Part 2 (1/2)
[Footnote 6: It is possible that the conversation of Mme de Sable concentrated his thoughts on self-love. A contemporary MS. says of that lady, ”Elle flatte fort l'amour propre quand elle parle aux gens.” But egotism was a new discovery which fascinated everybody in the third quarter of the century.]
Let us turn to the few, but profoundly beautiful reflections which form the constructive element in La Rochefoucauld's teaching. His aim in edification is to train us to dig through the crust of social sham to the limpid truth which exists in the dark centre of our souls--
”If there is a pure love, he says, exempt from all admixture with other pa.s.sions, it is that which lies hidden at the bottom of the heart, and of which we ourselves are ignorant.”
Unlike Mandeville, our own great cynic of the eighteenth century, La Rochefoucauld, while calling in question the reality of almost all benevolent impulses, stopped short of denying the existence of virtue itself. He would not have said, as the author of the ”Fable of the Bees” (1714) did, that the ”hunting after this _pulchrum et honestum_ is not much better than a wild-goose chase.” But he had a strong contempt for the humbugs of the world, and among them he placed unflinching optimists. One of the main forms of humbug in his day was the legend that everybody acted n.o.bly for the sake of other people.
This La Rochefoucauld stoutly denied, but he was not so excessive as his commentators in his condemnation of that self-love which he declares to be the source of all our moral actions. He insinuates the possibility of an innocent and even a beneficial egotism. He says, ”The praise which is given us serves to fix us in the practice of virtue,” and if that is true, _amour-propre_ must be practically useful. Helvetius, who made some very valuable comments on the ”Maximes” a hundred years later, pointed out that _amour-propre_ is not in itself an evil thing, but is a sentiment implanted in us all by nature, and that this sentiment is transformed in every human being into either vice or virtue, so that although we are all egoists, some are good and some are bad.
La Rochefoucauld, therefore, while he takes a very dark view of the selfishness of the human race, softens the shades of his picture by admitting that egotism may be, and often must be, advantageous not merely to the individual but to the race. And here we find the key to one of the oddest pa.s.sages in his works, that in which he attributes his inspiration to two saints, St. Augustine and St. Epicurus! He says--
Everybody wishes to be happy; that is the aim of all the acts of life. Spurious men of the world and spurious men of piety only seek for the appearance of virtue, and I believe that in matters of morality, Seneca was a hypocrite and Epicurus was a saint. I know of nothing in the world so beautiful as n.o.bility of heart and loftiness of mind: from these proceeds that perfect integrity which I set above all other qualities, and which seems to me, at my present stage of life, to be of more price than a royal crown. But I am not sure whether, in order to live happily and as a man of the highest sense of honour, it is not better to be Alcibiades and Phaedo than to be Aristides and Socrates.
It would take us too far out of our path to comment on the relation of this epicureanism to the religion of La Rochefoucauld's day, but a few words seem necessary on this subject. He says extremely little about religion, although he makes the necessary and perhaps not wholly perfunctory, statement that he was orthodox. But the position of a votary of St. Epicurus had grown difficult. Since the Duke's exile, the enmity between the church and the world had become violent, so violent that a man of prominent social and intellectual position was bound to take one side or another. We may note that the years during which the ”Maximes” were being composed were precisely those during which Bossuet was thundering from the pulpit his anathemas against worldly luxury and the pride of life. The period marked at one extremity by ”L'Amour des Pa.s.sions” (1660) and at the other by the ”Grandeurs Humains” (1663) is precisely that in which the lapidary art of La Rochefoucauld was most a.s.siduous. The church was advocating asceticism and humility with all its authority, and was leading up towards the later phase of the fanatical despotism of Louis XIV.'s old age, with all its attendant hypocrisy. For the moment, in the struggle, La Rochefoucauld, though no _devot_, would seem a friend of the church rather than a foe, and in fact he retained the intimacy of Bossuet, in whose arms he died. We may be sure that he guarded himself with delicate care from the charge of being what was then called a ”libertine,” that is a man openly at war with the theory and practice of the theologians.
