CHAPTER. VII.

A further account of the poor who were brought together in the

house of industry:--and of the interesting change which was

produced in their manners and dispositions.

Various proofs that the means used for making them industrious,

comfortable, and happy, were successful.

The awkwardness of these poor creatures, when they were first

taken from the streets as beggars, and put to work, may easily

conceived; but the facility with which they acquired address in

the various manufactures in which they were employed, was very

remarkable, and much exceeded my expectation. But what was quite

surprising, and at the same time interesting in the highest

degree, was the apparent and rapid change which was produced in

their manners,--in their general behaviour,--and even in the very

air of their countenances, upon being a little accustomed to

their new situations. The kind usage they met with, and the

comforts they enjoyed, seemed to have softened their hearts, and

awakened in them sentiments as new and surprising to themselves,

as they were interesting to those about them.

The melancholy gloom of misery, and air of uneasiness and

embarrassment, disappeared by little and little from their

countenances, and were succeeded by a timid dawn of cheerfulness,

rendered most exquisitely interesting by a certain mixture of

silent gratitude, which no language can describe.

In the infancy of this establishment, when these poor creatures

were first brought together, I used very frequently to visit

them,--to speak kindly to them,--and to encourage them;--and I

seldom passed through the halls where they were at work, without

being a witness to the most moving scenes.

Objects, formerly the most miserable and wretched, whom I had

seen for years as beggars in the streets;-young women,--perhaps

the unhappy victims of seduction, who, having lost their

reputation, and being turned adrift in the world, without a

friend and without a home, were reduced to the necessity of

begging, to sustain a miserable existence, now recognized me as

their benefactor; and, with tears dropping fast from their

cheeks, continued their work in the most expressive silence.

If they were asked, what the matter was with them? their answer

was, ("nichts") "nothing;" accompanied by a look of affectionate

regard and gratitude, so exquisitely touching as frequently to

draw tears from the most insensible of the bystanders.

It was not possible to be mistaken with respect to the real state

of the minds of these poor people; every thing about them showed

that they were deeply affected with the kindness shown them;--

and that their hearts were really softened, appeared, not only

from their unaffected expressions of gratitude, but also from the

effusions of their affectionate regard for those who were dear

to them. In short, never did I witness such affecting scenes as

passed between some of these poor people and their children.

It was mentioned above that the children were separated from the

grown persons. This was the case at first; but as soon as order

was thoroughly established in every part of the house, and the

poor people had acquired a certain degree of address in their

work, and evidently took pleasure in it, as many of those who had

children expressed an earnest desire to have them near them,

permission was granted for that purpose; and the spinning halls,

by degrees, were filled with the most interesting little groups

of industrious families, who vied with each other in diligence

and address; and who displayed a scene, at once the most busy,

and the most cheerful, that can be imagined.

An industrious family is ever a pleasing object; but there was

something peculiarly interesting and affecting in the groups of

these poor people. Whether it was, that those who saw them

compared their present situation with the state of misery and

wretchedness from which they had been taken; --or whether it was

the joy and exultation which were expressed in the countenances

of the poor parents in contemplating their children all busily

employed about them;--or the air of self-satisfaction which these

little urchins put on, at the consciousness of their own dexterity,

while they pursued their work with redoubled diligence upon being

observed, that rendered the scene so singularly interesting,--

I know not; but certain it is, that few strangers who visited the

establishment, came out of these halls without being much affected.

Many humane and well-disposed persons are often withheld from

giving alms, on account of the bad character of beggars in general;

but this circumstance, though it ought undoubtedly to be taken

into consideration in determining the mode of administering our

charitable assistance, should certainly not prevent our

interesting ourselves in the fate of these unhappy beings.

On the contrary, it ought to be an additional incitement to us

to relieve them;--for nothing is more certain, than that their

crimes are very often the EFFECTS, not the CAUSES of their

misery; and when this is the case, by removing the cause, the

effects will cease.

Nothing is more extraordinary and unaccountable, than the

inconsistency of mankind in every thing; even in the practice of

that divine virtue benevolence; and most of our mistakes arise

more from indolence and from inattention, than from any thing else.

The busy part of mankind are too intent upon their own private

pursuits; and those who have leisure, are too averse from giving

themselves trouble, to investigate a subject but too generally

considered as tiresome and uninteresting. But if it be true, that

we are really happy only in proportion as we ought to be so;--

that is, in proportion as we are instrumental in promoting the

happiness of others; no study surely can be so interesting,

as that which teaches us how most effectually to contribute to

the well-being of our fellow-creatures.

If LOVE be blind, SELF-LOVE is certainly very short-sighted;

and without the assistance of reason and reflection, is but a

bad guide in the pursuit of happiness.

