Part 9

He did not see madame de la Fayette yesterday, because she wept, and he was to take the sacrament: he sent at noon to inquire after her. Believe me that he has not made reflections all his life to no purpose. He has in this manner approached so near to the last moments that their actual presence has nothing new nor strange for him. M. de Marsillac arrived at midnight, the day before yesterday, overwhelmed with grief. He was long before he could command his countenance and manner. He entered at last, and found his father in his chair, little different from his usual appearance. As M. de Marsillac is his friend among his children, there must have been some internal emotion; but he manifested none, and forgot to speak to him of his illness. I am continually with madame de la Fayette, who could never have experienced the delights of friendship and affection were she less afflicted than she is." On the 17th of March the scene closed; and madame de Sévigné writes, "M. de la Rochefoucauld died this night. My head is so full of this misfortune, and of the extreme affliction of my poor friend, that I must write about it. On Saturday, yesterday, the remedies had done wonders; victory was proclaimed; his fever had diminished. In this state, yesterday, at six o'clock, he turned to death: fever recurred; and, in a word, gout treacherously strangled him: and, although he was still strong, and had not been weakened by losing blood, five or six hours sufficed to carry him off. At midnight he expired in the arms of M. de Condom (Bossuet). M. de Marsillac never quitted him for a moment: he is plunged in inexpressible affliction. Yet he will return to his former life; find the king and the court as they were; and his family will still be around him. But where will madame de la Fayette find such a friend, such society; a similar kindness, resource, and reliance, or equal consideration for herself and her son? She is infirm; she is always at home, and cannot run about town. M. de la Rochefoucauld was sedentary. This state rendered them necessary to each other and nothing could equal their mutual confidence, and the charm of their friendship." This grief, this friendship, is the most honourable monument a man can receive: who would not desire thus to be sepultured in the heart of one loved and valued? One might regret the pain felt; but, as madame de la Sévigné so beautifully observes, this pain is the proof of the truth and warmth of the affection that united them, and the pleasure they mutually imparted and received. In successive letters there are traces of the inconsolable affliction of madame de la Fayette. "She has fallen from the clouds: every moment she perceives the loss she has suffered;" and again, "Poor madame de la Fayette knows not what to do with herself. The loss of M. de la Rochefoucauld makes so terrible a void in her life that she feels more sensibly the value of so delightful an intimacy. Every one will be consoled at last, except her." A sadder testimonial of her affection is contained in a short passage, saying, "I saw madame de la Fayette. I found her in tears: a writing of M. de la Rochefoucauld had fallen into her hands which surprised and afflicted her." We are not told the subject of this paper, nor the cause of her affliction: was it some trace of past unkindness or secret injustice? These are the stings, this the poison, of death. There is no recall for a hasty word; no excuse, no pardon, no forgetfulness, for injustice or neglect;--the grave that has closed over the living form, and blocked up the future, causes the past to be indelible; and, as human weakness for ever errs, here it finds the punishment of its errors. While we love, let us ever remember that the loved one may die,--that we ourselves may die. Let all be true and open, let all he faithful and single-hearted, or the poison-harvest reaped after death may infect with pain and agony one's life of memory. We may say, in defence of Rochefoucauld, that Gourville, in his memoirs, alludes to a circumstance that annoyed him with regard to madame de la Fayette: he says that, taking advantage of Gourville's attachment to his former master, she and M. de Langlade plotted together to do him an ill turn, which would have turned greatly to the lady's advantage; and that, at the time of the duke's death, it was said that he was much hurt at having discovered this little intrigue. At the same time madame de la Fayette may have been innocent of the charge. Gourville disliked her, and might accuse her unjustly, and have deceived Rochefoucauld by representations which were false, though he believed in them himself.