It is said that La Rochefoucauld invented[7] the word ”vraie,” ”true,”
to describe the character of Mme de La Fayette. His intimacy with this ill.u.s.trious lady is one of the most beautiful episodes in the history of literature, and perhaps its purest example of true friends.h.i.+p between the s.e.xes. The phrase we have already quoted shows that in 1663 the two great writers were acquainted but not yet intimate. Marie de la Vergne, Comtesse de La Fayette, was in her thirtieth year, La Rochefoucauld had completed his fiftieth when some cause which remains obscure drew them together with a tie which death alone, after seventeen wonderful years of almost unbroken a.s.sociation, was to sever. There was no scandal about it, even in that scandal-mongering age. The astute Mile de Scudery, writing to her gossip Bussy Rabutin (December 6, 1675), says, ”Nothing could be happier for her, or more dignified for him; the fear of G.o.d on either side, and perhaps prudence as well, have clipped the wings of love.” Twelve years before, when Menage had repeated to her some critical remarks about her novel, ”La Princesse de Montpensier,” Mme de La Fayette had replied, ”I am greatly obliged to M. de la Rochefoucauld for his expressions. They are the result of our similarity of experience, 'de la belle sympathie qui est entre nous.'”
[Footnote 7: Mme de Sevigne seems not to have known this when, in writing to her daughter (July 19, 1671), she claims to have been the first to say _vraie_ when she meant sincere, loyal. ”Il y a longtemps que je dis que vous etes _vraie_”]
The famous friends were excluded by their physical conditions from the activities of life. Mme de La Fayette, who was perhaps something of a hypochondriac, tossed all day among the pillows of that golden bed with the extravagance of which the austerity of Mme de Maintenon upbraided her. La Rochefoucauld, tormented by the gout, lay stretched at her side in his long chair, and the days went by in endless discussion, endless balancing of right and wrong, much gossip, much reading of books new and old, and not a little consultation of artist with artist. They kept their secrets well, and no curiosity of successive critics has been able to discover how much of La Rochefoucauld is hidden in the pages of ”La Princesse de Cleves”, the earliest of the modern novels of the world, nor how much of Mme de La Fayette in the revised and re-revised text of the ”Maximes.” [8] But we know that she was no less sagacious and no less an enemy to illusion than he was, and those are probably not far wrong who have detected a softening influence from her conversation on the late genius of La Rochefoucauld.
In 1675 Mme de Thiange presented to the Duke du Maine a toy which has long ago disappeared, and for the recovery of which I would gladly exchange many a grand composition of painting and sculpture. It was a sort of gilded doll's house, representing the interior of a _salon_.
Over the door was written, ”Chambre des Sublimes.” Inside were wax portrait-figures of living celebrities, the Duke du Maine in one arm-chair; in another La Rochefoucauld, who was handing him some ma.n.u.script. By the arm-chairs were standing Bossuet, then Bishop of Condom, and La Rochefoucauld's eldest son, M. de Marcillac. At the other end of the alcove Mme de La Fayette and Mme de Thiange were reading verses together. Outside the bal.u.s.trade, Boileau with a pitchfork was preventing seven or eight bad poets from entering, to the amus.e.m.e.nt and approval of Racine, who was already inside, and of La Fontaine, who was invited to come forward. The likeness of these little waxen images is said to have been perfect, and there can hardly be fancied a relic of that fine society which would be more valuable to us in re-establis.h.i.+ng its social character. We know not what became of it in the next generation. No doubt, the wax grew dusty, and the figures lost their heads and hands, and some petulant chatelaine doomed the ruined treasure to the dustbin.
[Footnote 8: Bussy Rabutin writes to Mme de Sevigne that he hears that La Rochefoucauld and Mme de La Fayette are preparing ”quelque chose de fort joli.” This shows that before ”La Princess de Cleves” was finished the Duke's name was identified with its composition.]
No mention of Mme de Sevigne is made in the inventory of the ”Chambre des Sublimes,” and yet there is no one to whom we owe an exacter portraiture of its inmates, nor one who was more worthy to animate its golden recesses. For the last ten years of La Rochefoucauld's life she was one of the closest observers of the famous sedentary friends.h.i.+p.
Unfortunately she tells us nothing about the original publication of the ”Maximes,” for his name does not occur in her correspondence before 1668, and does not abound there until 1670. Then we find her for ever at the Duke's house, or meeting him at Mme de La Fayette's bedside. He gratified her by warm and constant praise of Mme de Grignan, whose letters were regularly read to the friends by her infatuated mother. It is vexing that Mme de Sevigne, who might have spared us two or three of her immortal pages, although she incessantly mentions and even quotes La Rochefoucauld, generally refrains from describing him. She and Mme de La Fayette were his guests in the country on May 15, and the three wonderful companions walked in the harmony of ”nightingales, hawthorns, lilacs, fountains and fine weather,” or played with his pet white mouse. Such touches are rare, and Paris seems best to suit what Mme de Sevigne admirably calls ”the grey-brown” thought of La Rochefoucauld.
