Monsieur de Flaumont one day said to his children:—"I am going to relate to you a circumstance which has come to my knowledge, in order that you may give me your opinion on it."

Henry, Clementine, and Gustavus hastened to take their seats near him, when he related what follows:—

"A workman named Paul, the father of several children, who were dependent on his industry, was walking by the side of a very rapid river, then greatly swollen by recent rains. The water formed a whirlpool under one of the arches of a neighbouring bridge, and drew into it, with a great deal of noise, the remains of a boat laden with planks, which it had already dashed to pieces. Paul gazed upon the torrent and thought, 'If I were to fall into it, I should have some difficulty in getting out again.' Yet Paul was an excellent swimmer, and had even saved the lives of several persons who had been near drowning in that very river; but at that moment the danger was so great, that in spite of his natural courage, he felt there was sufficient cause for fear. Then his thoughts reverted to his children, who were entirely dependent upon him for support: to his eldest boy, a lad of some twelve years of age, who promised to be a good workman, but who, if deprived of his father, would have no one to instruct or protect him. He thought of his daughter, whom he hoped soon to be able to apprentice out, and of his little one just weaned, whom his sister took care of, for the children had lost their mother. It was delightful to him to reflect how neat and clean they were kept; how well fed they were, and what good health they enjoyed; and he said, 'All this would be greatly changed were I taken home dead!' and, so saying, he involuntarily withdrew from the river's edge, as if there were really some danger of his being dragged into the water. As he walked on, he observed upon the bridge a man bearing on his shoulders a bundle of old iron rails. He was looking into the water, and watching a plank on the point of passing under the bridge. He bent over to see if it cleared the arch well, but, leaning too far, his head turned giddy, the load on his shoulders threw him off his balance, and he was precipitated into the water, uttering a fearful cry. Paul also uttered a cry of distress, for he felt himself chained to the shore by the remembrance of his children, while his kind feelings made him anxious to aid the unfortunate being whom he beheld on the brink of destruction. He looked around him with inexpressible anguish, and perceiving a long pole, he seized hold of it, and endeavoured, by advancing into the water, without losing his footing, to push a plank to the unfortunate man, who was trying to swim towards him. But all in vain; the torrent was furious, and after a few efforts, the poor wretch sank, rose again to the surface, and then disappeared altogether. Paul remained motionless at the side of the river, with his eyes fixed on the spot where the miserable man had been engulfed. He continued there until it became quite dark, then returned home, a prey to the most intense melancholy, but still saying to himself, 'I do not think I have done wrong.' For several days he refused food; sleep fled from his eyes, and he scarcely spoke to any one. His neighbours, seeing him in this condition, inquired the cause, and he told them. The greater part considered that he had done right, some few were of a contrary opinion, but he himself always said, 'Still, I do not think I have acted wrong.'—What is your opinion, my children?"

Clementine.—Certainly, he did quite right, to preserve his life for the sake of his children.

Henry.—Oh! yes! that is a most convenient excuse for not doing one's duty.

Gustavus.—But he owed nothing to this man who was so clumsy as to fall into the water: he did not even know him.

Henry.—Papa has always told us that we ought to do all the good we can to our fellow-creatures; and Paul might at least have tried to save the poor man: he was not sure of perishing with him.

Clementine.—Oh! but it was very likely.

Henry.—There would be great merit, certainly, in doing courageous deeds, if we were quite sure there was no danger in them!

M. de Flaumont.—But, consider my boy, that by exposing himself to the danger, which was very great, and in which he would in all probability have perished, he also exposed his children to the risk of dying of hunger, or of becoming rogues, for the want of an honest means of obtaining a living. Do you not think this a consideration of sufficient importance to counterbalance the desire he felt to save the drowning man?

Henry.—Perhaps so, papa,—but it is nevertheless certain, that we hold a man who courageously exposes his life to save a fellow-being in far higher estimation than we do one who so carefully calculates all the reasons that can be found for not doing so.

M. de Flaumont.—That is quite natural: the courage of the man who performs a brave deed is self-evident; whereas, we cannot be so sure of the motives of him who refuses to perform one. But, supposing it to be clearly proved that Paul really wished to throw himself into the water to save this man, and was only withheld by the interests of his children, do you not think he merited esteem rather than reproach?

Henry.—One thing, at least, is certain: I should not have liked to be in his position.

