A more interesting point than any, however, still remains in connection with this period of his life. It was now, or soon after, that Pascal must have composed the "Discours sur les Pa.s.sions de l"Amour," one of the most exquisite fragments which have come from his pen,-remarkable both in itself and in the circ.u.mstances of its discovery by M. Cousin about thirty years ago. M. Cousin has himself related these circ.u.mstances in minute detail, and with a certain self-elation. {67d} According to M.
Faugere, there was no particular difficulty, and therefore no particular merit, in the discovery. The fragment was clearly indexed in a catalogue of the Pascal MSS. in the well-known State library of Paris as follows: "Discours sur les Pa.s.sions de l"Amour, par M. Pascal," and again in the body of the volume the fragment was ent.i.tled, "Discours, etc., on l"attribue a M. Pascal." The genuineness of the fragment seems admitted on all hands. "In the first line," says Cousin, "I felt Pascal, and my conviction of its authorship grew as I proceeded-his ardent and lofty manner, half thought, half pa.s.sion, and that speech so fine and grand, an accent which I would recognise amongst a thousand." {68a} "The soul and thought of Pascal," says Faugere, "shine everywhere in the pages, steeped in a melancholy at once chaste and ardent." {68b}
The following extracts may give some idea of this remarkable paper. It commences in an abstract, aphoristic manner not uncommon with Pascal:-
"Man is born to think; he is never a moment without thinking. But pure thought, which, if it could be sustained, would make him happy, fatigues and prostrates him. He could not live a life of mere thought; movement and action are necessary to him. He must be agitated by the pa.s.sions, whose sources he feels deep and strong in his heart. The pa.s.sions most characteristic of man, and which embrace most others, are love and ambition. They have no affinity, yet they are often united; together, they tend to weaken if not destroy each other. For however grand the human spirit, it is only capable at once of one great pa.s.sion. When love and ambition meet, each therefore falls short of what it would otherwise be. Age determines neither the beginning nor the end of these two pa.s.sions.
They are born with the first years, they continue often to the last."
"Man finds no full scope for love in himself, yet he loves. It is necessary, therefore, for him to seek an object of love elsewhere.
This he can only find in beauty. But as he himself is the most beautiful creature that G.o.d has made, he must find in himself the type of that beauty which he seeks elsewhere. This defines and embodies itself in the difference of s.e.x. A woman is the highest form of beauty. Endowed with mind, she is its living and marvellous personation. If a beautiful woman wishes to please, she will always succeed. The fascinations of beauty in such a case never fail to captivate, whatever man may do to resist them. There is a spot in every heart which they reach."
"Love is of no age; it is always being born. The poets tell us so, and hence we represent it as a child. It creates intelligence, and feeds upon intelligence. . . . We exhaust our power of gratifying it every day, and yet every day it is necessary to renew its gratification."
"Man in solitude is an incomplete being; he needs companionship for happiness. He seeks this commonly in a like condition with his own, because habits of desire and opportunity in such a case are most readily found by him. But _sometimes he fixes his affections on an object far beyond his rank_, and the flame burns the more intensely that he is forced to conceal it in his own bosom. When we love one of elevated condition, ambition may at first coexist with affection.
But love soon becomes the master. It is a tyrant which suffers no rival; it must reign alone. Every other emotion must subserve and obey its dictates. A high attachment fills the heart more completely than a common and equal one. Small things are carried away in the great capacity of love."
"The pleasure of loving, without daring to say anything of one"s love, has its pains, but also its sweetnesses. With what transport do we regulate all our actions with the view of pleasing one whom we infinitely value! . . . The fulness of love sometimes languishes, receiving no succour from the beloved object. Then we fall into misery; and hostile pa.s.sions, lying in wait for the heart, tear it in a thousand pieces. But anon a ray of hope-the very least it may be-raises us as high as ever. Sometimes this comes from mere dalliance, but sometimes also from an honest pity. How happy such a moment when it comes!"
