Sometimes a mother is prejudiced against a governess, and undertakes the management of the child herself, while the daughter cunningly acts contrary to her taste. When children are so wretched that they are under the necessity of disguising their sentiments, the way of extricating them from such a dilemma, is, to instruct them solidly in the maxims of true prudence—as one perceives that the method of correcting a taste for novels and romances, is, by exciting a turn for useful and agreeable histories. If you do not encourage a rational curiosity, they will entertain an irrational one—in like manner, if you do not form their minds on the principles of true prudence, they will become attached to falsehood, which is, in fact, finesse.
Shew them, by examples, how one is able, without duplicity, to be discreet, foresighted, and attached to legitimate means of succeeding. Tell them that prudence consists chiefly in speaking little—in entertaining a greater distrust of oneself than of others, and not in uttering false sentiments, and playing a deceitful part. An upright conduct, and a general reputation for integrity, begets more confidence and esteem, and, in the end, even more temporal advantages, than perverse and suspicious habits. How much does this judicious rectitude of conduct distinguish a person, and render her fit for the most important undertakings!
But add, how base and contemptible is premeditated finesse! it is either an account of some trifle which one is ashamed to mention, or it must be considered as a pernicious passion. When one wishes for that which it is lawful to wish for, the request is made openly—and it is sought for in a direct and proper method, with moderation. What is there more delightful and agreeable, than to be sincere? always tranquil—always content—having nothing to fear or to feign? On the contrary, a dissimulating character is always in agitation—remorse—and danger—and under the deplorable necessity of covering one finesse by substituting an hundred others.
With all these shameful disquietudes, artificial characters never escape that misery from which they are constantly flying—sooner or later their real character will appear. If the world has been their dupe in some single action, it will not continue so during the whole of their lives: oftentimes they are the dupes of those whom they wished to deceive: for there is sometimes an appearance of being dazzled by them, and they think themselves beloved—at the very moment, perhaps, when they are despised. At least they cannot prevent suspicion—and can any thing be more contrary to the rational interests of a prudent woman, than to see herself always suspected? Unfold these things by degrees—according as opportunity, necessity, or the bent of your pupil's intellect, may suggest.
Observe, however, that cunning (or finesse) is always the offspring of a base heart and narrow-minded spirit. In proportion as we wish to conceal our views we become cunning—being convinced that we are not as we ought to be—or, that, seeking for lawful objects, we adopt unworthy means of obtaining them—which arises from our ignorance in seeking such objects. Make children remark the impertinence of certain artifices that they see practised—the contempt which it draws on those practising them—and lastly, make them ashamed of themselves when you detect them in some dissimulation. As they grow up, deprive them of what they love, when they wish to obtain it by artifice—but declare, that they shall possess it when they ask openly: do not be afraid even of indulging their little weaknesses, in order to give them an opportunity and the courage of shewing them. False shame is the most dangerous of evils and the most difficult to cure; and this too, if great care be not taken, will render all others irremediable.
Paint, in their proper colours, those infamous artifices by which they would wish to deceive their neighbour without having the reproach of deceiving him: there is more perfidy and knavery in these refinements, than in common artifices. Some people, one may say, boldly practice deception—but wretches of the preceding description, add novelty and disguise to authorise it. Tell a child that God is truth itself—that it is mocking him when we jest at truth in our discourse—which should be precise and correct, and should consist in few words, that truth be not violated.
Be on your guard not to imitate those who applaud children, when they have discovered sharpness of intellect by some finesse. Far from supposing these tricks pretty and diverting, check them severely—and manage it so, that all their artifice may end unsuccessfully, and experience at last may disgust them with it. In praising them for such and such faults, we, in fact, persuade them that ability and deception are one and the same thing.