Chapter VI: Act III: , Scene I, Lucy} (1)

423.--Few know how to be old.

424.--We often credit ourselves with vices the reverse of what we have, thus when weak we boast of our obstinacy.

425.--Penetration has a spice of divination in it which tickles our vanity more than any other quality of the mind.

426.--The charm of novelty and old custom, however opposite to each other, equally blind us to the faults of our friends.

["Two things the most opposite blind us equally, custom and novelty."-La Bruyere, Des Judgements.]

427.--Most friends sicken us of friendship, most devotees of devotion.

428.--We easily forgive in our friends those faults we do not perceive.

429.--Women who love, pardon more readily great indiscretions than little infidelities.

430.--In the old age of love as in life we still survive for the evils, though no longer for the pleasures.

["The youth of friendship is better than its old age." --Hazlitt's Characteristics, 229.]

431.--Nothing prevents our being unaffected so much as our desire to seem so.

432.--To praise good actions heartily is in some measure to take part in them.

433.--The most certain sign of being born with great qualities is to be born without envy.

["Nemo alienae virtuti invidet qui satis confidet suae." --Cicero In Marc Ant.]

434.--When our friends have deceived us we owe them but indifference to the tokens of their friendship, yet for their misfortunes we always owe them pity.

435.--Luck and temper rule the world.

436.--It is far easier to know men than to know man.

437.--We should not judge of a man's merit by his great abilities, but by the use he makes of them.

438.--There is a certain lively gratitude which not only releases us from benefits received, but which also, by making a return to our friends as payment, renders them indebted to us.

["And understood not that a grateful mind, By owing owes not, but is at once Indebted and discharged." Milton. Paradise Lost.]

439.--We should earnestly desire but few things if we clearly knew what we desired.

440.--The cause why the majority of women are so little given to friendship is, that it is insipid after having felt love.

["Those who have experienced a great passion neglect friendship, and those who have united themselves to friendship have nought to do with love."--La Bruyere. Du Coeur.]

441.--As in friendship so in love, we are often happier from ignorance than from knowledge.

442.--We try to make a virtue of vices we are loth to correct.

443.--The most violent passions give some respite, but vanity always disturbs us.

444.--Old fools are more foolish than young fools.

["Malvolio. Infirmity{,} that decays the wise{,} doth eve{r} make the better fool. Clown. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity{,} for the better increasing of your folly."--Shakespeare. Twelfth Night{, Act I, Scene V}.]

445.--Weakness is more hostile to virtue than vice.

446.--What makes the grief of shame and jealousy so acute is that vanity cannot aid us in enduring them.

447.--Propriety is the least of all laws, but the most obeyed.

[Honour has its supreme laws, to which education is bound to conform....Those things which honour forbids are more rigorously forbidden when the laws do not concur in the prohibition, and those it commands are more strongly insisted upon when they happen not to be commanded by law.--Montesquieu, {The Spirit Of Laws, }b. 4, c. ii.]

448.--A well-trained mind has less difficulty in submitting to than in guiding an ill-trained mind.

449.--When fortune surprises us by giving us some great office without having gradually led us to expect it, or without having raised our hopes, it is well nigh impossible to occupy it well, and to appear worthy to fill it.

450.--Our pride is often increased by what we retrench from our other faults.

["The loss of sensual pleasures was supplied and compensated by spiritual pride."--Gibbon. Decline And Fall, chap. xv.]

451.--No fools so wearisome as those who have some wit.

452.--No one believes that in every respect he is behind the man he considers the ablest in the world.

453.--In great matters we should not try so much to create opportunities as to utilise those that offer themselves.

[Yet Lord Bacon says "A wise man will make more opportunities than he finds."--Essays, {(1625), "Of Ceremonies and Respects"}]

454.--There are few occasions when we should make a bad bargain by giving up the good on condition that no ill was said of us.

455.--However disposed the world may be to judge wrongly, it far oftener favours false merit than does justice to true.

456.--Sometimes we meet a fool with wit, never one with discretion.

457.--We should gain more by letting the world see what we are than by trying to seem what we are not.

458.--Our enemies come nearer the truth in the opinions they form of us than we do in our opinion of ourselves.

459.--There are many remedies to cure love, yet none are infallible.

460.--It would be well for us if we knew all our passions make us do.

461.--Age is a tyrant who forbids at the penalty of life all the pleasures of youth.

462.--The same pride which makes us blame faults from which we believe ourselves free causes us to despise the good qualities we have not.

463.--There is often more pride than goodness in our grief for our enemies' miseries; it is to show how superior we are to them, that we bestow on them the sign of our compassion.

464.--There exists an excess of good and evil which surpasses our comprehension.

465.--Innocence is most fortunate if it finds the same protection as crime.

466.--Of all the violent passions the one that becomes a woman best is love.

467.--Vanity makes us sin more against our taste than reason.

468.--Some bad qualities form great talents.

469.--We never desire earnestly what we desire in reason.

470.--All our qualities are uncertain and doubtful, both the good as well as the bad, and nearly all are creatures of opportunities.

471.--In their first passion women love their lovers, in all the others they love love.

["In her first passion woman loves her lover, In all her others what she loves is love." {--Lord Byron, }Don Juan, Canto iii., stanza 3. "We truly love once, the first time; the subsequent passions are more or less involuntary." La Bruyere: Du Coeur.]

