Part 58

Instead of that, every thing here animates and supports the native goodness of her disposition. She has no public calamities to afflict her. She sees not around her the frightful pictures of indigence and despair. The villagers in easy circumstances, have more need of her advice than her bounty. [73] But, if there be found among them an orphan, too young to earn his subsistence; an obscure widow who pines in secret indigence; a childless father, whose arms, enfeebled by age, cannot supply him with the means of life; she is not afraid that her bounty will increase the public charge, by encouraging idleness or knavery. The happiness she herself feels, multiplies and extends itself all around her. Every house she enters soon becomes a copy of her own: nor are convenience and order only copied from her example, but harmony and goodness become equally the objects of domestic management. When she goes abroad, she sees none but agreeable objects about her; and when she returns home she is saluted by others still more engaging. Her heart is delighted by every prospect that meets her eyes; and little susceptible as it is of self-love, it is led to love itself in the effects of its own benevolence. No, my Lord, I repeat it again; nothing that regards Eloisa can be indifferent to the cause of virtue. Her charms, her talents, her taste, her errors, her afflictions, her abode, her friends, her family, her pains, her pleasures, every thing, in short, that compleats her destiny, compose a life without example; such as few women would chuse to imitate, and yet such as all, in spite of themselves, must admire.

What pleases me most, in the solicitude which prevails here regarding the happiness of others is, that their benevolence is always exerted with prudence, and is never abused. We do not always succeed in our benevolent intentions; but, on the contrary, some people imagine they are doing great services, who are, in reality, doing great injuries; and, with a view to a little manifest good, are guilty of much unforeseen evil. Mrs. Wolmar indeed possesses, in an eminent degree, a qualification very rare, even among women of the best character; I mean an exquisite discernment in the distribution of her favours, and that as well in the choice of means to render them really useful, as of the persons on whom they are bestowed. For her conduct in this point, she has laid down certain rules to which she invariably adheres. She knows how to grant, or refuse, every thing that is asked of her, without betraying the least weakness in her compliance, or caprice in her denial. Whoever hath committed one infamous or wicked action, hath nothing to hope for from her but justice, and her pardon, if he has offended her; but never that favour and protection, which she can bestow on a worthier object. I heard her once refuse a favour, which depended on herself only, to a man of this stamp. “I wish you happy,” said she to him coldly, “but I shall not contribute any thing to make you so, lest I should put it in your power to injure others. There are too many honest people in the world, who require relief, for me to think of assisting you.” It is true this piece of just severity cost her dear, and it is but seldom she has occasion to exercise it. Her maxim is, to look upon all those as deserving people, of whose demerits she is not fully convinced; and there are few persons weak and wicked enough not to evade the full proofs of their guilt. She has none of that indolent charity of the wealthy, who give money to the miserable, to be excused from attending to their distress; and know how to answer their petitions only by giving alms. Her purse is not inexhaustible, and since she is become the mother of a family, she regulates it with more economy. Of all the kinds of relief we may afford to the unhappy, the giving alms is certainly that which costs us least trouble; but it is also the most transitory and least serviceable to the object relieved: Eloisa does not seek to get rid of such objects, but to be useful to them.

Neither does she grant her recommendation, or exert her good offices, without first knowing whether the use intended to be made of her interest be just and reasonable. Her protection is never refused to any one, who really stands in need of, and deserves to obtain it: but for those who desire to raise themselves through fickleness or ambition only, she can very seldom be prevailed upon to give herself any trouble. The natural business of man is to cultivate the earth, and subsist on its produce. The peaceful inhabitant of the country needs only to know in what happiness consists, to be happy. All the real pleasures of humanity are within his reach; he feels only those pains which are inseparable from it, those pains which whoever seeks to remove will only change for others more severe. [74] His situation is the only necessary, the only useful one in life. He is never unhappy, but when others tyrannize over him, or seduce him by their vices. In agriculture and husbandry consists the real prosperity of a country, the greatness and strength which a people derive from themselves, that which depends, not on other nations, which is not obliged to attack others for its own preservation, but is productive of the surest means of its own defence. In making an estimate of the strength of a nation, a superficial observer would visit the court, the prince, his posts, his troops, his magazines and his fortified towns; but the true politician would take a survey of the country, and visit the cottages of the husbandmen. The former would only see what is already executed, but the latter what was capable of being put into execution.