"The first effect of love is to inspire a great respect. We revere whom we really love. This is right, and we know nothing in the world so grand as this. . . . In love we forget fortune, parents, friends, and the reason of this is that we imagine we need nothing else than the object of our love. The heart is full; there is no room for care nor disquietude. Pa.s.sion is then necessarily in excess; there is a plenitude in it which resists the commencement of reflection. Yet love and reason are not to be opposed, and love has always reason with it, although it implies a precipitation of thought which carries us away without due examination. Otherwise we should be very disagreeable machines. Do not exclude reason from love, therefore; they are truly inseparable. The poets are wrong in representing love as blind. It is necessary to take away his veil, and give him henceforth the joy of sight."
"It is not merely the result of custom, but a dictate of nature, that man should make the first advances in love. . . . Great souls require an inundation of pa.s.sion to disturb and fill them; but when they begin to love, they love supremely. . . . When we are away from the object of our love we resolve to do and say many things, but when we are present we hesitate. The explanation is, that at a distance the reason is undisturbed, but in presence of the beloved object it is strangely moved. In love we fear to hazard lest we lose all. It is necessary to advance, yet who can tell to what point? We tremble always till we reach this point, and yet prudence does not help us to keep it when we have found it. . . . There is nothing so embarra.s.sing as to be in love, and see something in our favour without daring to believe in it. Hope and fear rage within us, and the last too often triumphs."
The question arises, What interpretation are we to put on these chaste yet glowing sentences? It seems hardly possible to believe that they were not penned out of some real experience. Pascal was not the man to busy himself in writing an imaginary essay on such a subject. Nothing can be conceived less like the sketch of a mere moral a.n.a.lyst standing outside the pa.s.sion he describes. There may be a tendency here and there to over-a.n.a.lysis, and to the balancing of ant.i.theses now on one side and now on the other; but there is the breath of true pa.s.sion all through the piece, and touching, as with fire, many of its many fine utterances. Who was then, conceivably, the object of Pascal"s affections? We have it on the authority of his niece that at this time, when he lived so much as the companion of the Duc de Roannez, he contemplated marrying and settling in the world. {71} This, and the indications of the piece itself, have led to the conjecture that he was in love with the sister of his friend. Charlotte Gouffier de Roannez was then about sixteen years of age, endowed with captivating graces of form and manner, animated by a sweet intelligence and by that charm of spiritual sympathy so likely to prove attractive to a man like Pascal. Occupying rooms in the house of his friend, who, we have seen, could not bear him out of his sight, Pascal and Mademoiselle de Roannez were necessarily much in each other"s society. What so natural as that he should fall in love, and overlooking all disparity of rank, cherish the secret hope of a union with one so gifted and beautiful?-or why may not ambition have mingled with his love, as he himself implies, and carried him for a time into a dreamland from which all shadows fell away?
It is impossible to do more than form conjectures in such a matter. To M. Faugere nothing seems more probable. M. Cousin resents the supposition as derogatory to Pascal, and as utterly inconsistent with the usages of the age of Louis XIV. But even were it impossible, according to the usages of the time, that Pascal should have ever married Mademoiselle de Roannez, this is no proof that he may not have fallen in love with her. There is much in this paper that favours the idea, that while Pascal loved deeply he yet never told his love; and the social obstacles, which for a time may have seemed to him surmountable, at last may have shut out all hope from his heart. Many causes might unite to do this, even supposing his love was returned. It is certain that he continued the warm friend, not only of the Duc de Roannez, but of his sister; and in after-years a correspondence was established betwixt them implying the highest degree of mutual esteem and confidence. We have only the letters of Pascal; nothing is known of those of Mademoiselle de Roannez; the rigidity of the Jansenist copyists have given us only extracts even of the former. All trace of earthly pa.s.sion, if it ever existed, has gone from the pious page in which the Jansenist saint sets forth his exhortations. Yet it argues no common interest, that Pascal should pause in the midst of his conflict with the Jesuits to advise and direct his former companion; and Faugere professes that even before he had read the "Discours" he could trace a "tender solicitude"-more than the mere impulse of Christian charity-beneath all the grave severity of his religious phrases.