472.--Pride as the other passions has its follies. We are ashamed to own we are jealous, and yet we plume ourselves in having been and being able to be so.

473.--However rare true love is, true friendship is rarer.

["It is more common to see perfect love than real friendship."--La Bruyere. Du Coeur.]

474.--There are few women whose charm survives their beauty.

475.--The desire to be pitied or to be admired often forms the greater part of our confidence.

476.--Our envy always lasts longer than the happiness of those we envy.

477.--The same firmness that enables us to resist love enables us to make our resistance durable and lasting. So weak persons who are always excited by passions are seldom really possessed of any.

478.--Fancy does not enable us to invent so many different contradictions as there are by nature in every heart.

479.--It is only people who possess firmness who can possess true gentleness. In those who appear gentle it is generally only weakness, which is readily converted into harshness.

480.--Timidity is a fault which is dangerous to blame in those we desire to cure of it.

481.--Nothing is rarer than true good nature, those who think they have it are generally only pliant or weak.

482.--The mind attaches itself by idleness and habit to whatever is easy or pleasant. This habit always places bounds to our knowledge, and no one has ever yet taken the pains to enlarge and expand his mind to the full extent of its capacities.

483.--Usually we are more satirical from vanity than malice.

484.--When the heart is still disturbed by the relics of a passion it is proner to take up a new one than when wholly cured.

485.--Those who have had great passions often find all their lives made miserable in being cured of them.

486.--More persons exist without self-love than without envy.

["I do not believe that there is a human creature in his senses arrived at maturity, that at some time or other has not been carried away by this passion (envy) in good earnest, and yet I never met with any who dared own he was guilty of it, but in jest."--Mandeville: Fable Of The Bees; Remark N.]

487.--We have more idleness in the mind than in the body.

488.--The calm or disturbance of our mind does not depend so much on what we regard as the more important things of life, as in a judicious or injudicious arrangement of the little things of daily occurrence.

489.--However wicked men may be, they do not dare openly to appear the enemies of virtue, and when they desire to persecute her they either pretend to believe her false or attribute crimes to her.

490.--We often go from love to ambition, but we never return from ambition to love.

["Men commence by love, finish by ambition, and do not find a quieter seat while they remain there."--La Bruyere: Du Coeur.]

491.--Extreme avarice is nearly always mistaken, there is no passion which is oftener further away from its mark, nor upon which the present has so much power to the prejudice of the future.

492.--Avarice often produces opposite results: there are an infinite number of persons who sacrifice their property to doubtful and distant expectations, others mistake great future advantages for small present interests.

[Aime Martin says, "The author here confuses greediness, the desire and avarice--passions which probably have a common origin, but produce different results. The greedy man is nearly always desirous to possess, and often foregoes great future advantages for small present interests. The avaricious man, on the other hand, mistakes present advantages for the great expectations of the future. Both desire to possess and enjoy. But the miser possesses and enjoys nothing but the pleasure of possessing; he risks nothing, gives nothing, hopes nothing, his life is centred in his strong box, beyond that he has no want."]

493.--It appears that men do not find they have enough faults, as they increase the number by certain peculiar qualities that they affect to assume, and which they cultivate with so great assiduity that at length they become natural faults, which they can no longer correct.

494.--What makes us see that men know their faults better than we imagine, is that they are never wrong when they speak of their conduct; the same self-love that usually blinds them enlightens them, and gives them such true views as to make them suppress or disguise the smallest thing that might be censured.

495.--Young men entering life should be either shy or bold; a solemn and sedate manner usually degenerates into impertinence.

496.--Quarrels would not last long if the fault was only on one side.

497.--It is valueless to a woman to be young unless pretty, or to be pretty unless young.

498.--Some persons are so frivolous and fickle that they are as far removed from real defects as from substantial qualities.

499.--We do not usually reckon a woman's first flirtation until she has had a second.

500.--Some people are so self-occupied that when in love they find a mode by which to be engrossed with the passion without being so with the person they love.

501.--Love, though so very agreeable, pleases more by its ways than by itself.

502.--A little wit with good sense bores less in the long run than much wit with ill nature.

503.--Jealousy is the worst of all evils, yet the one that is least pitied by those who cause it.

