calm. Whoever throws rubbish into the street is like one throwing rubbish into his own house; and whoever destroys a flower or a tree or a bench in a public garden is like one destroying, with his own hand, a possession dear to him.
We say: what would happen if I picked one flower out of a thousand flowers, or broke the traffic law at some deserted turn, or threw an empty cigarette box onto the sidewalk, or shook out my carpet from the balcony? But they say: what would befall the garden if it occurred to every citizen to pick a flower — since I enjoy no privilege over him; and what would happen at the deserted turn if it occurred to every driver coming from any direction to break the traffic rules; and what might become of the sidewalk if every passerby threw down his empty box; and what dust would fill the street, and what din would fill the air, if everyone in the quarter chose to shake their carpets out from the balconies?
And the consequence is worse and graver still if any laxity creeps into the written law. One laxity drags a second after it, and then a third... and so on and on, until the law becomes as though it had never existed. Perhaps citing the example of Socrates here is of telling benefit. He gave the most splendid lesson in history on respect for the law, on the day he refused to let his disciples take him out of prison and save him from the death sentence, saying to them — he who had spent his whole life calling for respect for the law, however unjust it might be: Let us suppose that the State and the Laws came and appeared before me as I was attempting to escape, and asked me: Tell us, Socrates, what are you doing? What do you seek by your attempt to escape, except to destroy us, the Laws, and to destroy the whole city, so far as lies in your power?
Do you believe that a state can endure if its laws are not observed and its citizens make light of them?
It may be just to demand that every citizen be a Socrates. But it is no excess at all to ask that it
My dear grandfather!
I remember, among the things I remember well, my restless perch on the edge of your bed, and your trembling hand caressing the locks of hair scattered over my forehead... and your blind eyes striving, with effort, to see what cannot be seen...
And your words to me then remain among the dearest memories of my heart: 'Are we alone?... I am going to confide something to you — keep this thing, my little one, until you grow up; keep it well... Beware of men — all men — and do not trust a single one of them.'
My eyes did not blink even once; it was as if they had been nailed to your frozen, beloved face. I listened with all my being, striving to understand your charge with all the understanding my seven years possessed... And I kept it well, as you asked; but its distant meaning was locked away from me, and remained obscure and dim...
Years upon years went by; with them I grew out of childhood's collar, and my dealings with people took on a new meaning... And little by little the import of your charge began to grow clear to me, and to steal into the understanding of the budding girl within me... So I built an impregnable line of defense between myself and the other sex, which you had charged me not to trust; and the feeling of reserve and wariness went with me — side by side — through the whole season of my girlhood. And to this very day, grandfather, whenever my heart beats for a heart, or two eyes shine into my eyes, it seems to me that a voice whispers your charge in my ear — and I draw back... and refuse!
And now, when I look upon my recent past, and measure the extent of the deprivation I have endured, I feel loftiness and pride, and a triumph over temptation. They say it is 'virtue'; but I know for certain that the source of this triumph is you... it is your precious charge, grandfather, which is still as firmly rooted in my heart... as my heart itself; and one day I shall pass it on to my own little girl... a wondrous legend!
settle firmly in the mind of every citizen that the written law, or the customary law, exists for his own service and the service of his family and kin.
I passed through Rome in the summer of 1950, and I did not hear a single horn rise from the thousands of cars that cross the Italian capital, even though some circumstances would call for honking. I asked my companion, who had settled in Rome: is the punishment severe, then, and the fine high, for whoever sounds his
horn? He answered me: no — but people here respect the law, and the mere issuing of a law is enough for everyone to abide by it.
And I passed through Paris in the spring of 1951, and learned that the horn is not forbidden in the French capital; yet I rarely heard a horn, and when I did hear one, it was a faint tap, at the moment of utmost necessity.
The truth is that the people in Rome and Paris love themselves.