it is in myshoe, under my stocking."
A few minutes after they were attacked by highwaymen, who demandedtheir purses, but, discontented with the little they found in them,they declared, in menacing tones, that they would search and ill-treatthem unless they immediately gave them a hundred pounds; and theyseemed prepared to put their threats into execution.
"You will easily find twice that sum," said an old man seated at theback of the coach, who during the whole journey had remained entirelysilent, or had spoken only in monosyllables, "if you make that ladytake off her shoes and stockings."
The robbers followed this advice, took the banknote, and departed.
What think you of the old man?
CLEMENTINE.--Oh, papa! what villany!
M. DE FLAUMONT.--All the travellers were of your opinion. They loadedhim with reproach and insult, and even threatened to throw him out ofthe coach. The young woman's grief exceeded description. The old manappeared insensible to these insults and menaces, and once only excusedhimself by saying, "Every one must think of himself first."
In the evening, when the coach reached its destination, the old mancontrived to make his escape before his fellow-passengers had anopportunity of visiting their displeasure upon him. The young womanpassed a frightful night. What was her surprise on the followingmorning, when a sum of four hundred pounds was placed in her hands,together with a magnificent comb, and the following letter:--
"Madam,--The man whom, yesterday, you detested with reason, returnsto you the sum you have lost, with interest which makes it double,together with a comb nearly equal in value. I am exceedingly distressedat the grief I was compelled to cause you. A few words will explainmy conduct. I have just returned from India, where I have passed tenweary years. I have gained by my industry thirty thousand pounds, andthe whole of this sum I had yesterday about me in bank-notes. Had Ibeen searched with the rigour with which we were threatened, I musthave lost everything. What was I to do? I could not run the risk ofhaving to return to India with empty hands. Your frankness furnished mewith the means of escaping the difficulty. Therefore I entreat you tothink nothing of this trifling present, and to believe me henceforthdevotedly, Yours."
GUSTAVUS.--Well, papa, the young woman had no longer any reason tocomplain, and the old man did not do wrong, since he returned much morethan she lost.
CLEMENTINE.--Yes; but in her place I would much rather have beenwithout the comb, and not have had to take off my shoes and stockingsin the presence of highwaymen.
GUSTAVUS.--Oh! that did not do her much harm.
HENRY.--But, papa, if the robbers, notwithstanding their promise, hadsearched every one, and had taken his thirty thousand pounds away fromthe old man, it would have been out of his power to restore the twohundred pounds to the young woman, and yet it would have been throughhis means that she would have lost them.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--Henry is right: the injury inflicted by the old manwas certain, while he had no certainty of being able to repair it.
HENRY.--Assuredly the word of a robber is not to be depended on.
GUSTAVUS.--But still it was certain that had he not acted as he did,they would have taken his thirty thousand pounds.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--That is true; but do you think, my dear Gustavus,that, in order to escape some great calamity ourselves, we have a rightto inflict an equally serious injury on another? for the loss of thetwo hundred pounds was as great a calamity to the young woman as thatof the thirty thousand would have been to the old man, since it was thewhole of her wealth.
GUSTAVUS.--Yes, papa; but he knew very well he would return them.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--He wished to do so, no doubt; but Henry has shownyou how he might have failed in the accomplishment of his wishes.Other accidents might also have prevented him. He might have lost hispocket-book by the way: he might have died suddenly, &c.