504.--Thus having treated of the hollowness of so many apparent virtues, it is but just to say something on the hollowness of the contempt for death. I allude to that contempt of death which the heathen boasted they derived from their unaided understanding, without the hope of a future state. There is a difference between meeting death with courage and despising it. The first is common enough, the last I think always feigned. Yet everything that could be has been written to persuade us that death is no evil, and the weakest of men, equally with the bravest, have given many noble examples on which to found such an opinion, still I do not think that any man of good sense has ever yet believed in it. And the pains we take to persuade others as well as ourselves amply show that the task is far from easy. For many reasons we may be disgusted with life, but for none may we despise it. Not even those who commit suicide regard it as a light matter, and are as much alarmed and startled as the rest of the world if death meets them in a different way than the one they have selected. The difference we observe in the courage of so great a number of brave men, is from meeting death in a way different from what they imagined, when it shows itself nearer at one time than at another. Thus it ultimately happens that having despised death when they were ignorant of it, they dread it when they become acquainted with it. If we could avoid seeing it with all its surroundings, we might perhaps believe that it was not the greatest of evils. The wisest and bravest are those who take the best means to avoid reflecting on it, as every man who sees it in its real light regards it as dreadful. The necessity of dying created all the constancy of philosophers. They thought it but right to go with a good grace when they could not avoid going, and being unable to prolong their lives indefinitely, nothing remained but to build an immortal reputation, and to save from the general wreck all that could be saved. To put a good face upon it, let it suffice, not to say all that we think to ourselves, but rely more on our nature than on our fallible reason, which might make us think we could approach death with indifference. The glory of dying with courage, the hope of being regretted, the desire to leave behind us a good reputation, the assurance of being enfranchised from the miseries of life and being no longer dependent on the wiles of fortune, are resources which should not be passed over. But we must not regard them as infallible. They should affect us in the same proportion as a single shelter affects those who in war storm a fortress. At a distance they think it may afford cover, but when near they find it only a feeble protection. It is only deceiving ourselves to imagine that death, when near, will seem the same as at a distance, or that our feelings, which are merely weaknesses, are naturally so strong that they will not suffer in an attack of the rudest of trials. It is equally as absurd to try the effect of self-esteem and to think it will enable us to count as naught what will of necessity destroy it. And the mind in which we trust to find so many resources will be far too weak in the struggle to persuade us in the way we wish. For it is this which betrays us so frequently, and which, instead of filling us with contempt of death, serves but to show us all that is frightful and fearful. The most it can do for us is to persuade us to avert our gaze and fix it on other objects. Cato and Brutus each selected noble ones. A lackey sometime ago contented himself by dancing on the scaffold when he was about to be broken on the wheel. So however diverse the motives they but realize the same result. For the rest it is a fact that whatever difference there may be between the peer and the peasant, we have constantly seen both the one and the other meet death with the same composure. Still there is always this difference, that the contempt the peer shows for death is but the love of fame which hides death from his sight; in the peasant it is but the result of his limited vision that hides from him the extent of the evil, end leaves him free to reflect on other things.

THE FIRST SUPPLEMENT

[The following reflections are extracted from the first two editions of La Rochefoucauld, having been suppressed by the author in succeeding issues.]

I.--Self-love is the love of self, and of all things for self. It makes men self-worshippers, and if fortune permits them, causes them to tyrannize over others; it is never quiet when out of itself, and only rests upon other subjects as a bee upon flowers, to extract from them its proper food. Nothing is so headstrong as its desires, nothing so well concealed as its designs, nothing so skilful as its management; its suppleness is beyond description; its changes surpass those of the metamorphoses, its refinements those of chemistry. We can neither plumb the depths nor pierce the shades of its recesses. Therein it is hidden from the most far-seeing eyes, therein it takes a thousand imperceptible folds. There it is often to itself invisible; it there conceives, there nourishes and rears, without being aware of it, numberless loves and hatreds, some so monstrous that when they are brought to light it disowns them, and cannot resolve to avow them. In the night which covers it are born the ridiculous persuasions it has of itself, thence come its errors, its ignorance, its silly mistakes; thence it is led to believe that its passions which sleep are dead, and to think that it has lost all appetite for that of which it is sated. But this thick darkness which conceals it from itself does not hinder it from seeing that perfectly which is out of itself; and in this it resembles our eyes which behold all, and yet cannot set their own forms. In fact, in great concerns and important matters when the violence of its desires summons all its attention, it sees, feels, hears, imagines, suspects, penetrates, divines all: so that we might think that each of its passions had a magic power proper to it. Nothing is so close and strong as its attachments, which, in sight of the extreme misfortunes which threaten it, it vainly attempts to break. Yet sometimes it effects that without trouble and quickly, which it failed to do with its whole power and in the course of years, whence we may fairly conclude that it is by itself that its desires are inflamed, rather than by the beauty and merit of its objects, that its own taste embellishes and heightens them; that it is itself the game it pursues, and that it follows eagerly when it runs after that upon which itself is eager. It is made up of contraries. It is imperious and obedient, sincere and false, piteous and cruel, timid and bold. It has different desires according to the diversity of temperaments, which turn and fix it sometimes upon riches, sometimes on pleasures. It changes according to our age, our fortunes, and our hopes; it is quite indifferent whether it has many or one, because it can split itself into many portions, and unite in one as it pleases. It is inconstant, and besides the changes which arise from strange causes it has an infinity born of itself, and of its own substance. It is inconstant through inconstancy, of lightness, love, novelty, lassitude and distaste. It is capricious, and one sees it sometimes work with intense eagerness and with incredible labour to obtain things of little use to it which are even hurtful, but which it pursues because it wishes for them. It is silly, and often throws its whole application on the utmost frivolities. It finds all its pleasure in the dullest matters, and places its pride in the most contemptible. It is seen in all states of life, and in all conditions; it lives everywhere and upon everything; it subsists on nothing; it accommodates itself either to things or to the want of them; it goes over to those who are at war with it, enters into their designs, and, this is wonderful, it, with them, hates even itself; it conspires for its own loss, it works towards its own ruin--in fact, caring only to exist, and providing that it may be, it will be its own enemy! We must therefore not be surprised if it is sometimes united to the rudest austerity, and if it enters so boldly into partnership to destroy her, because when it is rooted out in one place it re-establishes itself in another. When it fancies that it abandons its pleasure it merely changes or suspends its enjoyment. When even it is conquered in its full flight, we find that it triumphs in its own defeat. Here then is the picture of self-love whereof the whole of our life is but one long agitation. The sea is its living image; and in the flux and reflux of its continuous waves there is a faithful expression of the stormy succession of its thoughts and of its eternal motion. (Edition of 1665, No. 1.)

