family to Danvilliers, where he spent a year in retirement; recovering
from his wounds; and making up his mind to extricate himself from the
web of intrigue in which he had immeshed himself. The Fronde was already
at an end: it crumbled to pieces under the influence of fear and
corruption. Rochefoucauld had already broken with the prince of Conti
and the duchess de Longueville[27]: his last tie was to Condé. He
received representations from his friends, and, doubtless, his own mind
suggested the advantage of breaking this last link to an overthrown
party. One of the bribes held out to him was the marriage of his son
with mademoiselle de la Roche-Guyon, his cousin and an heiress. Desirous
of acting honourably, he sent Gourville to Brussels, to disengage him
from all ties with Condé. Gourville executed the task with his usual
sagacity: he represented to the prince that the duke could no longer be
of any service to him; and, having family reasons for wishing to return
to France, he asked his consent and permission. The prince admitted his
excuses, and freed him from every bond. Gourville then went to Paris, to
negotiate the duke's return with cardinal Mazarin. After some difficulty
he obtained an interview with the minister, who readily granted leave to
the duke to return, and completed his work by gaining over Gourville
himself.
Thus ended, as far as any trace remains to us, the active life of a man
who hereafter reaped lessons of wisdom from the busy scenes through
which he had passed. From various passages in Gourville's memoirs it is
evident that he spent the years immediately succeeding to the war on his
own estate of la Rochefoucauld. He was nearly ruined by the career he
had gone through; and, finding his affairs almost hopelessly deranged,
he asked Gourville, who had turned financier, to receive his rents and
revenues, and to undertake the management of his estate, household, and
debts, allowing him forty pistoles a month for dress and private
expenses; which arrangement lasted till his death. Subsequently he lived
almost entirely in Paris, where he made a part of what may emphatically
be called the best society, of which he was the greatest ornament; and
was respected and beloved by a circle of intimate and dear friends. He
had always been one of the chief ornaments of the Hotel de Rambouillet.
We cannot tell how far he deigned to adopt the jargon of the fair
_Précieuses_; but, as the society assembled there was celebrated as the
most intellectual and the most virtuous in Paris, it was an honour for a
man to belong to it.
It is singular also to remark, that the most unaffected writers of the
time of Louis XIV. had once figured as _Alcovistes_ or _Précieuses_.
Madame de la Fayette, who, in her works, adopted a simplicity of
sentiment and expression that contrasts forcibly with the bombast of the
school of Scuderi; madame de Sévigné, whose style is the most
delightful and easy in the world; Rochefoucauld, who, first among
moderns, concentrated his ideas, and, abjuring the diffuseness that
still reigned in literature, aimed at expressing his thoughts in as few
words as possible, had all been frequenters and favourites at the Hotel
de Rambouillet. It would seem that intellectual indolence is the mind's
greatest foe; and, once incited to think, persons of talent can easily
afterwards renounce a bad school. Platonic gallantries, metaphorical
conceits, and ridiculous phraseology, were not the only accomplishments
prized by the _Précieuses_. Learning and wit flourished among them; and
when Molière, with happy ridicule, had dissolved the charm that had
steeped them in folly, these remained, and shone forth brightly in the
persons already named, and others scarcely less celebrated--Ménage,
Balzac, Voiture, Bourdaloue, &c.
To return to Rochefoucauld himself. His best and dearest friend was
madame de la Fayette, the authoress of "La Princesse de Clèves," and
other works that mark her excellent taste and distinguished talents.
Madame de la Fayette was, in her youth, a pupil of Ménage and Rapin.
She learned Latin under their tuition, and rose above her masters in the
quickness of her comprehension. In general society she carefully
concealed her acquirements. "She understood Latin," Segrais writes, "but
she never allowed her knowledge to appear; so not to excite the jealousy
of other women." She was intimately allied to all the clever men of the
time, and respected and loved by them. She was a woman of a strong mind;
witty and discerning, frank, kind-hearted, and true. Rochefoucauld owed
much to her, while she had obligations to him. Their friendship was of
mutual benefit. "He gave me intellect," she said, "and I reformed his
heart."
