try to prevent the vice; then I assume its existence in order to correct it.] I will let them flatter him, pluck him, and rob him; and when having sucked him dry they turn and mock him, I will even thank them to his face for the lessons they have been good enough to give him.  The only snares from which I will guard him with my utmost care are the wiles of wanton women.  The only precaution I shall take will be to share all the dangers I let him run, and all the insults I let him receive.  I will bear everything in silence, without a murmur or reproach, without a word to him, and be sure that if this wise conduct is faithfully adhered to, what he sees me endure on his account will make more impression on his heart than what he himself suffers.

I cannot refrain at this point from drawing attention to the sham dignity of tutors, who foolishly pretend to be wise, who discourage their pupils by always professing to treat them as children, and by emphasising the difference between themselves and their scholars in everything they do.  Far from damping their youthful spirits in this fashion, spare no effort to stimulate their courage; that they may become your equals, treat them as such already, and if they cannot rise to your level, do not scruple to come down to theirs without being ashamed of it.  Remember that your honour is no longer in your own keeping but in your pupil’s.  Share his faults that you may correct them, bear his disgrace that you may wipe it out; follow the example of that brave Roman who, unable to rally his fleeing soldiers, placed himself at their head, exclaiming, “They do not flee, they follow their captain!” Did this dishonour him?  Not so; by sacrificing his glory he increased it.  The power of duty, the beauty of virtue, compel our respect in spite of all our foolish prejudices.  If I received a blow in the course of my duties to Emile, far from avenging it I would boast of it; and I doubt whether there is in the whole world a man so vile as to respect me any the less on this account.

I do not intend the pupil to suppose his master to be as ignorant, or as liable to be led astray, as he is himself.  This idea is all very well for a child who can neither see nor compare things, who thinks everything is within his reach, and only bestows his confidence on those who know how to come down to his level.  But a youth of Emile’s age and sense is no longer so foolish as to make this mistake, and it would not be desirable that he should.  The confidence he ought to have in his tutor is of another kind; it should rest on the authority of reason, and on superior knowledge, advantages which the young man is capable of appreciating while he perceives how useful they are to himself.  Long experience has convinced him that his tutor loves him, that he is a wise and good man who desires his happiness and knows how to procure it.  He ought to know that it is to his own advantage to listen to his advice.  But if the master lets himself be taken in like the