You Were Born to Make People Ungrateful

Before we start, this post is a little different. It's part of a story. It's got a message and and emotional core. If you want to do it right, open a window to the YouTube link below, and find a comfortable volume before you begin.

Do it alone. Ambiance link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n7_GtsDStsk Ready? Comfortable? Good. Introducing Denis Diderot, author of 'Jacques the Fatalist'...

Denis Diderot was a French art critic, philosopher and writer. He was a prominent figure during the Age of Enlightenment https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denis_Diderot

Extract from Denis Diderot's Jacques the Fatalist

Jacques was about to continue when their hostess came in carrying Nicole, who was wearing a coat, kissing her, pitying her and caressing and speaking to her as if she were a child: 'My poor Nicole! She only cried once all night. And you, Messieurs, did you sleep well?' Master: Very well. Hostess: The weather's closed in on all sides.

Jacques: Heaven which wants! We never know what Heaven wants or doesn't want, and perhaps Heaven doesn't even know itself. My poor Captain, who is no longer, told me that a hundred times, and the longer I've lived the more I've realised he was right...Over to you, Master...

Jacques: We're quite put out about that. Hostess: Are you gentlemen going far? Jacques: We don't know.

Hostess: Are you gentlemen following someone?

Jacques: We're not following anyone. Hostess: Perhaps you gentlemen stop and go according to the business you have along the way. Jacques: We have none. Hostess: You are travelling for pleasure, perhaps? Jacques: Or for our pains.

It will be however it was written

Hostess: I hope it's the former. Jacques: Your hopes won't make a scrap of difference. It will be however it was written up above. Hostess: Oh!...is it a wedding? Jacques: Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't.

Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't.

Hostess: Messieurs, be careful. That man downstairs who treated my poor Nicole so badly made the most ridiculous marriage. Come along, my poor little animal, come here and let me kiss you. I promise you it won't happen again. Just look at the way she's shaking all over. Master: And what was so unusual about the man's marriage?

At this question of Jacques' master the hostess said: 'I hear noise downstairs. I must go and give my orders then I'll come back and tell you about it.' Her husband, who was tired of calling out 'Wife! Wife!', came up followed by a neighbour whom he hadn't seen. He said to his wife, 'What the devil are you doing here?' and then to his acquaintance, 'Hello, old chap, have you brought me some money?' 'No, my friend, you know well I haven't got any.' 'You haven't got any? I'll make some soon enough with your plough, your horses, your oxen and your bed. Hey, you scoundrel.' 'I am not a scoundrel.'

I am not a scoundrel.

'What are you, then? You're living in abject poverty. You don't even know how you're going to get the seed to sow your fields. Your landlord's tired of advancing you money and won't lend any more. So you come to me, and this woman, this damned gossip who's the cause of all the follies of my life, persuades me to lend to you. I lend you money, you promise to pay me back and you fail me ten times. Oh! I promise you I won't let you down! Get out of here! Get out! Jacques and his master were getting ready to intercede for the poor devil but the hostess put her finger on her lips and signalled them to keep quiet.

Host: Get out of here! Peasant: Everything you say is true and it's also true that the bailiffs are at my house and in a short time from now we'll be reduced to begging, my daughter, my son and I. Host: That's what you deserve. What have you come here for this morning? I had to stop bottling my wine, come up out of the cellar, and you weren't here when you should have been. Get out of here, I tell you. Peasant: Friend, I did come, but I was afraid of the reception I'd get and now I'm off again. Host: Good idea. Peasant: And now my poor little Marguerite who's so pretty and well behaved will have to go into service in Paris.

Host: In service in Paris! You want to ruin her, do you?

Peasant: It's not me that wants it, it's the hard-hearted man I'm speaking to. Host: Me, hard-hearted? I'm nothing of the sort. I never was that, and you know it well. Peasant: I no longer have enough money to feed my daughter or my son. My daughter will go into service. My son will join up.

Host: And it is me who will be the cause of that? Well, it's not going to happen. You're a cruel man. As long as I live, you'll be my cross. Now let's see what we can do for you.

Peasant: You can do nothing for me. I'm heartbroken that I owe you anything, and I'll never again owe you anything. You do more harm with your insults than you do good with your deeds. If I had the money I would throw it in your face, but I haven't got it so my daughter will become whatever God pleases and my son will get himself killed if necessary. As for me I'll go begging but it won't be at your door. I'll not incur any more obligations towards such a wicked man as you. Make sure you get yourself paid out of my oxen and horses and implements - and much good may it do you. You were born to make people ungrateful and I don't want to be ungrateful.

Goodbye forever. Host: Wife! He's going away. Stop him! Hostess: Come here, friend, let's try and find a way to help you.

Peasant: I don't want any of his help. It costs too much.