The fate of Mademoiselle de Roannez was not a happy one. After vacillating for some time between the cloister and the world-obeying the guidance of Pascal, either directly or through Madame Perier, and even pa.s.sing through her novitiate at Port Royal with "extraordinary fervour"-she was persuaded to marry and become the d.u.c.h.esse de la Feuillade. But her marriage proved unfortunate. Her children died young; her own health broke down; she herself at length died under an operation, bequeathing a legacy to Port Royal, which had remained entwined with all dearest a.s.sociations. Whether Pascal and she had loved each other or not, this sacred Home bound their best thoughts together, and serves to recall their highest aspirations.
It falls to us now to describe how Port Royal claimed the heart of Pascal, and called forth the chief activities of his remaining years.
CHAPTER IV.
PORT ROYAL AND PASCAL"S LATER YEARS.
Whatever day-dreams Pascal may have cherished, "G.o.d called him," as his sister says, "to a great perfection." It was not in his nature to be satisfied with either the enchantments or the ambitions of the world.
All the while that he mixed in the luxurious society of Paris, and seemed merely one of its thoughtless throng, there were throbs within him of a higher life which could not be stilled. His conscience reproached him continually amidst all his amus.e.m.e.nts, and left him uneasy even in the most exulting moments of the love that filled his heart. This is no hypothetical picture, but one suggested by himself in conversation with his sister. She tells us from her retreat how her brother came to see her, fascinated by the steadfastness of her faith, in contrast with his own indifference and vacillation. Formerly it was his zeal which had drawn her to higher thoughts. Now it is the attraction of her piety which sways him, and leaves him unhappy amidst all the seductions of the society in which he mingles. "G.o.d made use of my sister," says Madame Perier, "for the great design, as He had formerly made use of my brother, when He desired to withdraw my sister from her engagements in the world."
The severe Jacqueline tells with unfaltering breath the story of her brother"s spiritual anxieties. She had ceased herself to have any worldly thoughts.
"She led," says Madame Perier, "a life so holy, that she edified the whole house: and in this state it was a special pain to her to see one to whom she felt herself indebted, under G.o.d, for the grace which she enjoyed, no longer himself in possession of these graces: and as she saw my brother frequently, she spoke to him often, and finally with such force and sweetness, that she persuaded him, as he had at first persuaded her, absolutely to abandon the world."
Writing to her sister on the 25th of January 1655, she says that Pascal came to see her at the end of the previous September.
"At this visit he opened himself to me in such a manner as moved my pity, confessing that in the midst of his exciting occupations, and of so many things fitted to make him love the world-to which we had every reason to think him strongly attached-he was yet forcibly moved to quit all; both by an extreme aversion to its follies and amus.e.m.e.nts, and by the continual reproach made by his conscience. He felt himself detached from his surroundings in such a manner as he had never felt before, or even approaching to it; yet, otherwise, he was in such abandonment that there was no movement in his heart to G.o.d. Though he sought Him with all his power, he felt that it was more his own reason and spirit that moved him towards what he knew to be best, than any movement of the Divine Spirit. If he only had the Divine sentiments he once had, he believed himself, in his present state of detachment, capable of undertaking everything. It must be, therefore, some wretched ties {76} which still held him back, and made him resist the movements of the Divine Spirit. The confession surprised me as much as it gave me joy; and thenceforth I conceived hopes that I had never had, and thought I must communicate with you in order to induce you to pray on his behalf. If I were to relate all the other visits in detail, I should be obliged to write a volume; for since then they have been so frequent and so long, that I was wellnigh engrossed by them. I confined myself to watching his mood without attempting unduly to influence him; and gradually I saw him so growing in grace that I would hardly have known him. I believe you will have the same difficulty, if G.o.d continues His work; especially in such wonderful humility, submission, diffidence, self-contempt, and desire to be nothing in the esteem and memory of men. Such he is at present. G.o.d alone knows what a day will bring forth."