II.--Passions are only the different degrees of the heat or coldness of the blood. (1665, No. 13.)

III.--Moderation in good fortune is but apprehension of the shame which follows upon haughtiness, or a fear of losing what we have. (1665, No. 18.)

IV.--Moderation is like temperance in eating; we could eat more but we fear to make ourselves ill. (1665, No. 21.)

V.--Everybody finds that to abuse in another which he finds worthy of abuse in himself. (1665, No. 33.)

VI.--Pride, as if tired of its artifices and its different metamorphoses, after having solely filled the divers parts of the comedy of life, exhibits itself with its natural face, and is discovered by haughtiness; so much so that we may truly say that haughtiness is but the flash and open declaration of pride. (1665, No. 37.)

VII.--One kind of happiness is to know exactly at what point to be miserable. (1665, No. 53.)

VIII.--When we do not find peace of mind (REPOS) in ourselves it is useless to seek it elsewhere. (1665, No. 53.)

IX.--One should be able to answer for one's fortune, so as to be able to answer for what we shall do. (1665, No. 70.)

X.--Love is to the soul of him who loves, what the soul is to the body which it animates. (1665, No. 77.)

XI.--As one is never at liberty to love or to cease from loving, the lover cannot with justice complain of the inconstancy of his mistress, nor she of the fickleness of her lover. (1665, No. 81.)

XII.--Justice in those judges who are moderate is but a love of their place. (1665, No. 89.)

XIII.--When we are tired of loving we are quite content if our mistress should become faithless, to loose us from our fidelity. (1665, No. 85.)

XIV.--The first impulse of joy which we feel at the happiness of our friends arises neither from our natural goodness nor from friendship; it is the result of self-love, which flatters us with being lucky in our own turn, or in reaping something from the good fortune of our friends. (1665, No. 97.)

XV.--In the adversity of our best friends we always find something which is not wholly displeasing to us. (1665, No. 99.)

[This gave occasion to Swift's celebrated "Verses on his own Death." The four first are quoted opposite the title, then follow these lines:-- "This maxim more than all the rest, Is thought too base for human breast; In all distresses of our friends, We first consult our private ends; While nature kindly bent to ease us, Points out some circumstance to please us."

See also Chesterfield's defence of this in his 129th letter; "they who know the deception and wickedness of the human heart will not be either romantic or blind enough to deny what Rochefoucauld and Swift have affirmed as a general truth."]

XVI.--How shall we hope that another person will keep our secret if we do not keep it ourselves. (1665, No. 100.)

XVII.--As if it was not sufficient that self-love should have the power to change itself, it has added that of changing other objects, and this it does in a very astonishing manner; for not only does it so well disguise them that it is itself deceived, but it even changes the state and nature of things. Thus, when a female is adverse to us, and she turns her hate and persecution against us, self-love pronounces on her actions with all the severity of justice; it exaggerates the faults till they are enormous, and looks at her good qualities in so disadvantageous a light that they become more displeasing than her faults. If however the same female becomes favourable to us, or certain of our interests reconcile her to us, our sole self interest gives her back the lustre which our hatred deprived her of. The bad qualities become effaced, the good ones appear with a redoubled advantage; we even summon all our indulgence to justify the war she has made upon us. Now although all passions prove this truth, that of love exhibits it most clearly; for we may see a lover moved with rage by the neglect or the infidelity of her whom he loves, and meditating the utmost vengeance that his passion can inspire. Nevertheless as soon as the sight of his beloved has calmed the fury of his movements, his passion holds that beauty innocent; he only accuses himself, he condemns his condemnations, and by the miraculous power of selflove, he whitens the blackest actions of his mistress, and takes from her all crime to lay it on himself.

{No date or number is given for this maxim}

XVIII.--There are none who press so heavily on others as the lazy ones, when they have satisfied their idleness, and wish to appear industrious. (1666, No. 91.)

XIX.--The blindness of men is the most dangerous effect of their pride; it seems to nourish and augment it, it deprives us of knowledge of remedies which can solace our miseries and can cure our faults. (1665, No. 102.)

XX.--One has never less reason than when one despairs of finding it in others. (1665, No. 103.)

XXI.--Philosophers, and Seneca above all, have not diminished crimes by their precepts; they have only used them in the building up of pride. (1665, No. 105.)

XXII.--It is a proof of little friendship not to perceive the growing coolness of that of our friends. (1666, No. 97.)

XXIII.--The most wise may be so in indifferent and ordinary matters, but they are seldom so in their most serious affairs. (1665, No. 132.)

XXIV.--The most subtle folly grows out of the most subtle wisdom. (1665, No. 134.)

XXV.--Sobriety is the love of health, or an incapacity to eat much. (1665, No. 135.)

XXVI.--We never forget things so well as when we are tired of talking of them. (1665, No. 144.)

XXVII.--The praise bestowed upon us is at least useful in rooting us in the practice of virtue. (1665, No. 155.)

XXVIII.--Self-love takes care to prevent him whom we flatter from being him who most flatters us. (1665, No. 157.)

XXIX.--Men only blame vice and praise virtue from interest. (1665, No. 151.)