We have entered thus fully into all the details known of Rochefoucauld's life, that we might understand better on what principles and feelings the "Maxims" were founded. We find a warm heart, an impetuous temper, joined to great ductility, some insincerity, and no imagination we find a penetrating understanding, joined to extreme subtlety, that might well overshoot itself in its aim;--strong attachments, which took the colour greatly of their object. Disease tamed his passions; but his mind was still free to observe, and to form opinions. The result was an Epicurean philosophy, which answered the _cui bono_ by a perpetual reference to self--to pleasure and to pain; while he passed over the first principle of morals, which is, that it is not the pleasure we receive from good actions which actuates us, but love of good. This passion produces pleasure or pain in its result; but the latter is the effect forgotten till it arrives; the former the cause, the impelling motive, the true source, from which our virtues spring. Were we to praise a knife for being sharp, and a stander-by should say, "It deserves no praise. No wonder that it is sharp: it is made of the finest tempered steel, and infinite labour has been bestowed on the manufacture of it:" should we not reply, "Therefore we praise it: because the material is good, and has been rendered better by care, we consider it excellent." The passions and the affections, by their influence over the soul, produce pleasure or pain; but shall we not love and approve those who take pleasure in cultivating virtuous affections, and rejecting vicious ones? Thus considered, it may be said that the question is reduced to a mere war of words; but in practice it is not so. No person could habitually entertain the idea that he was selfish in all he did without weakening his love of good, and, at last, persuading himself to make self-interest, in a confined and evil sense, the aim of his actions; while if, on the contrary, we recognise and appreciate that faculty of the soul, that permits us to forget self in the object of our desire, we shall be more eagerly bent to entertain piety, virtue, and honour, as objects to be attained; satisfied that thus we render ourselves better beings, though, probably, not happier than those of meaner aspirations.

We turn to Rochefoucauld's maxims, and find ample field for explanation of our view in the observations that they suggest. We cannot turn to them without discussing inwardly their truth and falsehood. Some are true as truth: such as--

"There is in the human heart a perpetual generation of passions; so that the destruction of one is almost always the birth of another."

"We promise according to our hopes; we perform according to our fears."

"No one is either so happy or so unhappy as he imagines."

"Fortune turns every thing to the advantage of those whom she favours."

"There is but one true love; but there are a thousand copies."

"It is more shameful to distrust our friends than to be deceived by them."

"A fool has not stuff enough in him to be virtuous."

"Our minds are more indolent than our bodies."

"Jealousy is always born with love, but does not always die with it."

"It would seem that nature has concealed talents and capacities in the depths of our minds of which we have no knowledge: the passions alone can bring these into day, and give us more certain and perfect views than art can afford."

"We arrive quite new at the different ages of life; and often want experience in spite of the number of years we have lived."

"It is being truly virtuous to be willing to be always exposed to the view of the virtuous."

Some maxims are too subtle; and among such is to be ranked the celebrated one, "That we often find something in the misfortunes of our best friends that is not displeasing to us." Taking this in its most obvious sense it merely means, that no evil is so great but that some good accompanies it. Our own personal misfortunes even bring, at times, some sort of compensation, without which they would be intolerable. Regarded more narrowly, it appears that Rochefoucauld meant that we are ready to look upon the sorrows of our friends as something advantageous to ourselves. This, in a precise sense, is totally false, where there is question of real affection and true friendship. There is an emotion, however, of a singular description that does often arise in the heart on hearing bad news. The simple-minded Lavater, in his journal, was aware of this. He mentions that, on hearing that a friend had fallen into affliction, he felt an involuntary emotion of pleasure. Examination explains to us the real nature of this feeling. The human mind is adverse (we talk of the generality of instances, not of exceptions,) to repose: any thing that gives it hope of exercise, and puts it in motion, is pleasurable. The consciousness of existence is a pleasure; and any novelty of sensation that is not personally painful brings this. When Lavater heard that his friend was in affliction he was roused from the monotony of his daily life. Novelty had charms: he had to tell his wife to set out on a journey for the purpose of seeing and consoling his friend. All this made him conscious of existence, gave him the hope of being useful, caused his blood to flow more freely, and thus even imparted physical pleasure; and, indeed, I should be apt to reduce the essence of this emotion to mere physical sensation, occasioned by an accelerated pulsation, the result of excitement. It may be, and it is, right to record this sensation in any history of the human mind; but it ought to be appreciated at its true value as the mere operation of the lower part of our nature for the most part, and, added to that, pleasure in the expectation of being of use.