Finally, after many visits and struggles with himself, especially as to his choice of a spiritual guide, he became an inmate of Port Royal des Granges, under the guidance of M. de Saci. The questions betwixt him and his sister as to his selection of a confessor or director are very curious, revealing, as they do, the quiet self-possessed decision of the one, the scruples of the other, and the proud self-respect of both. As to one of Pascal"s difficulties, she says, without misgiving-"I saw clearly that this was only a remnant of independence hidden in the depth of his heart, which armed itself with every weapon to ward off a submission which yet in his state of feeling must be perfect." M.
Singlin was willing to a.s.sist the sister with his advice, but was reluctant himself, in his weak state of health, to a.s.sume full responsibilities towards the brother. Jacqueline herself appeared to him the best director her brother could have for the time; and there is a charming blending of humility and yet a.s.sumption in the manner in which she relates this, and speaks of "our new convert." But finally there is found in M. de Saci a director "with whom he is delighted, for he comes of a good stock" (dont it est tout ravi, aussi est-il de bonne race).
Pascal first sought retirement in a residence of his own in the country.
It is particularly mentioned amongst the reasons for his withdrawal from Paris, that the Duc de Roannez, "who engaged him almost entirely," was about to return there. Unable to find everything to his wish, however, in his own house, "he obtained a chamber or little cell among the Solitaries of Port Royal," from which he wrote to his sister with extreme joy that he was lodged and treated like a prince, "according to St Bernard"s judgment of what it was to be a prince." It is still Jacqueline"s pen which reports all this to Madame Perier. She continues in the same letter:-
"He joins in every office of the Church from Prime to Compline, without feeling the slightest inconvenience in rising at five o"clock in the morning; and as if it was the will of G.o.d that he should join fasting to watching, in defiance of all the medical prescriptions which had forbidden him both the one and the other, he found that supper disagreed with him, and was about to give it up." {77}
Such is the story of Pascal"s final conversion and retirement from the world. Jacqueline"s details fill in the briefer sketch of Madame Perier, and both tell the story at first hand. None could have known so well as they did all the circ.u.mstances. It is remarkable, therefore, that neither of them says anything of the well-known incident, emphasised by Bossut as the mainly exciting cause of his great change:-
"One day," it is said, "in the month of October 1654, when he went, according to his habit, to take his drive to the bridge of Neuilly _in a carriage and four_, the two leading horses became restive at a part of the road where there was a parapet, and precipitated themselves into the Seine. Fortunately, the first strokes of their feet broke the traces which attached them to the pole, and the carriage was stayed on the brink of the precipice. The effect of such a shock on one of Pascal"s feeble health may be imagined. He swooned away, and was only restored with difficulty, and his nerves were so shattered that long afterwards, during sleepless nights and during moments of weakness, he seemed to see a precipice at his bedside, over which he was on the point of falling."
This alarming incident, which comes from nearly contemporary tradition, no doubt contributed to Pascal"s retirement from the world, and no less probably also a strange vision he had at this time, to which we shall afterwards advert. But it is peculiarly interesting to trace the inner history of Pascal"s great change. Evidently, from what his sister says, his mind had been for some time very ill at ease in the great world in which he lived. How far this was the working of his old religious convictions continually renewing their influence through the conversation of his sister, how far it was mere weariness and disgust with the frivolities of fashionable life, and how far it may have been baffled hope and the disenchantments of a broken dream of love, we cannot clearly tell. All may have moved him, and brought him to that strange state of isolation which she describes from his own account. But plainly the world-weariness preceded the fresh dawn of divine strength in his heart; and there is a tone of hopelessness in speaking of his detachment from all the things surrounding him, which favours the thought that some new and unwonted smart had entered into his life, and driven him forth to the quiet shelter, where at length he found his old peace with G.o.d, and the great mission to which G.o.d had called him.
The monastery of Port Royal, in which his sister had already found a home, remains indelibly a.s.sociated with Pascal. It was founded in the beginning of the thirteenth century, in the reign of Philip Augustus; and a later tradition claimed this magnificent monarch as the author of its foundation and of its name. It is said that one day he wandered into the famous valley during the chase, and became lost in its woods, when he was at length discovered near to an ancient chapel of St Lawrence, which was much frequented by the devout of the neighbourhood, and that, grateful because the place had been to him a Port Royal or royal refuge, he resolved to build a church there. But this is the story of a time when, as it has been said, "royal founders were in fashion." More truly, the name is considered to be derived from the general designation of the fief or district in which the valley lies, _Porrois_-which, again, is supposed to be a corruption of _Porra_ or _Borra_, meaning a marshy and woody hollow.