XXX.--We make no difference in the kinds of anger, although there is that which is light and almost innocent, which arises from warmth of complexion, temperament, and another very criminal, which is, to speak properly, the fury of pride. (1665, No. 159.)

XXXI.--Great souls are not those who have fewer passions and more virtues than the common, but those only who have greater designs. (1665, No. 161.)

XXXII.--Kings do with men as with pieces of money; they make them bear what value they will, and one is forced to receive them according to their currency value, and not at their true worth. (1665, No. 165.)

[See Burns{, For A' That An A' That}-- "The rank is but the guinea's stamp, {The} man's {the gowd} for a' that." Also Farquhar and other parallel passages pointed out in Familiar Words.]

XXXIII.--Natural ferocity makes fewer people cruel than self-love. (1665, No. 174.)

XXXIV.--One may say of all our virtues as an Italian poet says of the propriety of women, that it is often merely the art of appearing chaste. (1665, No. 176.)

XXXV.--There are crimes which become innocent and even glorious by their brilliancy,* their number, or their excess; thus it happens that public robbery is called financial skill, and the unjust capture of provinces is called a conquest. (1665, No. 192.)

*Some crimes may be excused by their brilliancy, such as
those of Jael, of Deborah, of Brutus, and of Charlotte
Corday--further than this the maxim is satire.

XXXVI.--One never finds in man good or evil in excess. (1665, No. 201.)

XXXVII.--Those who are incapable of committing great crimes do not easily suspect others. (1665, No. {2}08.)

{The text incorrectly numbers this maxim as 508. It is 208.}

XXXVIII.--The pomp of funerals concerns rather the vanity of the living, than the honour of the dead. (1665, No. 213.)

XXXIX.--Whatever variety and change appears in the world, we may remark a secret chain, and a regulated order of all time by Providence, which makes everything follow in due rank and fall into its destined course. (1665, No. 225.)

XL.--Intrepidity should sustain the heart in conspiracies in place of valour which alone furnishes all the firmness which is necessary for the perils of war. (1665, No. 231.)

XLI.--Those who wish to define victory by her birth will be tempted to imitate the poets, and to call her the Daughter of Heaven, since they cannot find her origin on earth. Truly she is produced from an infinity of actions, which instead of wishing to beget her, only look to the particular interests of their masters, since all those who compose an army, in aiming at their own rise and glory, produce a good so great and general. (1665, No. 232.)

XLII.--That man who has never been in danger cannot answer for his courage. (1665, No. 236.)

XLIII.--We more often place bounds on our gratitude than on our desires and our hopes. (1665, No. 241.)

XLIV.--Imitation is always unhappy, for all which is counterfeit displeases by the very things which charm us when they are original (Naturelles). (1665, No. 245.)

XLV.--We do not regret the loss of our friends according to their merits, but according to OUR wants, and the opinion with which we believed we had impressed them of our worth. (1665, No. 248.)

XLVI.--It is very hard to separate the general goodness spread all over the world from great cleverness. (1665, No. 252.)

XLVII.--For us to be always good, others should believe that they cannot behave wickedly to us with impunity. (1665, No. 254.)

XLVIII.--A confidence in being able to please is often an infallible means of being displeasing. (1665, No. 256.)

XLIX.--The confidence we have in ourselves arises in a great measure from that that we have in others. (1665, No. 258.)

L.--There is a general revolution which changes the tastes of the mind as well as the fortunes of the world. (1665, No. 250.)

LI.--Truth is foundation and the reason of the perfection of beauty, for of whatever stature a thing may be, it cannot be beautiful and perfect unless it be truly that she should be, and possess truly all that she should have (1665, No. 260.)

[Beauty is truth, truth beauty.{--John Keats, "Ode on a a Grecian Urn," (1820), Stanza 5}]

LII.--There are fine things which are more brilliant when unfinished than when finished too much. (1665, No. 262.)

LIII.--Magnanimity is a noble effort of pride which makes a man master of himself, to make him master of all things. (1665, No. 271.)

LIV.--Luxury and too refined a policy in states are a sure presage of their fall, because all parties looking after their own interest turn away from the public good. (1665, No. 282.)

LV.--Of all passions that which is least known to us is idleness; she is the most ardent and evil of all, although her violence may be insensible, and the evils she causes concealed; if we consider her power attentively we shall find that in all encounters she makes herself mistress of our sentiments, our interests, and our pleasures; like the (fabled) Remora, she can stop the greatest vessels, she is a hidden rock, more dangerous in the most important matters than sudden squalls and the most violent tempests. The repose of idleness is a magic charm which suddenly suspends the most ardent pursuits and the most obstinate resolutions. In fact to give a true notion of this passion we must add that idleness, like a beatitude of the soul, consoles us for all losses and fills the vacancy of all our wants. (1665, No. 290.)

LVI.--We are very fond of reading others' characters, but we do not like to be read ourselves. (1665, No. 296.)

LVII.--What a tiresome malady is that which forces one to preserve your health by a severe regimen. (Ibid, No. 298.)

LVIII.--It is much easier to take love when one is free, than to get rid of it after having taken it. (1665, No. 300.)

LIX.--Women for the most part surrender themselves more from weakness than from passion. Whence it is that bold and pushing men succeed better than others, although they are not so loveable. (1665, No. 301.)

LX.--Not to love is in love, an infallible means of being beloved. (1665, No. 302.)