CLEMENTINE.--Oh yes, indeed; and then the young woman would neitherhave had her own two hundred pounds, nor the two hundred poundsadditional, nor her beautiful comb.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--He thus surrendered his honesty, and the fate of hisfellow-traveller, to the chance of a future, always uncertain, andall this to spare himself a misfortune, very great, no doubt, but thecertainty of which gave him no right to injure another. Here liesthe difference between prudence and virtue. Prudence commences bystudying how to escape a difficulty, and thinks it has done enoughwhen it has promised itself to repair the injury inflicted on another.Virtue does not content itself with the hope of repairing this wrong atsome future day: it does not commit it; and thus, though it is oftenmore unfortunate, it is always more tranquil. So that virtue alonehas no occasion to dread the future. It is in doing evil, even withthe idea of its resulting in good, or with the firm determination ofrepairing it, that men often plunge into difficulties and errors, fromwhich they are afterwards unable to extricate themselves. No one canflatter himself, however prudent he may be, that he has foreseen allchances, and so managed matters that nothing can turn out wrong; while,by laying it down as a law to ourselves to be virtuous before allthings, we are certain of never having to reproach ourselves with anyintentional wrong.
GUSTAVUS.--But, papa, what ought to be done in such a case?
M. DE FLAUMONT.--I cannot pretend to say; all I know is, that we oughtnot to do what our old man did. You will one day perceive how manymisfortunes happen in the world from the false idea, so frequentlyentertained by men, that they are able to direct events accordingto their own wishes: they regulate their conduct with this hope,and afterwards events multiply, become involved, and turn out in sounforeseen a manner, that they behold their projects often, and theirvirtue always, wrecked beyond the possibility of recovery. Whereas,on the contrary, we ought first of all to make sure of our virtue,and then take all the advantage we can of circumstances. Besides, whoknows all the resources that may be discovered, by a man resolutelydetermined to do nothing which his conscience disapproves? It is veryconvenient, no doubt, to take the first resource which presents itselfto the mind; but can we be sure that it is the only one to be found,and that, by giving ourselves a little additional trouble, we might notdiscover another equally efficacious and more honest. Let us, afterremaining firm in virtue, be ingenious and energetic, and we shallalmost always be able to extricate ourselves from our difficulties. Ifall who are ruined were to turn robbers, they would doubtless adoptthe most easy and expeditious mode of repairing their fortunes, stillthis is a mode which honest people do not take; and, being compelled toseek other resources, they rarely fail to discover them. I do not, atthis moment, very well see what plan our old man might have hit upon tosave his thirty thousand pounds; but, perhaps, if he had not so hastilyadopted the idea of denouncing the young woman, some other and betterexpedient might have suggested itself.
GUSTAVUS.--I agree with you, papa; but you promised us another story.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--Here it is. You will see, that if we ought not to do awrong because we can never be sure of being able to repair it, neithermust we do wrong with a good intention.
An English nobleman was journeying to one of his estates, when he wasattacked in a wood by six highwaymen; two of them seized the coachman,two others the footmen, and the remaining two, placing themselves atthe doors of the carriage, presented each a pistol to his breast.
"Your pocket-book, my lord," said one of the robbers, who had a mostrepulsive expression of countenance.
The nobleman took a rather weighty purse from his pocket, and handedit to him. The man examined its contents, but did not seem satisfied."Your pocket-book, if you please, my lord," and he cocked his pistol.
The nobleman quietly gave up his pocket-book. The highwayman openedit; and during this time the nobleman examined his countenance. Neverhad he beheld eyes so small and piercing, a nose so long, cheeks sohollow, a mouth so wide, nor a chin so prominent.
The robber took some papers from the pocket-book, and then returnedit. "A pleasant journey, my lord;" and he set off rapidly with hiscompanions.
On reaching home the nobleman examined his pocket-book, to see whathad been taken from it, and found that bank notes to the amount of twothousand five hundred pounds had been extracted, and that five hundredpounds had been left. He congratulated himself on this, and said to hisfriends, that he would willingly give a hundred pounds could they buthave seen the fellow. Never had highwayman a countenance so suited tohis calling.
The nobleman soon forgot his loss, and thought no more of theoccurrence; when, some years afterwards, he received the followingletter:--
"MY LORD,--I am a poor Jew. The prince in whose dominions I livedrobbed us of everything. I went to England, accompanied by five otherJews, that I might at least save my life. I fell ill at sea; and thevessel in which we sailed was wrecked near the coast.
