Reflections; or Sentences and Moral Maxims
peace after so much strife, a loyal subject after so much treason.
One of his friends, Madame Deshoulieres, shortly before he died sent
him an ode on death, which aptly describes his state-- "Oui, soyez alors
plus ferme, Que ces vulgaires humains Qui, pres de leur dernier terme,
De vaines terreurs sont pleins. En sage que rien n'offense, Livrez-vous
sans resistance A d'inevitables traits; Et, d'une demarche egale, Passez
cette onde fatal Qu'on ne repasse jamais."
Rochefoucauld left behind him only two works, the one, Memoirs of his
own time, the other the Maxims. The first described the scenes in which
his youth had been spent, and though written in a lively style, and
giving faithful pictures of the intrigues and the scandals of the court
during Louis XIV.'s minority, yet, except to the historian, has ceased
at the present day to be of much interest. It forms, perhaps, the true
key to understand the special as opposed to general application of the
maxims.
Notwithstanding the assertion of Bayle, that "there are few people so
bigoted to antiquity as not to prefer the Memoirs of La Rochefoucauld
to the Commentaries of Caesar," or the statement of Voltaire, "that the
Memoirs are universally read and the Maxims are learnt by heart," few
persons at the present day ever heard of the Memoirs, and the knowledge
of most as to the Maxims is confined to that most celebrated of all,
though omitted from his last edition, "There is something in the
misfortunes of our best friends which does not wholly displease us." Yet
it is difficult to assign a cause for this; no book is perhaps oftener
unwittingly quoted, none certainly oftener unblushingly pillaged; upon
none have so many contradictory opinions been given.
"Few books," says Mr. Hallam, "have been more highly extolled, or more
severely blamed, than the maxims of the Duke of Rochefoucauld, and that
not only here, but also in France." Rousseau speaks of it as, "a sad and
melancholy book," though he goes on to say "it is usually so in youth
when we do not like seeing man as he is." Voltaire says of it, in the
words above quoted, "One of the works which most contributed to form the
taste of the (French) nation, and to give it a spirit of justness
and precision, was the collection of the maxims of Francois Duc de la
Rochefoucauld, though there is scarcely more than one truth running
through the book--that 'self-love is the motive of everything'--yet
this thought is presented under so many varied aspects that it is
nearly always striking. It is not so much a book as it is materials for
ornamenting a book. This little collection was read with avidity, it
taught people to think, and to comprise their thoughts in a lively,
precise, and delicate turn of expression. This was a merit which, before
him, no one in Europe had attained since the revival of letters."
Dr. Johnson speaks of it as "the only book written by a man of fashion,
of which professed authors need be jealous."
Lord Chesterfield, in his letters to his son, says, "Till you come to
know mankind by your experience, I know no thing nor no man that can
in the meantime bring you so well acquainted with them as Le Duc de la
Rochefoucauld. His little book of maxims, which I would advise you to
look into for some moments at least every day of your life, is, I fear,
too like and too exact a picture of human nature. I own it seems to
degrade it, but yet my experience does not convince me that it degrades
it unjustly."
Bishop Butler, on the other hand, blames the book in no measured terms.
"There is a strange affectation," says the bishop, "in some people of
explaining away all particular affection, and representing the whole
life as nothing but one continued exercise of self-love. Hence arise
that surprising confusion and perplexity in the Epicureans of old,
Hobbes, the author of 'Reflexions Morales,' and the whole set of
writers, of calling actions interested which are done of the most
manifest known interest, merely for the gratification of a present
passion."
The judgment the reader will be most inclined to adopt will perhaps be
either that of Mr. Hallam, "Concise and energetic in expression, reduced
to those short aphorisms which leave much to the reader's acuteness and
yet save his labour, not often obscure, and never wearisome, an evident
generalisation of long experience, without pedantry, without method,
without deductive reasonings, yet wearing an appearance at least of
profundity; they delight the intelligent though indolent man of the
world, and must be read with some admiration by the philosopher . . . .
yet they bear witness to the contracted observation and the precipitate
inferences which an intercourse with a single class of society scarcely
fails to generate." Or that of Addison, who speaks of Rochefoucauld "as
the great philosopher for administering consolation to the idle, the
curious, and the worthless part of mankind."
We are fortunately in possession of materials such as rarely exist to
enable us to form a judgment of Rochefoucauld's character. We have, with
a vanity that could only exist in a Frenchman, a description or portrait
of himself, of his own painting, and one of those inimitable living
sketches in which his great enemy, Cardinal De Retz, makes all the chief
actors in the court of the regency of Anne of Austria pass across the
stage before us.