Those who take pleasure in depreciating all the social virtues

have represented pity as a mere selfish passion; and there are

some circumstances which appear to justify this opinion.

It is certain that the misfortunes of others affect us, not in

proportion to their greatness, but in proportion to their

nearness to ourselves; or to the chances that they may reach us

in our turns. A rich man is infinitely more affected at the

misfortune of his neighbour, who, by the failure of a banker with

whom he had trusted the greater part of his fortune;--by an

unlucky run at play,--or by other losses, is reduced to a state

of affluence, to the necessity of laying down his carriage;--

leaving the town;--and retiring into the country upon a few

hundreds a-year;--than by the total ruin of the industrious

tradesman over the way, who is dragged to prison, and his

numerous family of young and helpless children left to starve.

But however selfish pity may be, BENEVOLENCE certainly springs

from a more noble origin. It is a good-natured,--generous

sentiment, which does not require being put to the torture in

order to be stimulated to action. And it is this sentiment,

not pity, or compassion, which I would wish to excite.

Pity is always attended with pain; and if our sufferings at being

witnesses of the distresses of others, sometimes force us to

relieve them, we can neither have much merit, nor any lasting

satisfaction, from such involuntary acts of charity; but the

enjoyments which result from acts of genuine benevolence are as

lasting as they are exquisitely delightful; and the more they

contribute to that inward peace of mind and self-approbation,

which alone constitute real happiness. This is the "soul's calm

sun-shine, and the heart-felt joy," which is virtue's prize.

To induce mankind to engage in any enterprise, it is necessary,

first, to show that success will be attended with real advantage;

and secondly, that is may be obtained without much difficulty.

The rewards attendant upon acts of benevolence have so often been

described and celebrated, in every country and in every language,

that it would be presumption in me to suppose I could add any

thing new upon a subject already discussed by the greatest

masters of rhetoric, and embellished with all the irresistible

charms of eloquence; but as EXAMPLE OF SUCCESS are sometimes more

efficacious in stimulating mankind to action, than the most

splendid reasonings and admonitions, it is upon my SUCCESS in the

enterprise of which I have undertaken to give an account, that my

hopes of engaging others to follow such an example are chiefly

founded; and hence it is, that I so often return to that part of

my subject, and insist with so much perseverance upon the

pleasure which this success afforded me. I am aware that I

expose myself to being suspected of ostentation, particularly by

those who are not able to enter fully into my situation and

feelings; but neither this, nor any other consideration, shall

prevent me from treating the subject in such a manner as may

appear best adapted to render my labours of public utility.

Why should I not mention even the marks of affectionate regard

and respect which I received from the poor people for those

happiness I interested myself, and the testimonies of the public

esteem with which I was honored?--Will it be reckoned vanity,

if I mention the concern which the Poor of Munich expressed in so

affecting a manner when I was dangerously ill?--that they went

publicly in a body in procession to the cathedral church, where

they had divine service performed, and put up public prayers for

my recovery?--that four years afterwards, on hearing that I was

again dangerously ill at Naples. they, of their own accord, set

apart an hour each evening, after they had finished their work in

the Military Work-house, to pray for me?

Will it be thought improper to mention the affecting reception I

met with from them, at my first visit to the Military Work-house

upon my return to Munich last summer, after an absence of fifteen

months; a scene which drew tears from all who were present?--and

must I refute myself the satisfaction of describing the fete I

gave them in return, in the English Garden, at which 1800 poor

people of all ages, and above 30,000 of the inhabitants of

Munich, assisted? and all this pleasure I must forego, merely

that I may not be thought vain and ostentatious?--Be it so

then;-- but I would just beg leave to call the reader's attention

to my feelings upon the occasion; and then let him ask himself,

if any earthly reward can possibly be supposed greater;--any

enjoyments more complete, than those I received. Let him figure

to himself, if he can, my situation, sick in bed, worn out by

intense application, and dying, as every body thought, a martyr

in the cause to which I had devoted myself;--let him imagine,

I say, my feelings, upon hearing the confused noise of the prayers

of a multitude of people, who were passing by in the streets,

upon being told, that it was the Poor of Munich, many hundreds in

number, who were going in procession to the church to put up

public prayers for me:--public prayers for me!--for a private

person!--a stranger!--a protestant!--I believe it is the first

instance of the kind that ever happened;--and I dare venture to

affirm that no proof could well be stronger than this, that the

measures adopted for making these poor people happy, were really

successful;--and let it be remembered, that this fact is what I

am most anxious to make appear, IN THE CLEAREST AND MOST

SATISFACTORY MANNER.

Essays; Political, Economical, and Philosophical — Volume 1 · 第 7 / 12 章