"A man wholly unknown to me was upon the shore: he leaped into thewater, and saved me at the peril of his life. This was not all; heled me to his house, called in a physician, and took care of me untilI was cured; and asked nothing in return. This man was a woollenmanufacturer, who had twelve children. Some time afterwards, I foundhim very sad. The disturbances in America had just broken out, and theAmerican merchants with whom he traded were base enough to profit bythis circumstance, and refused to pay him. 'In a month,' he said to me,'I shall be completely ruined; for I have bills coming due which I amwholly unable to meet.'
"His grief threw me into despair: I formed a desperate resolution. 'Iowe my life to him,' I said, 'and I will sacrifice it for him.' Withthe five Jews who had followed me to England, I placed myself uponthe highway. You know what happened. I sent to the man of whom I havespoken the money I took from you, and saved him for that time. But hiscreditors never paid him; and about a week ago he died, without havingdischarged all his debts.
"The same day I gained four thousand pounds in the lottery. I returnto you all I took from you, with interest. Forward the remainingthousand pounds to the unfortunate family of the manufacturer (he gavetheir address at the end of the letter), and make inquiries of themrespecting a poor Jew, whom they so generously saved and entertained.
"P.S.--I solemnly declare that, when we attacked you, not one of ourpistols was charged, and that we had no intention of drawing a cutlassfrom its scabbard.
"Spare yourself all search. When this letter reaches you I shall againbe upon the ocean. May God preserve you."
The nobleman made inquiries, and found that the Jew's account wasstrictly true. From that time forward he took the family of themanufacturer under his protection. He frequently said, "I would givea hundred pounds to any one who would inform me of the death of myterrible Jew; and a thousand pounds to any one who should bring him tome alive."
HENRY.--But why did he wish for his death, papa?
M. DE FLAUMONT.--Because this Jew was a very dangerous person. A mancapable of doing such things, even from generous motives, is alwaysto be dreaded. The safety and happiness of society depend upon thesubmission and respect due to the laws, which maintain order, andpreserve the persons and property of all. The laws cannot take intoaccount the motives which induce a man to injure another in person orproperty. In such cases they can only judge and punish the act itself.If this nobleman had been a judge, and the Jew had been brought beforehis tribunal, he could not, even when all the facts of the case werebefore him, have avoided condemning him to the penalty prescribed bythe law, though he might afterwards have endeavoured to obtain hispardon from the sovereign.
GUSTAVUS.--The Jew, however, had not loaded his pistols: he did notintend to commit murder.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--Consequently, he would have been sentenced to apunishment less severe than that inflicted upon murderers; but still hecommitted robbery.
CLEMENTINE.--Yes; but it was to save the life of his benefactor: heexposed his own from gratitude; this was assuredly a great sacrifice.He would not have robbed from any other motive.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--Therefore this Jew was doubtless susceptible of verygenerous sentiments and of noble devotion; this ought to count for muchin the opinion we form of him: it would probably have obtained for himhis pardon, or at least a great mitigation of his punishment; but,in a moral point of view, and for the interests of society, justiceand firmness of principle are still more necessary than generosity ofsentiment. It would be impossible to allow every man the privilegeof making use of whatever means he pleased to gratify his feelingsand display his generosity. Even virtue itself is subject to laws,whose wisdom is recognised and whose advantages are unquestionable.These prescribe the route in which it must exercise itself, and thebounds which it must not overleap. Thus, in the conduct of our Jew,everything which preceded and followed his act, and some of thecircumstances of the act itself, were praiseworthy; his sole objectwas to preserve his benefactor: he took only what was required forthat purpose: he kept nothing for himself, he scrupulously repaid thesum with interest, he did not even reserve any portion of the prizegained in the lottery, since, after having returned to the nobleman thetwo thousand five hundred pounds and interest, he gave the remainderto the manufacturer's children. All this was very well, and verydisinterested, but it does not prevent the action itself from beingblameable. And this is what often happens, when we allow ourselvesto be governed by our feelings, however good they may be, instead ofregulating our conduct by steady principles, which, though they maysometimes restrain the feelings, always insure virtue.
