THE FIRST SEEDS OF A POLITICAL FAITH.
When I came to examine the book which M. Jean Baptiste had sent me,
and the title of which was “Emile, or Education,” I sought out the
chapter which had direct reference to my own case.
In the course of my search I came across the following paragraph:—
“It is my positive desire that Emilie should learn a trade. An
honest one, at least, you will perhaps say. What means that? Every
calling useful to the public is an honest one, is it not? I don’t
wish particularly that he should be a carver and gilder, neither
do I particularly care that he should be an actor, or a musician.
Still, let him adopt any one of those professions, or others
resembling them, that he may fancy. I do not wish to fetter his will
in anything, only I would rather he was a shoemaker than a poet, and
would much prefer him to earn his livelihood by paving-stones than by
porcelain.”
I read over and over again, the paragraph which opened up this train
of thought; and at last, I understood it.
Let no one be astonished that my intelligence was so slow. Taken up
as I was until I had reached at this time, my fourteenth year, with
the usual jog-trot of rustic occupations, my mind had remained in a
sort of twilight.
I continued my reading.
“The needle and the sword can never be wielded by the same hand. If I
were a king, I would only permit the ell, the wand, and the shears,
to women, and to maimed men, equally feeble with the weaker sex. I
would forbid callings against health, but not those which are simply
laborious, or even dangerous, for those demand at once both strength
and courage. Everything considered, the trade which I should like a
pupil of mine to adopt of himself would be that of a carpenter.”
“Ah,” said I, “what a good fellow this Monsieur Rosseau is! How I do
like him!”
I tackled to my book again.
“Touching a carpenter’s trade, it is a tidy calling: it is useful;
you can follow it in the house; it requires both skill and industry;
whilst the exercise of taste is not excluded from the articles it
turns out.”
So, then, I was precisely in the state recommended by the author of
“Emile.”
Not only that, but I did not even require to learn the trade he
praised; I knew it already. I read on as follows:—
“Of all states and conditions of life, the most independent is that
of a mechanic. A mechanic is dependent upon his work only; he is
just so much free as an agricultural laborer is a slave; for the
latter can only prepare the field, and leave the product thereof to
fate. A foe—a powerful neighbor—a law-suit, can deprive him of his
field; in fact, that very field can be made to vex him in a thousand
different ways. But, if fate disturbs a mechanic, he gathers his
tools together, and, carrying his sturdy arms with him, away he goes.”
At this point, I looked at my own arms, already muscular and
well-developed, and I swung them in the air with pride. Evidently the
man was right who wrote those lines.
I uttered a cry of joy; and rushing into my little workshop, I hugged
severally to my bosom my hammers, my planes, and my chisels. Then,
strong with a new strength, I felt irresistibly impelled to rush
off at once, and thank M. Jean Baptiste Drouet for lending me the
precious book. St. Menehould was exactly three miles away, and it was
only eleven o’clock in the morning. I could easily be home again by
five or six, and my good uncle would not make himself uneasy at my
absence. Besides, I was quite sure that he would approve of my errand.