On this principle they proceed here, and yet more so at Etange: they contribute as much as possible to make the peasants happy in their condition, without ever assisting them to change it. The better, as well as the poorer, sort of people are equally desirous of sending their children to the cities, the one that they may study and become gentlemen, the others that they may find employment, and so ease their parents of the charge of maintaining them. The young people, on their part, have curiosity, and are generally fond of roving: the girls aspire to the dress and finery of the citizens; and the boys, most of them go into foreign service, thinking it better to return with the haughty and mean air of mercenaries, and a ridiculous contempt of their former condition, than with that love for their country and liberty which honourably distinguished their progenitors. It is the care of this benevolent family to remonstrate against these mistaken prejudices, to represent to the peasants the danger of their children’s principles; the ill consequences of sending them from home, and the continual risks they run of losing their life, fortune and morals, where a thousand are ruined for one who does well. If after all they continue obstinate, they are left at their own indiscretion, to run into vice and misery; and the care, which was thrown away on them is turned upon those who have listened to reason. This is exerted in teaching them to honour their native condition, by seeming to honour it ourselves: we do not converse with peasants, indeed, in the stile of courts; but we treat them with a grave and distant familiarity, which, without raising any one out of his station, teaches them to respect ours. There is not one honest labourer in the village, who does not rise greatly in his own estimation, when an opportunity offers of our shewing the difference of our behaviour to him, and to such petty visitants, who come home to make a figure, for a day or two, and to obscure their relations. Mr. Wolmar and the Baron, when he is here, seldom fail of being present at the exercises and reviews of the militia of the village and parts adjacent: their presence has a great effect on the youth of the country, who are naturally of a martial and spirited temper, and are extremely delighted to see themselves honoured with the presence of veteran officers. They are still prouder of their own merit, when they see soldiers retired from foreign service less expert than themselves: yet this they often do; for, do what you will, five pence a day, and the fear of being caned, will never produce that emulation which may be excited in a free man under arms, by the presence of his relations, his neighbours, his friends, his mistress, and the honour of his country.

Mrs. Wolmar’s great maxim is, therefore, never to encourage any one to change his condition, but to contribute all in her power to make every one happy in his present station; being particularly solicitous to present the happiest of all situations, that of a peasant in a free state, from being despised in favour of other employments.

I remember, I one day made an objection on this subject founded on the different talents which nature seems to have bestowed on mankind, in order to fit them for different occupations, without any regard to their birth. This she obviated, however, by observing that there were two more material things to be consulted, before talents: these were virtue and happiness. Man, said she, is too noble a being to be made a mere tool of for the use of others: he ought not to be employed in what he is fit for, without consulting how far such employment is fit for him; for we are not made for our stations, but our stations for us. In the right distribution of things therefore, we should not adapt men to circumstances, but circumstances to men; we should not seek that employment for which a man is best adapted, but that which is best adapted to make him virtuous and happy. For it can never be right to destroy one human soul for the temporal advantage of others, nor to make any man a villain for the use of honest people. Now, out of a thousand persons, who leave their native villages, there are not ten of them but what are spoiled by going to town, and become even more profligate than those who initiate them into vice. Those, who succeed and make their fortunes, frequently compass it by base and dishonest means; while the unsuccessful, instead of returning to their former occupation, rather chuse to turn beggars and thieves. But, supposing that one out of the thousand resist the contagion of example, and perseveres in the sentiments of honesty, do you think that upon the whole, his life is as happy as it might have been in the tranquil obscurity of his first condition.