HENRY.--Still, papa, the nobleman promised more to him who should bringhim the Jew alive, than to him who should inform him of his death.
M. DE FLAUMONT.--That was because he knew that a man capable of suchgenerous sentiments and remarkable devotion was one who, to be renderedaltogether virtuous, only required firmer principles, and a lessembarrassing position. He doubtless wished to make him feel, that if itbe noble to sacrifice one's life for gratitude, that sacrifice oughtnever to be made at the expense of honesty; perhaps, too, he wishedto take him into his service, to place him in easy circumstances, toremove him, in fact, out of the way of those temptations in whichgenerosity of feeling so easily deceives us in regard to the truenature of our duties. Generosity may carry us farther than mere duty;but it should always go in a right line, and never lead us to neglectduty.
SECOND DIALOGUE.
_Caroline--Madame de Boissy, working_.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--Caroline, did you really require that sash, whichyou induced your uncle to give you, by asking him to lend you the moneyto buy it?
CAROLINE.--I am very glad to have it, mamma, since it has cost menothing.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--You knew, then, that your uncle would make you apresent of it?
CAROLINE.--Mamma, I only asked him to lend me the money.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--I know that; but did you expect you would have torepay him?
&
nbsp; CAROLINE.--Certainly! if he wished it.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--But did you think he would wish it?
CAROLINE (_embarrassed_).--I do not know, mamma.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--Tell me candidly,--when you asked your uncle to lendyou the money to purchase this sash, which you did not want, and which,in all probability, you would not have bought had you been alone,--didyou not know that it was a means of obtaining it as a gift?
CAROLINE.--Dear me, mamma! you make me examine my conscience as if Iwere going to confession.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--And it is thus you should always examine it, mychild.
CAROLINE.--Yes, mamma, when one has done anything wrong.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--Or to ascertain whether one has done wrong.
CAROLINE (_much confused_).--But what wrong can I have done? My unclecould act as he pleased, and it was certainly quite true that I had nomoney in my purse.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--There was one thing, however, which was not quitetrue, but which you, nevertheless, wished to make him believe, and thatwas, that you really intended to buy this sash yourself.
CAROLINE (_still confused_).--But, mamma, my intentions do not concernany one but myself.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--You seem to fear the contrary, since you concealthem. You would not have been willing that your uncle should havediscovered them; therefore, while you were really actuated by onemotive, you led him to suppose that you were influenced by another.You would not have asked him to give you this ribbon, because you knowthat we ought not to accept a gift, unless we feel that the giver hasas much pleasure in presenting it as we have in receiving it, and, inthat case, it will occur to him as readily as to ourselves. You have,therefore, allowed your uncle to believe that you had the delicacy notto desire a present, which it had not occurred to him to make you,while, at the same time, you endeavoured to make him think of it byunderhand means. You have sought to obtain, at one and the same time,both the esteem which delicacy merits, and the gift which it would benecessary to sacrifice in order to deserve this esteem. It is evidentthat both cannot belong to you, and that you have committed a theft inthe transaction.
CAROLINE (_shocked_).--Oh! mamma, we only commit theft when we injuresome one, and I have not injured any one.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--You have extorted from your uncle a present, whichhe probably would not have made to any one whom he believed capable ofsubterfuge. You have cheated his intentions of giving you an unexpectedpleasure.
CAROLINE.--He cannot know that; therefore his pleasure will be all thesame.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--Caroline, would you think you were not stealing,if you took money from the coffers of a rich man who made no use ofit, and did not know how much he had? If you did not do him an injuryof which he was conscious, you injured those to whom his money wouldone day go, and who might not be either so rich or so indifferent ashimself. In like manner, if you did not do your uncle any positivewrong, by usurping an esteem which was not your due, you at least wereunjust to those whom he might place on a level with you in his esteem,or whom he might set beneath you; for either you must share with theman esteem which you did not merit, and which is always more flatteringwhen obtained alone, or you must diminish the consolation they wouldotherwise have in finding an additional example to excuse them. Be wellassured that we can never deceive without injuring some one, and thatthere can be no unfair advantage which is not gained at the expense ofour neighbours.