This sort of anatomy of mind, when we detect evil in the involuntary impulses of the soul, resembles the scruples felt by an over-pious person, who regards the satisfying hunger and receiving pleasure in eating a dry crust as sin. Dissecting things thus, it becomes difficult to say what is a misfortune. It is a misfortune to lose one's child; so natural and instinctive is the sorrow that ensues that, perhaps, no other can be purer. If a friend lose a child, if we loved that child also, the misfortune becomes our own, and our sympathy may be perfect. If the child promised ill, the pain we feel from our friend's grief may be mitigated by the sense that it is ill-founded, and even that we may derive benefit from the loss lamented: not being blinded by parental passion, we may rejoice in the alleviations foresight and reason present to us. To call this selfishness is to quarrel with the structure of human nature, which is based on personal identity and consciousness. Passion enables us to throw off even these, sometimes, and totally to amalgamate our interests with those of another. But this is, indeed, of rare occurrence.

We may remark, also, that even in those instances in which the mind does recognise benefit to arise from the misfortune of a friend, and feel involuntary self-gratulation, we regard this as a crime or a vice, and reject it as such, showing the power of disinterestedness over selfishness by dismissing and abhorring the feeling.

The Fronde was the soil in which the "Maxims" had root: better times softened their harshness, and inspired better and higher thoughts. But the younger life of Rochefoucauld was spent in a society demoralised to a degree unknown before--when self-interest was acknowledged as the principle of all; and the affections alone kept a "few green spots"--rare oases of beauty and virtue--amidst the blighted and barren waste of ambition and vice. Usually public revulsions give birth to heroism as well as crime; and war and massacre are elevated and redeemed by courage and self-devotion. But, in the time of the Fronde, there were no very great crimes, and no exalted actions: vice and folly, restless desire of power, and an eager, yet aimless, party spirit, animated society. Hence the mean opinion Rochefoucauld formed of human nature; and the very subtlety and penetration of his intellect occasioned him to err yet more widely in his conclusions. To adopt a maxim of his own, he erred, not by not reaching the mark, but going beyond it. Not that he went so far as his followers. Dry Scotch metaphysicians, men without souls, reduced to a system what he announced merely as of frequent occurrence. They tell us that self-interest is the mover of all our actions: Rochefoucauld only says "self-interest puts to use every sort of virtue and vice." But he does not say that every sort of virtue, or even vice, in all persons is impregnated with self-interest, though with many it is; and there are a multitude of his remarks which display a thorough appreciation of excellence. The maxims themselves are admirably expressed; the language is pure and elegant; the thoughts clearly conceived, and forcibly worded.

Besides the maxims, Rochefoucauld wrote memoirs of various periods of the regency of Anne of Austria and the wars of the Fronde. Bayle bestows great encomium on this work: "I am sure," he says, "there are few partisans of antiquity who will not set a higher value on the duke de la Rochefoucauld's memoirs than on Cæsar's commentaries."[30] To which remark the only reply must be, that Bayle was better able to dissect motives, appreciate actions, and reason on truth and falsehood, than to discover the merit of a literary work. "Rochefoucauld's memoirs are still read:" such is Voltaire's notice, while he bestows great praise on the maxims. The chief fault of the memoirs is the subject of them,--the wars of the Fronde,--a period of history distinguished by no men of exalted excellence; neither adorned by admirable actions nor conducing to any amelioration in the state of society: it was a war of knaves (not fools) for their own advancement, ending in their deserved defeat.

[Footnote 20: Mémoires de Gourville.]

[Footnote 21: Mémoires de la Regence d'Anne d'Autriche, par le duc de la Rochefoucauld.]