It is no easy matter to discover the talents with which nature hath severally endowed us. On the contrary, it is very difficult to distinguish those of young persons the best educated and most attentively observed: how then shall a peasant, meanly bred, presume to judge of his own? There is nothing so equivocal as the genius frequently attributed to youth; the spirit of imitation has often a greater share in it than natural ability, and very often it depends more on accident than a determined inclination; nor does even inclination itself always determine the capacity. Real talents, or true genius, are attended with a certain simplicity of disposition, which makes it less restless and enterprising, less ready to thrust itself forward than a superficial and false one; which is nevertheless generally mistaken for the true, and consists only in a vain desire of making a figure without talents to support it. One of these geniuses hears the drum beat, and is immediately in idea a general; another sees a palace building, and directly commences architect. Thus Gustin, my gardener, from seeing some of my works, must needs learn to draw. I sent him to Lausanne to a master, and he imagines himself already a fine painter. The opportunity, and the desire of preferment, generally determine mens’ profession. But it is not enough to be sensible of the bent of our genius, unless we are willing to pursue it. Will a prince turn coachman, because he is expert at driving a set of horses? Will a duke turn cook, because he is ingenious at inventing ragouts? Our talents all tend to preferment; no one pretends to those which would fit him for an inferior station: do you think this is agreeable to the order of nature? Suppose every one sensible of his own talents, and as willing to employ them, how is it possible? How could they surmount so many obstacles? How could they overcome so many unworthy competitors? He, who finds in himself the want of abilities, would call in subtilty and intrigue to his aid; and thereby frequently becomes an overmatch for others of greater capacity and sincerity. Have you not told me yourself a hundred times, that the many establishments in favour of the arts have only been of prejudice to them? In multiplying indiscreetly the number of professors and academicians, true merit is lost in the crowd; and the honours, due to the most ingenious, are always bestowed on the most intriguing. Did there exist, indeed, a society, wherein the rank and employment of its respective members were exactly calculated to their talents and personal merit, every one might there aspire to the place he should be most fit for; but it is necessary to conduct ourselves by other rules, and give up that of abilities, in societies where the vilest of all talents is the only one that leads to fortune.

I will add further, continued she, that I cannot be persuaded of the utility of having so many different talents displayed. It seems necessary, the number of persons so qualified should be exactly proportioned to the wants of society; now if those only were appointed to cultivate the earth, who should have eminent talents for agriculture; or if all those were taken from that employment, who might be found more proper for some other, there would not remain a sufficient number of labourers to furnish the common necessaries of life. I am apt to think, therefore, that great talents in men are like great virtues in drugs, which nature has provided to cure our maladies, though its intention certainly was that we should never stand in need of them. In the vegetable creation there are plants which are poisonous: in the brutal animals that would tear us to pieces; and among mankind there are those who possess talents no less destructive to their species. Besides, if every thing were to be put to that use for which its qualities seem best adapted, it might be productive of more harm than good in the world. There are thousands of simple honest people, who have no occasion for a diversity of great talents; supporting themselves better by their simplicity, than others with all their ingenuity. But, in proportion as their morals are corrupted, their talents are displayed, as if to serve as a supplement to the virtues they have lost, and to oblige the vicious to be useful, in spite of themselves.

Another subject, on which we differed, was the relieving of beggars. As we live near a public road, great numbers are constantly passing by; and it is the custom of the house to give to every one that asks. I represented to her, that this practice was not only throwing that money away, which might be charitably bestowed on persons in real want; but that it tended to multiply beggars and vagabonds, who take pleasure in that idle life, and, by rendering themselves a burthen to society, deprive it of their labour.