We will first look on the portrait Rochefoucauld has left us of himself:
"I am," says he, "of a medium height, active, and well-proportioned. My
complexion dark, but uniform, a high forehead; and of moderate height,
black eyes, small, deep set, eyebrows black and thick but well placed. I
am rather embarrassed in talking of my nose, for it is neither flat nor
aquiline, nor large; nor pointed: but I believe, as far as I can say,
it is too large than too small, and comes down just a trifle too low. I
have a large mouth, lips generally red enough, neither shaped well nor
badly. I have white teeth, and fairly even. I have been told I have
a little too much chin. I have just looked at myself in the glass to
ascertain the fact, and I do not know how to decide. As to the shape of
my face, it is either square or oval, but which I should find it very
difficult to say. I have black hair, which curls by nature, and thick
and long enough to entitle me to lay claim to a fine head. I have in my
countenance somewhat of grief and pride, which gives many people an idea
I despise them, although I am not at all given to do so. My gestures are
very free, rather inclined to be too much so, for in speaking they
make me use too much action. Such, candidly, I believe I am in outward
appearance, and I believe it will be found that what I have said
above of myself is not far from the real case. I shall use the same
truthfulness in the remainder of my picture, for I have studied myself
sufficiently to know myself well; and I will lack neither boldness to
speak as freely as I can of my good qualities, nor sincerity to freely
avow that I have faults.
"In the first place, to speak of my temper. I am melancholy, and I have
hardly been seen for the last three or four years to laugh above three
or four times. It seems to me that my melancholy would be even endurable
and pleasant if I had none but what belonged to me constitutionally; but
it arises from so many other causes, fills my imagination in such a way,
and possesses my mind so strongly that for the greater part of my time
I remain without speaking a word, or give no meaning to what I say. I am
extremely reserved to those I do not know, and I am not very open with
the greater part of those I do. It is a fault I know well, and I should
neglect no means to correct myself of it; but as a certain gloomy air I
have tends to make me seem more reserved than I am in fact, and as it is
not in our power to rid ourselves of a bad expression that arises from
a natural conformation of features, I think that even when I have cured
myself internally, externally some bad expression will always remain.
"I have ability. I have no hesitation in saying it, as for what purpose
should I pretend otherwise. So great circumvention, and so great
depreciation, in speaking of the gifts one has, seems to me to hide a
little vanity under an apparent modesty, and craftily to try to make
others believe in greater virtues than are imputed to us. On my part
I am content not to be considered better-looking than I am, nor of a
better temper than I describe, nor more witty and clever than I am. Once
more, I have ability, but a mind spoilt by melancholy, for though I
know my own language tolerably well, and have a good memory, a mode
of thought not particularly confused, I yet have so great a mixture of
discontent that I often say what I have to say very badly.
"The conversation of gentlemen is one of the pleasures that most amuses
me. I like it to be serious and morality to form the substance of it.
Yet I also know how to enjoy it when trifling; and if I do not make
many witty speeches, it is not because I do not appreciate the value of
trifles well said, and that I do not find great amusement in that manner
of raillery in which certain prompt and ready-witted persons excel so
well. I write well in prose; I do well in verse; and if I was envious of
the glory that springs from that quarter, I think with a little labour
I could acquire some reputation. I like reading, in general; but that in
which one finds something to polish the wit and strengthen the soul
is what I like best. But, above all, I have the greatest pleasure in
reading with an intelligent person, for then we reflect constantly upon
what we read, and the observations we make form the most pleasant and
useful form of conversation there is.
"I am a fair critic of the works in verse and prose that are shown me;
but perhaps I speak my opinion with almost too great freedom. Another
fault in me is that I have sometimes a spirit of delicacy far too
scrupulous, and a spirit of criticism far too severe. I do not dislike
an argument, and I often of my own free will engage in one; but I
generally back my opinion with too much warmth, and sometimes, when the
wrong side is advocated against me, from the strength of my zeal for
reason, I become a little unreasonable myself.
"I have virtuous sentiments, good inclinations, and so strong a desire
to be a wholly good man that my friend cannot afford me a greater
pleasure than candidly to show me my faults. Those who know me most
intimately, and those who have the goodness sometimes to give me the
above advice, know that I always receive it with all the joy that could
be expected, and with all reverence of mind that could be desired.
"I have all the passions pretty mildly, and pretty well under control.
I am hardly ever seen in a rage, and I never hated any one. I am not,
however, incapable of avenging myself if I have been offended, or if my
honour demanded I should resent an insult put upon me; on the contrary,
I feel clear that duty would so well discharge the office of hatred in
me that I should follow my revenge with even greater keenness than other
people.
"Ambition does not weary me. I fear but few things, and I do not fear
death in the least. I am but little given to pity, and I could wish I
was not so at all. Though there is nothing I would not do to comfort an
afflicted person, and I really believe that one should do all one can to
show great sympathy to him for his misfortune, for miserable people are
so foolish that this does them the greatest good in the world; yet
I also hold that we should be content with expressing sympathy, and
carefully avoid having any. It is a passion that is wholly worthless in
a well-regulated mind, which only serves to weaken the heart, and which