Clementine.—It would certainly be a most difficult matter to know what to do.

Gustavus.—Well, and while you were reflecting, the poor man would be still in the water; and so it would come to the same thing.

M. de Flaumont.—Hesitation is undoubtedly the very thing that should be most avoided in such a case, for it prevents all action; and for this reason it is that we ought to accustom ourselves to reflect upon the relative importance of our duties, in order to know which of them ought to take precedence.

Henry.—But when there happen to be two of equal importance?

M. de Flaumont.—That can never be the case; for we are never called upon to do impossibilities. Do you think, for example, that Paul could at one and the same moment, throw himself into the water, and not throw himself into it?

Gustavus, laughing.—That would, indeed, be an impossibility.

M. de Flaumont.—Do you think, then, that he could be obliged to perform an action, and at the same time to do what would render that action impossible?

Henry.—Certainly not.

M. de Flaumont.—It is, then, quite evident, that if it was his duty to perform one of these actions, he ought to have put aside everything calculated to interfere with it; even what would be a duty under other circumstances.

Clementine.—And you think, papa, do you not, that the duty of providing for one's children ought to take precedence of every other?

M. de Flaumont.—No, not of every other, certainly. The first of all duties is to be an honest man, to do no wrong to any one, never to betray the interest committed to one's charge.

Clementine.—But the interests of one's children are surely committed to one's charge.

M. de Flaumont.—But we are first of all responsible for the interests of our own probity, for no one can be charged with these but ourselves. The first thing prescribed to us is, not to be unjust to others; but we are not necessarily unjust to them when we do not render them all the assistance they require; and though the drowning man stood in need of Paul's assistance, it was not an injustice in him to withhold it, for the sake of his children.

Henry.—Because his children had need of it also. But, papa, according to this argument, neither would it have been an injustice not to do for his children all the good they stood in need of; for he was not more necessary to them than he was to the drowning man, who had no one but him to look to for assistance.

M. de Flaumont.—Certainly not; but do you think it possible to do good to every one?

Gustavus.—To do that, we should have to pass our days in running about the streets, in order to assist all the poor.

Clementine.—Or even wander over the earth to discover those who might require our aid, and spend our whole fortunes in doing so.

Henry.—This, certainly, is a point which has often puzzled me.

M. de Flaumont.—It is because you have not considered that each man, forming but a very small portion of the world, can be specially trusted with only a very small portion of the good to be done in it. Were it otherwise, it would be impossible to do any good at all; for if every one wanted to do everything, there would be nothing but confusion. Each one must therefore endeavour to discover for himself what is the portion of good he is naturally expected to do. Thus, even if it were not a duty of justice to make the existence and well-being of our children our first care, still it would be a duty of reason, since it would be absurd to neglect the good we might accomplish in our own homes, for the sake of going elsewhere to do good. This duty, therefore, we must first of all fulfil, and afterwards consider what means are left for the accomplishment of any others which may present themselves; such as kindness and devotion towards those who have no other claim upon us, than that of standing in need of our aid.

Henry.—Notwithstanding all that, papa, I shall always find it difficult to understand, that because a man has children who require his protection, he must therefore give up the idea of assisting others if, by so doing, he exposes himself to danger.

M. de Flaumont.—You are right not to understand it, for it is not true. We can, and we certainly ought, even in that case, to expose ourselves to a moderate danger for the sake of a great good. Thus, for example, if the river had been tranquil, or even had there been only a considerable probability of escape, Paul would have done wrong not to throw himself into the water.

Clementine.—But, papa, since he might still have perished, he would still have exposed himself to the danger of failing in his duty towards his children.

M. de Flaumont.—Undoubtedly; but would he not also incur great risk of losing an opportunity of saving a fellow-being, when, to all appearance, he might have done so without injuring his children?

Clementine.—Yes; and now the case becomes again embarrassing.

M. de Flaumont.—It is under such circumstances that duties may be compared and weighed one against the other. But if you were assured, that by exposing your children to some slight inconvenience,—such, for example, as being worse fed or clothed for a time,—you would thereby save the life of another, do you not think that you ought to do so?

Clementine.—Certainly.

M. de Flaumont.—Impossible as it is for us to discover what will be the result of things subjected to chance, we ought I think to lean to that side which seems to offer the greatest probability of producing the greatest good, and to regard a slight danger as a slight inconvenience, to which we subject our children in order to secure to another a very great advantage. Are you satisfied, Henry?