I see very well, says she, you have imbibed prejudices, by living in great cities, and some of those maxims by which your complaisant reasoners love to flatter the hard-heartedness of the wealthy: you make use of their very expressions. Do you think to degrade a poor wretch below a human being, by giving him the contemptuous name of beggar? Compassionate as you really are, how could you prevail on yourself to make use of it? Repeat it no more, my friend, it does not come well from your lips: believe me, it is more dishonourable for the cruel man by whom it is used, than for the unhappy wretch who bears it. I will not pretend to decide whether those, who thus inveigh against the giving alms, are right or wrong; but this I know, that Mr. Wolmar, whose good sense is not inferior to that of your philosophers, and who has frequently told me of the arguments they use to suppress their natural compassion and sensibility, has always appeared to despise them, and has never disapproved of my conduct. His own argument is simple. We permit, says he, and even support at a great expense, a multitude of useless professions; many of which serve only to spoil and corrupt our manners. Now, to look upon the profession of a beggar as a trade, so far are we from having any reason to fear the like corruption of manners from the exercise of it, that, on the contrary, it serves to excite in us those sentiments of humanity, which ought to unite all mankind. Again, if we look upon begging as a talent, why should I not reward the eloquence of a beggar, who has art enough to excite my compassion, and induce me to relieve him, as well as I do a comedian, who on the stage makes me shed a few fruitless tears? If the one makes me admire the good actions of others, the other induces me to do a good action myself: all, that we feel at the representation of a tragedy, goes off as soon as we come out of the playhouse; but the remembrance of the unhappy object we have relieved gives continual pleasure. A great number of beggars may be burthensome to a state: but of how many professions, which are tolerated and encouraged, may we not say the same? It belongs to the legislature and administration to take care there should be no beggars; but, in order to make them lay down their trade, [75] is it necessary to make all other ranks of people inhuman and unnatural? For my part, continued Eloisa, without knowing what the poor may be to the state, I know they are all my brethren, and that I cannot, without thinking myself inexcusable, refuse them the small relief they ask of me. The greater part of them, I own, are vagabonds; but I know too much of life, to be ignorant how many misfortunes may reduce an honest man to such a situation; and how can I be sure, that an unhappy stranger, who comes, in the name of God, to implore my assistance, and to beg a poor morsel of bread, is not such an honest man, ready to perish for want, and whom my refusal may drive to despair? The alms I distribute at the door are of no great value. A half-penny and a piece of bread are refused to nobody; and twice the proportion is always given to such as are maimed or otherwise evidently incapable of labour. Should they meet with the same relief at every house, which can afford it, it would be sufficient to support them on their journey; and that is all a needy traveller has a right to expect. But, supposing this was not enough to yield them any real help, it is at least a proof that we take some part in their distress; a sort of salutation that softens the rigour of refusing them more. A half-penny and a morsel of bread cost little more, and are a more civil answer, than a mere _God help you_; which is too often the only thing bestowed, as if the gifts of providence were not placed in the hands of men, or that heaven had any other store on earth than what is laid up in the coffers of the rich. In short, whatever we ought to think of such unfortunate wretches, and though nothing should in justice be given to common beggars, we ought at least, out of respect to ourselves, to take some notice of suffering humanity, and not harden our hearts at the sight of the miserable.

This is my behaviour to those, who, without any other subterfuge or pretext, come openly a begging. With respect to such as pretend to be workmen, and complain for want of employment, we have here tools of almost every kind for them, and we set them to work. By this means we assist them and put their industry to the proof; a circumstance which is now so well known that the lazy cheat never comes again to the gate.

It is thus, my Lord, this angelic creature always deduces something from her own virtues, to combat those vain subtilties, by which people of cruel dispositions palliate their vices. The solicitude and pains she takes to relieve the poor, are also ranked among her amusements, and take up great part of the time she can spare from her most important duties. After having performed her duty to others, she then thinks of herself; and the means she takes to render life agreeable may be reckoned among her virtues: so commendable are her constant motives of action, that moderation and good sense are always mixed with her pleasures! She is ambitious to please her husband, who always delights in seeing her chearful and gay: she is desirous of instilling into her children a taste for innocent pleasures, wherein moderation order and simplicity prevail, and secure the heart from the violence of impetuous passions. She amuses herself, therefore, to divert them, as the dove softens the grain to nourish the young ones.

Eloisa’s mind and body are equally sensible. The same delicacy prevails as well in her senses as her sentiments. She was formed to know and taste every pleasure. Virtue having been long esteemed by her as the most refined of all delights, in the peaceful enjoyment of that supreme pleasure, she debars herself of none that are consistent with it; but then her method of enjoyment resembles the austerity of self- denial: not indeed of that afflicting and painful self-denial, which is hurtful to nature, and which its author rejects as ridiculous homage; but of that slight and moderate restraint, by which the empire of reason is preserved; and which serves as a whet to pleasure by preventing disgust. She will have it, that every thing which pleases the sense, and is not necessary to life, changes its nature, whenever it becomes habitual; that it ceases to be pleasant in becoming needful; that we thus by habit lay ourselves at once under a needless restraint and deprive ourselves of a real pleasure; and that the art of satisfying our desires lies not in indulging, but in suppressing, them. The method she takes to enhance the pleasures of the least amusement, is to deny herself the use of it twenty times for once that she enjoys it. Thus her mind preserves its first vigour; her taste is not spoiled by use; she has no need to excite it by excess; and I have often seen her take exquisite delight in a childish diversion, which would have been insipid to any other person on earth.