LXI.--The sincerity which lovers and mistresses ask that both should know when they cease to love each other, arises much less from a wish to be warned of the cessation of love, than from a desire to be assured that they are beloved although no one denies it. (1665, No. 303.)

LXII.--The most just comparison of love is that of a fever, and we have no power over either, as to its violence or its duration. (1665, No. 305.)

LXIII.--The greatest skill of the least skilful is to know how to submit to the direction of another. (1665, No. 309.)

LXIV.--We always fear to see those whom we love when we have been flirting with others. (16{74}, No. 372.)

LXV.--We ought to console ourselves for our faults when we have strength enough to own them. (16{74}, No. 375.)

{The date of the previous two maxims is incorrectly cited as 1665 in the text. I found this date immediately suspect because the translators' introduction states that the 1665 edition only had 316 maxims. In fact, the two maxims only appeared in the fourth of the first five editions (1674).}

SECOND SUPPLEMENT.

REFLECTIONS, EXTRACTED FROM MS. LETTERS IN THE ROYAL LIBRARY.*

*A La Bibliotheque Du Roi, it is difficult at present (June
1871) to assign a name to the magnificent collection of
books in Paris, the property of the nation.

LXVI.--Interest is the soul of self-love, in as much as when the body deprived of its soul is without sight, feeling or knowledge, without thought or movement, so self-love, riven so to speak from its interest, neither sees, nor hears, nor smells, nor moves; thus it is that the same man who will run over land and sea for his own interest becomes suddenly paralyzed when engaged for that of others; from this arises that sudden dulness and, as it were, death, with which we afflict those to whom we speak of our own matters; from this also their sudden resurrection when in our narrative we relate something concerning them; from this we find in our conversations and business that a man becomes dull or bright just as his own interest is near to him or distant from him. (Letter To Madame De Sable, Ms., Fol. 211.)

LXVII.--Why we cry out so much against maxims which lay bare the heart of man, is because we fear that our own heart shall be laid bare. (Maxim 103, MS., fol. 310.*)

*The reader will recognise in these extracts portions of the
Maxims previously given, sometimes the author has carefully
polished them; at other times the words are identical. Our
numbers will indicate where they are to be found in the
foregoing collection.

LXVIII.--Hope and fear are inseparable. (To Madame De Sable, Ms., Fol. 222, MAX. 168.)

LXIX.--It is a common thing to hazard life to escape dishonour; but, when this is done, the actor takes very little pain to make the enterprise succeed in which he is engaged, and certain it is that they who hazard their lives to take a city or to conquer a province are better officers, have more merit, and wider and more useful, views than they who merely expose themselves to vindicate their honour; it is very common to find people of the latter class, very rare to find those of the former. (Letter To M. Esprit, Ms., Fol. 173, MAX. 219.)

LXX.--The taste changes, but the will remains the same. (To Madame De Sable, Fol. 223, Max. 252.)

LXXI.--The power which women whom we love have over us is greater than that which we have over ourselves. (To The Same, Ms., Fol. 211, Max. 259)

LXXII.--That which makes us believe so easily that others have defects is that we all so easily believe what we wish. (To The Same, Ms., Fol. 223, Max. 397.)

LXXIII.--I am perfectly aware that good sense and fine wit are tedious to every age, but tastes are not always the same, and what is good at one time will not seem so at another. This makes me think that few persons know how to be old. (To The Same, Fol. 202, Max. 423.)

LXXIV.--God has permitted, to punish man for his original sin, that he should be so fond of his self-love, that he should be tormented by it in all the actions of his life. (Ms., Fol. 310, Max. 494.)

LXXV.--And so far it seems to me the philosophy of a lacquey can go; I believe that all gaity in that state of life is very doubtful indeed. (To Madame De Sable, Fol. 161, Max. 504.)

[In the maxim cited the author relates how a footman about to be broken on the wheel danced on the scaffold. He seems to think that in his day the life of such servants was so miserable that their merriment was very doubtful.]

THIRD SUPPLEMENT

[The fifty following Maxims are taken from the Sixth Edition of the Pensees De La Rochefoucauld, published by Claude Barbin, in 1693, more than twelve years after the death of the author (17th May, 1680). The reader will find some repetitions, but also some very valuable maxims.]

LXXVI.--Many persons wish to be devout; but no one wishes to be humble.

LXXVII.--The labour of the body frees us from the pains of the mind, and thus makes the poor happy.

LXXVIII.--True penitential sorrows (mortifications) are those which are not known, vanity renders the others easy enough.

LXXIX.--Humility is the altar upon which God wishes that we should offer him his sacrifices.

LXXX.--Few things are needed to make a wise man happy; nothing can make a fool content; that is why most men are miserable.

LXXXI.--We trouble ourselves less to become happy, than to make others believe we are so.

LXXXII.--It is more easy to extinguish the first desire than to satisfy those which follow.

LXXXIII.--Wisdom is to the soul what health is to the body.

LXXXIV.--The great ones of the earth can neither command health of body nor repose of mind, and they buy always at too dear a price the good they can acquire.

LXXXV.--Before strongly desiring anything we should examine what happiness he has who possesses it.

LXXXVI.--A true friend is the greatest of all goods, and that of which we think least of acquiring.

LXXXVII.--Lovers do not wish to see the faults of their mistresses until their enchantment is at an end.