Henry.—Well, papa, I shall try to become very expert, so that the danger may always be slight.

M. de Flaumont.—That is quite right; but now let me conclude my story.

Clementine.—What! is it not finished?

Gustavus.—Oh, go on, then, papa.

M. de Flaumont.—Paul, as I have already told you, had the utmost difficulty in overcoming his distress. He sometimes said to himself, "The river was not so very much swollen; I took fright too easily; we might both have escaped;" and he had not the courage to return to the side of that river,—he preferred making wide circuits in order to avoid going near it. He often heard of persons being drowned while bathing in this river, a thing by no means unusual; for those who did not know it well, imprudently ventured too near the whirlpool under the arch, and were ingulfed. At these times, Paul's conscience smote him, and he felt almost degraded. But what was most singular was, that his last adventure had given him a dread of the water—he who had hitherto been so courageous; but he constantly thought, "It would be a terrible thing, if, now that I have done so much for my children, I were to be taken away from them;" and thus he avoided every danger with extreme care. He scarcely seemed to be the same man, so timid and cautious had he become. His neighbours said among themselves, "How extraordinary! Paul has become a coward!" and they imagined that it was from fear that he had not plunged into the water. In other respects, he was more industrious than ever, and lost no opportunity of putting his children in a condition to earn their own living, as if he was afraid of dying before the completion of his task. He succeeded in bringing them up remarkably well. His eldest son became a clever workman, and was about to marry and establish himself in another town; his daughter became the wife of a shopkeeper with a good trade; and the schoolmaster of the town, who became attached to the youngest boy, because he was diligent in his studies, requested his father to allow him, when fifteen years of age, to aid him in the duties of his school, and promised, if he conducted himself well, to give it up to him in the course of a few years.

The day on which Paul had established his son with the schoolmaster, and on which he could consequently say that his children no longer stood in need of his assistance, that they would no longer be exposed to misery if he were taken from them, he felt his mind relieved from a heavy burden, and in the joy which he experienced, he seemed to have recovered all the courage which for twelve years had deserted him; for twelve years had now elapsed since the occurrence of the accident which had rendered him so unhappy. He left his work at an earlier hour than usual, and went for a solitary ramble. For the first time these twelve years he directed his steps towards the river, recalling to mind the different persons whom he had saved from it, before the fatal day which had deprived him of his daring. It was an autumn evening; the weather was dull and cold; the river, swollen by the rains, was agitated by a violent wind, and appeared in much the same condition as when he had last beheld it. He approached, and considered it attentively. "The river is much swollen," he said; "nevertheless, if I were to throw myself into it to-day, I am sure I should escape;" and he said this because, having no longer the dread of failing in his duty to his children, he did not think of the danger, but only of the means of overcoming it. On raising his eyes mechanically towards the bridge, to the spot whence he had seen the poor man whom he had been unable to aid, fall, he saw, as it was not yet dark, some one approach the parapet, who appeared to him a very young man. This young man stood gazing at the water for some time, and all the while Paul kept his eye fixed upon him. At last, seeing him climb the parapet, and observing him totter, he cried out, "You will fall," but at the same moment the young man took a spring and dashed into the water. Paul, as if he had a presentiment of what would happen, had already his hand upon his coat; he tore it off, dashed it from him, and was in the river almost as soon as the young man, and, swimming towards the spot where he had seen him fall, he endeavoured to catch him before he reached the whirlpool, where he knew they must both perish. He reached him while he was still struggling under the water: he plunged; but by a movement natural to those who are drowning, even when they drown themselves intentionally, the young man seized hold of him, grasping his legs so tightly, that he prevented his swimming. They must both have perished, had not Paul happily succeeded in disengaging one of his legs, with which he gave the other such a violent kick, that he was forced to relax his hold. Paul then seized him by the hair, and remounted to the surface of the water. The young man was insensible, but Paul dragged him on while swimming with one hand. At that moment the wind was terrible, and with it was mingled a violent rain, which intercepted his sight. The wind and the current of the river hurried them towards the whirlpool. He redoubled his efforts: he felt animated by an extraordinary vigour. At last, he succeeded in escaping the danger, reached the bank, landed, and they were saved.

The Difficult Duty, p. 148.