In 1671 he had a terrible attack of the gout, accompanied by agonies moral and physical which filled the ladies with alarm and pity. Better in 1672, he was able to entertain company to hear Corneille read his new tragedy of ”Pulcherie” in January, and Moliere his new comedy, ”Les Femmes Savantes,” in March. He was now, in premature old age, the venerable figure in the group, the benevolent Nestor of the salons.
Let his detractors remember that Mme de Sevigne, who knew what she was talking about, wrote that ”he is the most lovable man I have ever known,” His sufferings, his disenchantments and disappointments, only seemed to accentuate his beautiful patience. Just before his fatal illness (January 31, 1680) Mme de Sevigne writes again: ”I have never seen a man so obliging, nor more amiable in his wish to give pleasure by what he says.” [9] Her detailed and pathetic account of his last hours, which closed on the night of March 16, 1680, testifies to her deep attachment and to Mme de La Fayette's despair.
[Footnote 9: Two of La Fontaine's fables, ”L'Homme et son Image” and ”Les Lapins,” were dedicated to La Rochefoucauld in 1668. In the former we read:--
_On voit bien ou je veux venir.
Je parle a tous, et cette erreur extreme Est un mal que chacun se plait d'entretenir Notre ame, c'est cet homme amoureux de lui-meme; Tant de miroirs, ce sont les sottises d'autrui, Miroirs, de nos defauts les peintres legitimes; Et quant au ca.n.a.l, c'est celui, Que chacun sait: le livre des Maximes._]
When Mme de Sevigne, in 1675, received the third edition of the Duke's book, which contained more than seventy new maxims, she wrote, ”Some of them are divine; some of them, I am ashamed to say, I don't understand.”
Probably she would have partly agreed with some one's criticism of them, ”De l'esprit, encore de l'esprit, et toujours de l'esprit--trop d'esprit!” [10] No doubt, La Rochefoucauld has done his own reputation wrong by the bl.u.s.ter of his scepticism and also by the fact that he sometimes wraps his thoughts up in such a blaze of epigram that we are disconcerted to find, when we a.n.a.lyze them, that they are commonplaces.
Contemporaries seemed to have smiled at the excessive subtlety into which their long conversations led Mme de La Fayette and her sublime companion. Mme de Sevigne describes such talks with her delicate irony, and says, ”We plunged into subtleties which were beyond our intelligence.” An example is the dispute whether ”Grace is to the body what good sense is to the mind,” or ”Grace is to the body what delicacy is to the mind” should be the ultimate form of a maxim. They sometimes drew the spider's thread so fine that it became invisible.[11]
[Footnote 10: The practice of making ”maxims,” _axiomata_, encouraged the enlivenment of conversation by the introduction of topsy-turvy statements, such as ”Constancy is merely inconstancy arrested,” in the manner of Oscar Wilde and Mr. Chesterton.]
[Footnote 11: La Rochefoucauld was not without affectations. He spoke airily about his _maniere negligee_ of writing, whereas no one ever took more pains. Segrais gives very interesting information on this point: he says that the Duke ”sent me from time to time what he had been working on, and he wished me to keep these note-books of his for five or six weeks, so as to be able to give them my closest attention, particularly with regard to the turn of the thoughts and the arrangement of the words. Some of his maxims he altered as many as thirty times.” But when he wrote to Esprit, in 1660, La Rochefoucauld affected to regard his own writings as trifles thrown off ”au coin de mon feu” The great of the earth have these amiable and amusing weaknesses.]
But his clearness of insight was immense, and he was too profoundly intelligent to be a merely destructive or sterile force. He builded better than he knew. For instance, courage, it has been alleged, he denies, and indeed he is so savage in his exposure of braggadocio that it might well be believed that he refused to admit that men could be brave. Yet what does he say?--
”Intrepidity is an extraordinary force of the soul which lifts it above those troubles, disorders and emotions which the aspect of great peril would otherwise excite; it is by this force that heroes maintain themselves in a state of equanimity, preserving the free use of their reason through the most surprising and the most terrible accidents.”
This must include the most moving of all accidents, those which call forth moral and physical courage in the face of national danger, and are rewarded by _gloire_, by public and lasting fame. And we are led on to a consideration of the lengthy reflection on the spirit in which the approach of death should be faced, with which he closed the latest edition of the ”Maximes,” declaring that ”the splendour of dying with a firm spirit, the hope of being regretted, the desire to leave a fair reputation behind us, the a.s.surance of being released from the drudgery of life and of depending no more on the caprices of fortune,”