LXXXVIII.--Prudence and love are not made for each other; in the ratio that love increases, prudence diminishes.

LXXXIX.--It is sometimes pleasing to a husband to have a jealous wife; he hears her always speaking of the beloved object.

XC.--How much is a woman to be pitied who is at the same time possessed of virtue and love!

XCI.--The wise man finds it better not to enter the encounter than to conquer.

[Somewhat similar to Goldsmith's sage-- "Who quits {a} world where strong temptations try, And since 'tis hard to co{mbat}, learns to fly."]

XCII.--It is more necessary to study men than books.

["The proper study of mankind is man."--Pope {Essay On Man, (1733), Epistle II, line 2}.]

XCIII.--Good and evil ordinarily come to those who have most of one or the other.

XCIV.--The accent and character of one's native country dwells in the mind and heart as on the tongue. (Repitition Of Maxim 342.)

XCV.--The greater part of men have qualities which, like those of plants, are discovered by chance. (Repitition Of Maxim 344.)

XCVI.--A good woman is a hidden treasure; he who discovers her will do well not to boast about it. (See Maxim 368.)

XCVII.--Most women do not weep for the loss of a lover to show that they have been loved so much as to show that they are worth being loved. (See Maxim 362.)

XCVIII.--There are many virtuous women who are weary of the part they have played. (See Maxim 367.)

XCIX.--If we think we love for love's sake we are much mistaken. (See Maxim 374.)

C.--The restraint we lay upon ourselves to be constant, is not much better than an inconstancy. (See Maxim 369, 381.)

CI.--There are those who avoid our jealousy, of whom we ought to be jealous. (See Maxim 359.)

CII.--Jealousy is always born with love, but does not always die with it. (See Maxim 361.)

CIII.--When we love too much it is difficult to discover when we have ceased to be beloved.

CIV.--We know very well that we should not talk about our wives, but we do not remember that it is not so well to speak of ourselves. (See Maxim 364.)

CV.--Chance makes us known to others and to ourselves. (See Maxim 345.)

CVI.--We find very few people of good sense, except those who are of our own opinion. (See Maxim 347.)

CVII.--We commonly praise the good hearts of those who admire us. (See Maxim 356.)

CVIII.--Man only blames himself in order that he may be praised.

CIX.--Little minds are wounded by the smallest things. (See Maxim 357.)

CX.--There are certain faults which placed in a good light please more than perfection itself. (See Maxim 354.)

CXI.--That which makes us so bitter against those who do us a shrewd turn, is because they think themselves more clever than we are. (See Maxim 350.)

CXII.--We are always bored by those whom we bore. (See Maxim 352.)

CXIII.--The harm that others do us is often less than that we do ourselves. (See Maxim 363.)

CXIV.--It is never more difficult to speak well than when we are ashamed of being silent.

CXV.--Those faults are always pardonable that we have the courage to avow.

CXVI.--The greatest fault of penetration is not that it goes to the bottom of a matter--but beyond it. (See Maxim 377.)

CXVII.--We give advice, but we cannot give the wisdom to profit by it. (See Maxim 378.)

CXVIII.--When our merit declines, our taste declines also. (See Maxim 379.)

CXIX.--Fortune discovers our vices and our virtues, as the light makes objects plain to the sight. (See Maxim 380.)

CXX.--Our actions are like rhymed verse-ends (Bouts-Rimes) which everyone turns as he pleases. (See Maxim 382.)

CXXI.--There is nothing more natural, nor more deceptive, than to believe that we are beloved.

CXXII.--We would rather see those to whom we have done a benefit, than those who have done us one.

CXXIII.--It is more difficult to hide the opinions we have than to feign those which we have not.

CXXIV.--Renewed friendships require more care than those that have never been broken.

CXXV.--A man to whom no one is pleasing is much more unhappy than one who pleases nobody.

REFLECTIONS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, BY THE DUKE DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD

I. On Confidence.

Though sincerity and confidence have many points of resemblance, they have yet many points of difference.

Sincerity is an openness of heart, which shows us what we are, a love of truth, a dislike to deception, a wish to compensate our faults and to lessen them by the merit of confessing them.

Confidence leaves us less liberty, its rules are stricter, it requires more prudence and reticence, and we are not always free to give it. It relates not only to ourselves, since our interests are often mixed up with those of others; it requires great delicacy not to expose our friends in exposing ourselves, not to draw upon their goodness to enhance the value of what we give.

Confidence always pleases those who receive it. It is a tribute we pay to their merit, a deposit we commit to their trust, a pledge which gives them a claim upon us, a kind of dependence to which we voluntarily submit. I do not wish from what I have said to depreciate confidence, so necessary to man. It is in society the link between acquaintance and friendship. I only wish to state its limits to make it true and real. I would that it was always sincere, always discreet, and that it had neither weakness nor interest. I know it is hard to place proper limits on being taken into all our friends' confidence, and taking them into all ours.

Most frequently we make confidants from vanity, a love of talking, a wish to win the confidence of others, and make an exchange of secrets.

Some may have a motive for confiding in us, towards whom we have no motive for confiding. With them we discharge the obligation in keeping their secrets and trusting them with small confidences.

Others whose fidelity we know trust nothing to us, but we confide in them by choice and inclination.