[Footnote 22: It is well known that the history of the troubles of the Fronde is recounted by a variety of eye-witnesses, no two of which agree in their account of motives--scarcely of facts. Cardinal de Retz, in his memoirs, gives a somewhat different account of the adhesion of madame de Longueville to his party. It is singular to remark how each person in his relation makes himself the prime mover. Rochefoucauld makes us to almost understand that he drew over the princess to the Fronde. The cardinal tells us that, seeing madame de Longueville one day by chance, he conceived a hope, soon realised, of bringing her over to his party. He tells us that at that time M. de la Rochefoucauld was attached to her. He was living at Poitou; but came to Paris about three weeks afterwards; and thus Rochefoucauld and De Retz were brought together. The former had been accused of deserting his party, which rendered De Retz at first disinclined to join with him; but these accusations were unfounded, and necessity brought them much together. The cardinal allows that madame de Longueville had no natural love for politics,--she was too indolent;--anger, arising from her elder brother's treatment, first led her to wish to oppose his party; gallantry led her onward; and this causing party spirit to be but the second of her motives, instead of being a heroine, she became an adventuress.]

[Footnote 23: Rochefoucauld's Mémoires; Mémoires de Gourville; James's Life and Times of Louis XIV.]

[Footnote 24: Mémoires du duc de Rochefoucauld.]

[Footnote 25: Cardinal de Retz relates a scene in which he spoke disparagingly of Rochefoucauld. He supposes that this was reported to the duke: "I know not whether this was the case," he says; "but I could never discover any other cause for the first hatred that M. de la Rochefoucauld conceived against me."]

[Footnote 26: Cardinal de Retz, in describing this scene, declares that Rochefoucauld called out to Coligny and Recousse to kill De Retz, as he held him pinned in the doorway: they refused; while a partisan of the coadjutor came to his aid, and, representing that it was a shame and a horror to commit such an assassination, Rochefoucauld allowed the door to open. Joly relates the occurrence in the same manner; and, although a little softened in expression, the duke's account does not materially differ.]

[Footnote 27: The couplet, written by Rochefoucauld at the bottom of a portrait of the duchess de Longueville is well known.

"Pour mériter son cœur, pour plaire à ses beaux yeux, J'ai fait la guerre aux rois: je l'aurois faite aux dieux."

When he quarrelled with her, after his wound in the combat of the fauxbourg de St. Antoine, he parodied it.

"Pour ce cœur inconstant, qu'enfin je connois mieux, J'ai fait la guerre aux rois; j'en ai perdu les yeux."

It may here be mentioned, that the prince of Conti and the duchess of Longueville held out in Bordeaux and Guienne against the royal authority for several years. Through the interposition of Gourville they acceded to terms in 1658. The conclusion of madame de Longueville's life was singular. Cardinal de Retz and Rochefoucauld both describe her as naturally indolent; but they both so inoculated her with a love of party intrigue, that, when the war of the Fronde ceased, she found it impossible to reconcile herself to a quiet life. She became jansenist. She built herself a dwelling close to the abbey of Port Royal aux Champs. She put herself forward in all the disputes, and was looked up to with reverence by the leaders of the party, and contrived, when every one else had failed, to suspend the disturbances caused by the formula. "A singular woman," the French biographer writes, "who even became renowned while working out her salvation, and saved herself on the same plank from hell and from ennui." Her piety was sincere, for she submitted to great personal privations, and fasted so strictly, that she died, it is said, from inanition. She died about a month after the duke de la Rochefoucauld. The bishop of Autun preached her funeral oration, as madame de Sévigné says, with all the ability, tact, and grace that it was possible to conceive. The children and friends of Rochefoucauld were among his audience, and wept his death anew.]

