I have already told you what you ought to do when a child cries for this thing or that.  I will only add that as soon as he has words to ask for what he wants and accompanies his demands with tears, either to get his own way quicker or to over-ride a refusal, he should never have his way.  If his words were prompted by a real need you should recognise it and satisfy it at once; but to yield to his tears is to encourage him to cry, to teach him to doubt your kindness, and to think that you are influenced more by his importunity than your own good-will.  If he does not think you kind he will soon think you unkind; if he thinks you weak he will soon become obstinate; what you mean to give must be given at once.  Be chary of refusing, but, having refused, do not change your mind.

Above all, beware of teaching the child empty phrases of politeness, which serve as spells to subdue those around him to his will, and to get him what he wants at once.  The artificial education of the rich never fails to make them politely imperious, by teaching them the words to use so that no one will dare to resist them.  Their children have neither the tone nor the manner of suppliants; they are as haughty or even more haughty in their entreaties than in their commands, as though they were more certain to be obeyed.  You see at once that “If you please” means “It pleases me,” and “I beg” means “I command.”  What a fine sort of politeness which only succeeds in changing the meaning of words so that every word is a command!  For my own part, I would rather Emile were rude than haughty, that he should say “Do this” as a request, rather than “Please” as a command.  What concerns me is his meaning, not his words.

There is such a thing as excessive severity as well as excessive indulgence, and both alike should be avoided.  If you let children suffer you risk their health and life; you make them miserable now; if you take too much pains to spare them every kind of uneasiness you are laying up much misery for them in the future; you are making them delicate and over-sensitive; you are taking them out of their place among men, a place to which they must sooner or later return, in spite of all your pains.  You will say I am falling into the same mistake as those bad fathers whom I blamed for sacrificing the present happiness of their children to a future which may never be theirs.

Not so; for the liberty I give my pupil makes up for the slight hardships to which he is exposed.  I see little fellows playing in the snow, stiff and blue with cold, scarcely able to stir a finger.  They could go and warm themselves if they chose, but they do not choose; if you forced them to come in they would feel the harshness of constraint a hundredfold more than the sharpness of the cold.  Then what becomes of your grievance?  Shall I make your child miserable by exposing him to hardships which he is perfectly ready to endure?  I secure his present good by leaving him his freedom, and his future good by arming him against the evils he will have to bear.  If he had his choice, would he hesitate for a moment between you and me?