Even upon the theatre of war, where the spectacle of destruction excites an appetite to destroy, we often discover affecting traces of humanity. At the siege of Mentz, in 1795, I remember that the advanced guards of the attack on the left, occupied an English garden, near the village of Montback. The garden was completely destroyed. The walks and labyrinths were changed, by the trampling of the soldiers, into high roads. Batteries were raised upon the mounds, from distance to distance, around which still grew rare trees and shrubs. The French bivouacs banished the verdure of the bowling greens; and in advance of them, a half overturned kiosk served for the front guard of the Austrians. The nearest water was on their side; the nearest wood on the side of the French. To obtain water, the French threw their canteens to the Austrians, who filled them and sent them back again. When night drew on, the French soldiers, in return, cut wood for the Austrians, and dragged fagots between the videttes of the two armies. Thus, waiting the signal to cut each other’s throat, the advance guards lived in peace, and made exchanges like those between friendly people. This spectacle excited in me a profound emotion; and I was scarcely able to refrain from tears, in seeing men, so situated, still good, on a soil red with blood.[24]
This primitive goodness is not the only beautiful trait which is continually developing to our view in human nature. For men to be generous, and magnanimous, the soul never entirely loses the elevation, which it received from its author.
Under oppression, in degradation, in slavery, men still preserve some impress of their first dignity. Those outrages which inflict personal humiliation, are among the most frequent causes of revolutions; and, perhaps tyrants incur less danger in shedding the blood of citizens, than in insulting them. An outrage upon a woman was the signal of the liberty of Rome. A similar crime drew on the fall of the Pisistrati, who had found no obstacle in overturning the laws of their country. The Swiss and Danes supported the rigors of a tyrannic yoke in silence. They arose the first day in which their oppressors exacted of them an act of degradation. Genoa had been conquered. An Austrian officer struck a man of the lower class. The indignant Genoese flew to arms, and drove away their conquerors.
Under the most absolute despotism, we sometimes see the subjects preserving magnanimous sentiments; and not being able to give them a useful direction, put forth, to serve their master, a courage equal to that with which free citizens honor themselves in serving their country. Of this I might cite striking proofs from the history of even barbarous nations.
A convincing demonstration, that an innate principle of elevation exists in the soul, results from the universality of religious ideas. Man is discouraged by his errors, his infirmities and faults in vain. An interior voice admonishes him of his high destination. Transient as he is, and comparatively lost in the immensity of the universe, he invokes the Divinity to sanctify the union of his espousals, and to preside over the birth of his infants. He raises his voice to him over the tombs of his fathers. When the contemplation of the works of the Eternal has inspired him with humble sentiments of himself, he still deems himself superior to all the beings that surround him. Occupying but a point on the globe, his disquieting thoughts embrace the universe. He beholds time devouring the objects of his affections, crumbling monuments and overturning even the works of nature. From the midst of the ruins he aspires to immortality.[24a]
What would not these sentiments, at once elevated and good, these precious germs produce, were they developed by happy circumstances! That they exist in the human bosom is a sufficient indication that we owe a tender interest to the being who possesses them. Let us love our kind, and cultivate the virtues which render us worthy of their affection.
[LETTER XIII.]
OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES.
Placed in the midst of men, the most useful virtue is indulgence. To allow ourselves to become severe, is to forget how many good qualities we want ourselves; and from what faults we are preserved only by chance and our circumstances. It is to forget the weakness of men, and the empire exercised over them by the objects that surround them. To render exact justice to our kind, we ought to take into the estimate all the assistance and all the obstacles, with which they have met in their career. Thus weighing them, celebrated actions will become less astonishing, and faults begin to appear excusable.