The valley of Port Royal presents to this day the same natural features which attracted the eye of the devout solitary in the seventeenth century. Some years ago I paid a long-wished-for visit to it. It lies about eighteen miles west of Paris, and seven or eight from Versailles, on the road to Chevreuse. As the traveller approaches it from Versailles, the long lines of a level and somewhat dreary road, only relieved by rows of tall poplar-trees, break into a more picturesque country. An antique mouldering village, with quaint little church, its grey lichen-marked stones brightened by the warm sunshine of a September day, and the straggling vines drooping their pale dusty leaves over the cottage-doors, made a welcome variety in the monotonous landscape. How hazy yet cheerful was the brightness in which the poor mean houses seemed to sleep! After this the road swept down a long declivity, crowned on one side by an irregular outline of wood, and presenting here and there broken and dilapidated traces of former habitations. The famous valley of Port Royal lay before us. It was a quiet and peaceful yet gloomy scene. The seclusion was perfect. No hum of cheerful industry enlivened the desolate s.p.a.ce. An air rather as of long-continued neglect rested on ruined garden and terraces, on farmhouse and dovecot, and the remains as of a chapel nearer at hand. The more minutely the eye took in the scene, the more sad seemed its wasted recesses and the few monuments of its departed glories. The stillness as of a buried past lay all about, and it required an effort of imagination to people the valley with the sacred activities of the seventeenth century.
A rough wooden enclosure has been erected on the site of the high altar surmounted by a cross. It contained a few memorials, amongst the most touching of which were simple portraits of Arnauld, Le Maitre, De Saci, Quesnel, Nicole, Pascal, the Mere Angelique, the Mere Agnes, Jacqueline Pascal, and Dr Hanlon the physician. Two portraits of the Mere Agnes particularly impressed me. The lines of the face were exquisitely touching in their gentle bravery and patience. As I looked at the n.o.ble and sweet countenances grouped on the bare unadorned walls, the sacred memories of the place rose vividly before my mind. It was here alone that the recluses from the neighbouring Grange met the sainted sisterhood, and mingled with them the prayers and tears of penitence.
Otherwise they dwelt apart, each in diligent privacy, intent on their works of education or of charity. All the ruin and decay and somewhat dreary sadness of the scene could not weaken my sense of the beautiful life of thought and faith and hope and love that had once breathed there; and never before had I felt so deeply the enduring reality of the spiritual heroism and self-sacrifice, the glory of suffering and of goodness, that had made the spot so memorable.
The monastery was founded, not by Philip Augustus, but by Matthieu, first Lord of Marli, a younger son of the n.o.ble house of Montmorency. Having formed the design of accompanying the crusade proclaimed by Innocent III.
to the Holy Land, he left at the disposal of his wife, Mathilde de Garlande, and his kinsman, the Bishop of Paris, a sum of money to devote to some pious work in his absence. They agreed to apply it to the erection of a monastery for nuns in this secluded valley, that had already acquired a reputation for sanct.i.ty in connection with the old chapel dedicated to St Lawrence, which attracted large numbers of worshippers. The foundations of the church and monastery were laid in 1204. They were designed by the same architect who built the Cathedral of Amiens, and ere long the graceful and beautiful structures were seen rising in the wilderness. The nuns belonged to the Cistercian order.
Their dress was white woollen, with a black veil; but afterwards they adopted as their distinctive badge a large scarlet cross on their white scapulary, as the symbol of the "Inst.i.tute of the Holy Sacrament."
The abbey underwent the usual history of such inst.i.tutions.