We should hide from them nothing that concerns us, we should always show them with equal truth, our virtues and our vices, without exaggerating the one or diminishing the other. We should make it a rule never to have half confidences. They always embarrass those who give them, and dissatisfy those who receive them. They shed an uncertain light on what we want hidden, increase curiosity, entitling the recipients to know more, giving them leave to consider themselves free to talk of what they have guessed. It is far safer and more honest to tell nothing than to be silent when we have begun to tell. There are other rules to be observed in matters confided to us, all are important, to all prudence and trust are essential.

Everyone agrees that a secret should be kept intact, but everyone does not agree as to the nature and importance of secresy. Too often we consult ourselves as to what we should say, what we should leave unsaid. There are few permanent secrets, and the scruple against revealing them will not last for ever.

With those friends whose truth we know we have the closest intimacy. They have always spoken unreservedly to us, we should always do the same to them. They know our habits and connexions, and see too clearly not to perceive the slightest change. They may have elsewhere learnt what we have promised not to tell. It is not in our power to tell them what has been entrusted to us, though it might tend to their interest to know it. We feel as confident of them as of ourselves, and we are reduced to the hard fate of losing their friendship, which is dear to us, or of being faithless as regards a secret. This is doubtless the hardest test of fidelity, but it should not move an honest man; it is then that he can sacrifice himself to others. His first duty is to rigidly keep his trust in its entirety. He should not only control and guard his and his voice, but even his lighter talk, so that nothing be seen in his conversation or manner that could direct the curiosity of others towards that which he wishes to conceal.

We have often need of strength and prudence wherewith to oppose the exigencies of most of our friends who make a claim on our confidence, and seek to know all about us. We should never allow them to acquire this unexceptionable right. There are accidents and circumstances which do not fall in their cognizance; if they complain, we should endure their complaints and excuse ourselves with gentleness, but if they are still unreasonable, we should sacrifice their friendship to our duty, and choose between two inevitable evils, the one reparable, the other irreparable.

II. On Difference of Character.

Although all the qualities of mind may be united in a great genius, yet there are some which are special and peculiar to him; his views are unlimited; he always acts uniformly and with the same activity; he sees distant objects as if present; he comprehends and grasps the greatest, sees and notices the smallest matters; his thoughts are elevated, broad, just and intelligible. Nothing escapes his observation, and he often finds truth in spite of the obscurity that hides her from others.

A lofty mind always thinks nobly, it easily creates vivid, agreeable, and natural fancies, places them in their best light, clothes them with all appropriate adornments, studies others' tastes, and clears away from its own thoughts all that is useless and disagreeable.

A clever, pliant, winning mind knows how to avoid and overcome difficulties. Bending easily to what it wants, it understands the inclination and temper it is dealing with, and by managing their interests it advances and establishes its own.

A well regulated mind sees all things as they should be seen, appraises them at their proper value, turns them to its own advantage, and adheres firmly to its own opinions as it knows all their force and weight.

A difference exists between a working mind and a business-like mind. We can undertake business without turning it to our own interest. Some are clever only in what does not concern them, and the reverse in all that does. There are others again whose cleverness is limited to their own business, and who know how to turn everything to their own advantage.

It is possible to have a serious turn of mind, and yet to talk pleasantly and cheerfully. This class of mind is suited to all persons in all times of life. Young persons have usually a cheerful and satirical turn, untempered by seriousness, thus often making themselves disagreeable.

No part is easier to play than that of being always pleasant; and the applause we sometimes receive in censuring others is not worth being exposed to the chance of offending them when they are out of temper.

Satire is at once the most agreeable and most dangerous of mental qualities. It always pleases when it is refined, but we always fear those who use it too much, yet satire should be allowed when unmixed with spite, and when the person satirised can join in the satire.

It is unfortunate to have a satirical turn without affecting to be pleased or without loving to jest. It requires much adroitness to continue satirical without falling into one of these extremes.

Raillery is a kind of mirth which takes possession of the imagination, and shows every object in an absurd light; wit combines more or less softness or harshness.

There is a kind of refined and flattering raillery that only hits the faults that persons admit, which understands how to hide the praise it gives under the appearance of blame, and shows the good while feigning a wish to hide it.

An acute mind and a cunning mind are very dissimilar. The first always pleases; it is unfettered, it perceives the most delicate and sees the most imperceptible matters. A cunning spirit never goes straight, it endeavours to secure its object by byeways and short cuts. This conduct is soon found out, it always gives rise to distrust and never reaches greatness.

There is a difference between an ardent and a brilliant mind, a fiery spirit travels further and faster, while a brilliant mind is sparkling, attractive, accurate.

Gentleness of mind is an easy and accommodating manner which always pleases when not insipid.

A mind full of details devotes itself to the management and regulation of the smallest particulars it meets with. This distinction is usually limited to little matters, yet it is not absolutely incompatible with greatness, and when these two qualities are united in the same mind they raise it infinitely above others.

The expression "Bel Esprit" is much perverted, for all that one can say of the different kinds of mind meet together in the "Bel Esprit." Yet as the epithet is bestowed on an infinite number of bad poets and tedious authors, it is more often used to ridicule than to praise.

There are yet many other epithets for the mind which mean the same thing, the difference lies in the tone and manner of saying them, but as tones and manner cannot appear in writing I shall not go into distinctions I cannot explain. Custom explains this in saying that a man has wit, has much wit, that he is a great wit; there are tones and manners which make all the difference between phrases which seem all alike on paper, and yet express a different order of mind.