CAROLINE.--But really, mamma, this advantage is so very trifling.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--The case is trifling, but the principle is the same,and you would no more wish to steal needles than diamonds. Besides, mychild, we must attach some value to, and derive some advantage from, athing which we take the trouble to steal; and who can, with propriety,desire an advantage which he has not merited? Listen, Caroline: you arenow growing a great girl, and it is time you should understand all thatis due to yourself and others, in regard to uprightness and honesty inthe most trifling things, and how mean it is to wish to deceive others,or to think it necessary to do so.
CAROLINE.--Mamma, I have never wished to deceive any one, I assure you.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--I grant you that we do not say to ourselves, _I wishto deceive_; we should be horrified; but, without telling absolutefalsehoods, people often pass their lives in endeavouring to makeothers believe things which are untrue. If we are cold, or hot, ortired, we complain of our sufferings; we exaggerate them in order toattract attention, and gain pity, or at least to make people think ofus. We laugh louder than we feel inclined to do, to make it appearthat we are very gay; we look in the glass, and exclaim, "How, I amsunburnt!" in order that we may be told that it is imperceptible, andbe complimented on our complexion. We complain of a dress that fitsbadly, and say, "What a fright I look to-day," in the hope of findingsome sycophant who will assure us that we look well in everything. Or,finally, we give expression to some worthy sentiment in order to bepraised for it.
CAROLINE.--But, mamma, if the sentiment be sincere?
MADAME DE BOISSY.--My dear child, there is always insincerity in themeans employed to obtain praise for it; for good feelings are notintended to gain us admiration, but to make us do what is right. Weshould not esteem the benevolence of a man, who did good merely forthe sake of obtaining commendation; nor the fraternal sentiments ofhim whose sole object in displaying them was to be praised for hisattachment to his brothers and sisters. Thus, those who make a displayof feeling for the sake of being praised, must take care to concealtheir intentions; consequently, if they obtain the praise, it is quiteclear that they have stolen it.
CAROLINE.--But one must then watch every movement of the mind, forthese things may escape us without our in the least intending it.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--To prevent them from doing so, it is only necessaryto think, once for all, of two or three things. First, that we displayvery little respect or consideration for ourselves when we stoop todeceive others, in order that they may condescend to pay attention tous. Secondly, that we place ourselves in a very humiliating positionwhen we thus beg for a flattery, a compliment, or a mark of attention,which is usually granted from mere politeness, or for the sake ofpleasing us, just as we give a penny to a beggar in the street.Finally, that these kinds of stratagems, when they are discovered--andthey are discovered oftener than people imagine--may overwhelm uswith ridicule, or even with shame, and that the most trifling untruthexposes us to a risk far greater than the pleasure which it procures.Tell me if your sash would ever afford you a pleasure as great as theannoyance you would feel, if your uncle were to discover the subterfugeyou employed in order to induce him to make you a present of it.
CAROLINE.--Oh! mamma, you have made me absolutely hate it. I will nevereven look at it again.
MADAME DE BOISSY.--There you are wrong, my child; you must look at it,and think of it, in order that it may remind you of the necessity ofalways acting honourably.
THIRD DIALOGUE.
_Monsieur de Bonnel--Augustus, his Son_.
M. DE BONNEL.--Augustus, I hope you have returned to George, as I toldyou, that little cart you took from him?
AUGUSTUS (_ill-temperedly_).--I was obliged to do it, since you desiredme, but I did not take it from him; I paid him what it cost. If he wasso obstinate as to refuse the money, that was not my fault.
M. DE BONNEL.--He did not want your money, and he wished to keep hiscart; you had no right to force the bargain upon him.