Distinguished at first by the strictness of its discipline and the piety of its inmates, it became gradually corrupted with increasing wealth, till, in the end of the sixteenth century, it had grown notorious for gross and scandalous abuses. The revenues were squandered in luxury; the nuns did what they liked; and the extravagances and dissipations of the world were repeated amidst the solitudes which had been consecrated to devotion. But at length its revival arose out of one of the most obvious abuses connected with it. The patronage of the inst.i.tution, like that of others, had been distributed without any regard to the fitness of the occupants, even to girls of immature age. In this manner the abbey of Port Royal accidentally fell to the lot of one who was destined by her ardent piety to breathe a new life into it, and by her indomitable and lofty genius to give it an undying reputation.
Jacqueline Marie Arnauld-better known by her official name, La Mere Angelique-was appointed abbess of Port Royal when she was only eight years of age. She was descended from a distinguished family belonging originally to the old _n.o.blesse_ of Provence, but which had migrated to Auvergne and settled there. Of vigorous healthiness, both mental and physical, the Arnaulds had already acquired a merited position and name in the annals of France. In the beginning of the sixteenth century it found its way to Paris in the person of Antoine Arnauld, Seigneur de la Mothe, the grandfather of the heroine of Port Royal. M. de la Mothe, as he was commonly called, was endowed with the energetic will, and with more than the usual talents, of his family. He was specially known as Procureur-general to Catherine de Medicis; but, as he himself said, he wore "a soldier"s coat as well as a lawyer"s robe." He was a Huguenot, and nearly perished in the Bartholomew ma.s.sacre. He had eight sons, every one of whom more or less achieved distinction in the service of their country; but his second son and namesake peculiarly inherited his father"s legal talents, and became his successor in the office of Procureur-general. He more than rivalled his father"s forensic success; and many traditions survive of his great eloquence, and of the pre-eminent ability with which he pleaded on behalf of the University of Paris for the expulsion of the Jesuits from France, under suspicion of having instigated an attempt on the life of Henri IV. in 1593. This great effort has been called the "original sin" of the Arnauld family against the Jesuit order, which was never forgiven. His eloquence produced such an impression, that it is said the judges rose in their seats to listen to his speech, while crowds a.s.sembled at the closed doors of the Court to catch its partial echoes. And yet, like some other great speeches, it cannot now be read without weariness.
Antoine Arnauld married the youthful daughter of M. Marion, the Avocat-general, who became a mother while still only a girl of fifteen, but who grew into a n.o.ble and large-hearted woman, full of deeds of piety and charity. In all, the couple had twenty children, and felt, as may be imagined, the pressure of providing for so many. Out of this pressure came the remarkable lot of two of the daughters. The benefices of the Church were a fruitful field of provision, and the avocat-general, the maternal grandfather of the children, had large ecclesiastical influence.
The result was the appointment not only of one daughter to the abbey of Port Royal, but also of a younger sister, Agnes, only six years of age, to the abbey of St Cyr, about six miles distant from Port Royal.
Difficulties, not without reason, were found in obtaining the papal sanction to such appointments; but these were at last overcome by means, it is said, more creditable to M. Arnauld"s ability than to his integrity.
At the age of eleven, in the year 1602, Angelique was installed Abbess of Port Royal. Her sister took the veil at the age of seven. United in the nursery, they had also spent some months together at the abbey of St Cyr, in preparation for their solemn office. They were of marked but very contrasted characters. The elder inherited the strong will and dominant energy of her race. As yet, and for some time afterwards, without any religious bias, she contemplated her prospects with a quiet and proud consciousness of responsibility. The younger sister was of a softer and more submissive nature. She shrank from her high position, saying that an abbess had to answer to G.o.d for the souls of her nuns, and she was sure that she would have enough to do to take care of her own. Angelique had no such scruples. She was glad to be an abbess, and was resolved that her nuns should thoroughly do their duty. These sayings have been preserved in the memoirs of the family, and are supposed to indicate happily the firm, persistent spirit and legislative capacity of the one sister, in contrast with the pa.s.sive rather than active strength, and milder yet no less enduring purpose, of the other.