[Footnote 28: "Il y a toujours eût du je ne sais quoi en tout M. de la Rochefoucauld. Il a voulu se mêler d'intrigues dès son enfance, et en un temps où il ne sentait pas les petits intérêts, qui n'ont jamais été son faible, et où il ne connoissait pas les grands, qui, d'un autre sens, n'ont pas été son tort. Il n'a jamais été capable d'aucune affaire, et je ne sais pourquoi; car il avait des qualités qui eussent suplié, en tout autre celles qu'il n'avait pas. Sa vue n'était pas assez étendue, et il ne voyait pas même tout ensemble ce qui était à sa portée; mais son bon sens, très bon dans la speculation, joint à sa douceur, à son insinuation, et à sa facilité de mœurs, qui est admirable, devait recompenser plus qu'il n'a fait le défaut de sa pénétration. Il a toujours eût une irrésolution habituelle; mais je ne sais même à quoi attribuer cette irrésolution: elle n'a pu venir en lui de la fécondité de son imagination, qui est rien moins que vive. Je ne puis la donner à la stérilité de son jugement, car quoiqu'il ne l'ait pas exquis dans l'action, il à un bon fonds de raison. Nous voyons l'effect de cette irrésolution, quoique nous n'en connaissons pas la cause. Il n'a jamais été guérier, quoiqu'il fut très soldat. Il n'a jamais été par lui même bon courtisan, quoiqu'il ait eût toujours bonne intention de l'être. Il n'a jamais été bon homme de parti, quoique toute sa vie il y ait été engagé. Cet air de honte et de timidité que vous lui voyez dans la vie civile s'était tourné dans les affaires en air d'apologie. Il croyait toujours en avoir besoin, ce qui jointes a ses maximes, qui ne marquent pas assez de foi à la vertu, et à sa pratique, qui a toujours été à sortir des affaires avec autant d'impatience qu'il y est entré, me fait conclure qu'il eut beaucoup mieux fait de se connaître et de se réduire à passer, comme il eût pu, pour le courtisan le plus poli et pour le plus honnête homme, à l'égard de la vie commune, qui eût paru dans le siècle."

Such is the character de Retz gives of his rival. Madame de Sévigné has preserved a portrait of the cardinal by Rochefoucauld. He gives him high praise for good understanding and an admirable memory. He represents him as high minded, and yet more vain than ambitious; an easy temper, ready to listen to the complaints of his followers; indolent to excess, when allowed to repose, but equal to any exertion when called into action; and aided on all occasions by a presence of mind which enabled him to turn every chance so much to his advantage that it seemed as if each had been foreseen and desired by him. He relates that he was fond of narrating his past adventures; and his reputation was founded chiefly on his ability in placing his very defects in a good light. He even regards his last retreat as resulting from vanity, while his friend, madame de Sévigné, more justly looks upon it as resulting from the grandeur of his mind and love of justice.]

[Footnote 29: We doubt the exact truth of these assertions even while we write them. It is true that Rochefoucauld detects self-love as mingling in many of our actions and feelings, but he does not advance the opinion that no disinterested virtue can exist, and, still less, the Helvetian metaphysical notion that self-love is the spring of every emotion, which it is, inasmuch as it is we that feel, and that our emotions cause our pulses to beat, not another's; but is not, inasmuch as we do not consult our own interest or pleasure in all we feel and do. Madame de Sévigné relates an anecdote of an officer who had his arm carried off by the same cannon-ball that killed Turenne, but who, careless of the mutilation, threw himself weeping on the corpse of the hero. She adds that Rochefoucauld shed tears when he heard this told. Such tears are a tribute paid to disinterested virtue; and prove, though the author of the "Maxims" could trace dross in ore wherever it existed, yet that he believed that virtue could be found in entire purity.]

[Footnote 30: Bayle's Dictionary, article Cæsar.]

MOLIÈRE

1622-1673

Louis XIV. one day asked Boileau "Which writer of his reign he considered the most distinguished;" Boileau answered, unhesitatingly, "Molière." "You surprise me," said the king; "but of course you know best." Boileau displayed his discernment in this reply. The more we learn of Molière's career, and inquire into the peculiarities of his character, the more we are struck by the greatness of his genius and the admirable nature of the man. Of all French writers he is the least merely French. His dramas belong to all countries and ages; and, as if as a corollary to this observation, we find, also, an earnestness of feeling, and a deep tone of passion in his character, that raises him above our ordinary notions of Gallic frivolity.