AUGUSTUS.--I have a right to make him do as I please.
M. DE BONNEL.--And how came you by this right?
AUGUSTUS.--His father Antony is your servant.
M. DE BONNEL.--And is that any reason that George should have no willof his own?
AUGUSTUS.--No; but it is a reason why he should give up to me; and thebest proof that he very well knows this, is that he always does give upto me. To-day, though he would not sell me his cart, he did not thinkof preventing me from taking it; and had it not been for you he wouldcertainly no
t have got it back again.
M. DE BONNEL.--Very well; but, what is singular in the matter is thatfor the future he will think differently, and that henceforward he willbe obliged to resist you.
AUGUSTUS.--I should like to see him do that.
M. DE BONNEL.--Well, you shall be gratified. Antony had forbidden hisson to use force against you for fear of hurting you. I have just toldhim that if he did not order George to defend himself against you whenyou torment him, as he would defend himself against one of his owncompanions, George should not come here again. You will now see whetherit is his duty to humour you, and whether it is from respect that hehas hitherto yielded to you.
AUGUSTUS.--It would be a fine thing for George to treat me like one ofhis comrades.
M. DE BONNEL.--Very well; you need not make free with him.
AUGUSTUS.--Making him obey me is not making free with him.
M. DE BONNEL..--When you have no right to exact obedience, you canonly obtain it from his politeness by requests such as we use towardsan equal, or exact it by force, which he will repel with his fist, andthat is the greatest familiarity I know of.
AUGUSTUS.--But George is to be my servant one day: he has told me so ahundred times: he will have to be submissive and respectful then.
M. DE BONNEL.--He will only be submissive in those things in whichhe has agreed to obey you: he will only be respectful so long as youfulfil your obligations to him. A servant agrees to obey in everythingthat concerns the service of his master, and that does not injurehimself. Thus, if a master commanded him to go and fight for him, or togive him up the money which he had saved, the servant would no longerbe obliged to obey.
AUGUSTUS.--But people do not require such things from servants.
M. DE BONNEL.--It is quite as unjust and absurd to expect them tolabour for you beyond their strength, or to compel them to give up whatbelongs to them at a price which does not suit them. If you force themto do anything against their inclinations, they then lay aside theirrespect, and resist you as well as they can, for they have only agreedto obey your orders in certain things; nor have they consented to incurany other risk, in case of disobedience, than that of being reprimandedor sent away. If you go further than this, you break a covenant ofwhich insults formed no part any more than blows; both equally exempt aservant from all duty.
AUGUSTUS.--Nevertheless, there are servants who remain in their places,although their masters overwork or ill-treat them. I have heard mycousin Armand say all sorts of insulting things to Jack, his groom, andeven threaten to horsewhip him, because he harnessed his horse badly.Jack went on with his work without saying a word, because he knew thathe must bear it.
M. DE BONNEL.--And what would have happened to Jack if he had answeredhis master impertinently, as he deserved to be answered?
AUGUSTUS.--Why, Armand would have turned him out of doors without acharacter, so that he would have been unable to get another situation.
M. DE BONNEL.--At this rate, masters have the means of treating theirservants as ill as they please; and if all masters were to do so, allservants would be obliged to submit to it, I suppose?
AUGUSTUS.--Certainly they would.
M. DE BONNEL.--But if all servants were to take it into their heads toresist their masters, then the latter would either have to put up withthis or do without servants.
AUGUSTUS.--But that would never happen.
M. DE BONNEL.--That would happen, if service became so intolerablethat servants had no interest in humouring their masters. But asmasters and servants stand mutually in need of each other, they havefelt it to be to their advantage that the former should be kind andthe latter obedient and respectful. It is, therefore, because thereare many good masters whom it is to their interest to serve, that theyserve respectfully even those who are bad. Consequently, he who abusesthis respect is a coward, who shelters himself behind others to takeadvantage of their good actions, and commit wrong with impunity.