By Diverse Means We Arrive at the Same End

The most common way of softening the hearts of those we have offended, when, vengeance in hand, they have us at their mercy, is by submission and contrition. And yet bravery, constancy, and resolution — means altogether different — have sometimes served the same purpose. Edward, Prince of Wales, having taken the city of Limoges by force, and marching through it with his army in a fury, was met by three French gentlemen who, with incredible boldness, stood their ground against him and his forces. The sight of such remarkable courage first blunted his rage, and he began to look upon them with admiration, ending by extending them mercy.

Perhaps it is the effort of virtue itself in these two cases that produces the same effect. Those who yield and throw themselves on our generosity move us by the nobility of the act; those who resist move us because we see in them our own image — something strong, worthy of respect. Either way, the conqueror catches a glimpse of what he might wish himself to be.

“He that is clement to the suppliant, and terrible to the obstinate, does perhaps only follow the inconstancy of his own nature, mistaking it for a policy.”

For my part, I am naturally tender towards mercy and mildness. I believe I should more readily surrender to compassion than to esteem. Yet I hold the Stoics wrong who disparage pity as a passion of fools. There is a point where the heart, if it is not made of stone, must yield — whether to the sight of a man prostrate before it, or to the spectacle of a man who will not kneel.

What all this instructs us is not to expect consistency from human nature. The same end — in this case, the granting of life — can be reached by roads that run in opposite directions. We flatter ourselves that we act from principle, but most often we act from temperament, and temperament is the least reliable guide we possess.