This heart might well need reform and cure from all of evil it had
communicated with during long years of intrigue and adventure. The
easiness of his temper, his turn for gallantry, the mobile nature of his
mind, rendered him susceptible to the contamination of the bad passions
then so active around him. Ardent, ambitious, subtle,--we find him, in
the time of the Fronde, busiest among the intriguers; eager in pursuit
of his objects, yet readily turned aside; violent in his hatred,
passionate in his attachments, yet easily detached from both, after the
first fire had burnt out. His vacillation of conduct and feeling at that
time caused it to be said, that he always made a quarrel in the morning,
and the employment of his day was to make it up by evening. Cardinal de
Retz, his great enemy, accuses him or thinking too ill of human
nature.[28] Thrown among the fools, knaves, and demoralised women of the
Fronde, we cannot wonder that he, seeing the extent of the evil of which
human nature is capable, was unaware that these very passions, regulated
by moral principle and religion, would animate men to virtue as well as
to vice. He read this lesson subsequently in his own heart, when,
turning from the libertine society with which he spent his youth, he
became the friend of madame de la Fayette, madame de Sévigné, and the
most distinguished persons of the reign of Louis XIV. Yet the taint
could not quite be effaced. It left his heart, but it blotted his
understanding. He could feel generous, noble, and pious sentiments; but
having once experienced emotions the reverse of these, and having found
them deep-rooted in others, he fancied that both virtue and vice, good
and evil, sprang from the same causes, and were based on the same
foundations. Added to this, we may observe that his best friends
belonged to a court. True and just as was madame de la Fayette,--amiable
and disinterested as madame de Sévigné,--brave as Turenne,--noble as
Condé,--pious as Racine,--honest as Boileau,--devout and moral as
madame de Maintenon might be, and were, the taint of a court was spread
over all; the desire of being well with the sovereign, and making a
monarch's favour the cynosure of hearts and the measure of merit.
Rochefoucauld fancied that he could discern selfishness in all; yet, had
he turned his eye inward with a clearer view, he had surely found that
the impulses that caused his own heart to warm with friendship and
virtue, were based on a power of forgetting self in extraneous objects;
for he was a faithful, affectionate, and disinterested friend, a fond
father, and an honourable man. He was brave also; though madame de
Maintenon tells us that he was accustomed to say that he looked on
personal bravery as folly. This speech lets us into much of the secret
recesses of his mind. His philosophy was epicurean; and, wanting the
stoic exaltation of sentiment, and worship of good for good's sake, he
mistook the principles of the human mind, and saw no excellence in a
forgetfulness of self, the capacity for which he was thus led to
deny.[29] Madame de Maintenon adds, in her portrait, "M. de
Rochefoucauld had an agreeable countenance, a dignified manner, much
intellect, and little knowledge. He was intriguing, supple, foreseeing.
I never knew a friend more constant, more frank, nor more prudent in his
advice. He loved to reign: he was very brave. He preserved the vivacity
of his mind till his death; and was always lively and agreeable, though
naturally serious."
The latter part of his life was embittered by the gout, which seldom
left him free from pain. The society of madame de la Fayette and other
friends were his resource during the intervals of his attacks, and his
comfort throughout. Madame de Sévigné makes frequent mention of him in
her letters, and always in a way that marks approbation and respect. She
often speaks of his fortitude in suffering bodily pain, and his
sensibility when domestic misfortunes visited him severely. His courage
never abandoned him, except when death deprived him of those he loved.
One of his sons was killed and another wounded in the passage of the
Rhine. "I have seen," writes madame de Sévigné, "his heart laid bare
by this cruel disaster. He is the first among all the men I ever knew
for courage, goodness, tenderness, and sense. I count his wit and
agreeable qualities as nothing in comparison." It is from her letters
that we gather an account of his death. Mention is made of him, as well
and enjoying society, in the month of February.
[Sidenote: 1680.
Ætat.
67.]
On the 13th of March she writes, "M. de la Rochefoucauld has been and is
seriously ill. He is better to-day; but there is every appearance of
death: he has a high fever, an oppression, a suppressed gout. There has
been question of the English doctor and other physicians: he has chosen
his godfather; and frère Ange will kill him, if God has thus disposed.
M. de Marsillac is expected: madame de la Fayette is deeply afflicted."
On the 15th of the same month she writes, "I fear that this time we
shall lose M. de la Rochefoucauld: his fever continues. He received the
communion yesterday. He is in a state worthy of admiration. He is
excellently disposed with regard to his conscience,--that is clear: for
the rest, it is to him as if his neighbour were ill: he is neither moved
nor troubled. He hears the cause of the physicians pleaded before him
with an unembarrassed head, and almost without deigning to give his
opinion. It reminded me of the verse,
Trop dessous de lui, pour y prêter l'esprit.
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.]