The remarkable story of Angelique"s conversion by the preaching of a Capucin friar in 1608, her strange contest with her parents which followed, the strengthening impulses in different directions which her religious life received, first from the famous St Francis de Sales, and finally, and especially, from the no less remarkable Abbe de St Cyran, all belong to the history of Port Royal, and cannot be detailed here. It is a touching and beautiful story, which can never lose its interest. It is only necessary that we draw attention to the temporary removal of the Abbess with her nuns to Paris in the year 1635, and to the settlement in the valley, during their absence from it, of the band of Solitaries whose piety and genius, no less than the heroic devotion of the sisterhood, have shed such a glory around it. It was the spiritual influence of St Cyran which overflowed in this direction. The religious genius of this remarkable man, of whom we shall speak more particularly in the next chapter, laid its spell upon the social life around him, and brought to his feet some of the most able and distinguished young men of the time.
The elder brother of Angelique and Agnes Arnauld, known as M. d"Andilly, was amongst his devoted friends; and it was through him that St Cyran first became connected with Port Royal. D"Andilly was married, and a courtier-a busy man in the political circles of his day; but he had long bowed before the force of St Cyran"s religious convictions, and finally he too abandoned the world, and sought the retirement of Port Royal, whither three of his nephews had preceded him; and a younger and yet more distinguished brother, the namesake of his father, soon followed him. It was D"Andilly who said of St Cyran, "I was under such obligations to him that I loved him more than life." On the other hand, St Cyran said of him, "He has not the virtue of a saint or an anchorite, but I know no man of his condition who is so solidly virtuous."
The brotherhood of Port Royal had its beginning in 1637 with the conversion of two of the nephews of D"Andilly and the Mere Angelique, children of Arnauld"s eldest daughter, who had married unhappily and been soon separated from her husband. These grandsons of Arnauld are known as M. le Maitre and M. de Sercourt, the former of whom, like his ancestors, had greatly distinguished himself at the bar. The latter was no less distinguished as a soldier. In the midst of worldly success, they forsook everything and gave themselves to a life of religious retirement, in which they were by-and-by joined by a younger and still more remarkable brother, known as M. de Saci, trained for the Church, and already mentioned in connection with Pascal"s conversion. He became Pascal"s spiritual director, and held with him the famous conversation on Epictetus and Montaigne. To the same group of men belonged Singlin, of whom we have heard so much in former pages, and Lancelot and Fontaine; above all, Antoine Arnauld, the youngest of the large Arnauld family, and the most indefatigable of them all. Singlin was a favourite of St Cyran, and his successor in the office of spiritual director to the monastery, as De Saci was again the successor of Singlin in the same capacity. He was a man of less ability and knowledge than many of the others, the son of a wine merchant, who did not begin his religious studies till a comparatively late period, but of a very direct and simple character, and well skilled in the mysteries of the conscience, which made him a spiritual power in the community. He was withal of singular humility, and would fain have retired from the office of Confessor when St Cyran was set at liberty in 1643 after his long imprisonment; but neither then nor afterwards, on his ill.u.s.trious friend"s death, was he allowed to do so. St Cyran warned him that he could not fly from the duties of such a position without incurring the guilt of disobedience. De Saci seems to have been especially remarkable for his quiet self-possession and cautious insight into character. His brother, Le Maitre, brings out in a curious manner the contrast between his own impetuous character and the leisurely efficiency of De Saci"s temper. As they sat at their evening meal-"a very modest collation"-
"He had hardly begun his supper when mine was already half digested.
. . . Of quick and warm disposition, I had seen the end of my portion almost as soon as the beginning; it rapidly disappeared; and as I was thinking of rising from the table, I saw my brother De Saci, with his usual coolness and gravity, take a little piece of apple, peel it quietly, cut it leisurely, and eat it slowly. Then, after having finished, he rose almost as light as he had sat down, leaving untouched nearly all his very moderate portion. He went away as if he were quite satisfied, and even appeared to grow fat upon fasts."
{87}
Claude Lancelot was the schoolmaster of the community, and represents to us perhaps more fully than any other name its famous system of education.
Fontaine was one of its chief memoir writers, from whom we derive so much of our knowledge of the society; while the younger Arnauld, of whom we shall afterwards speak, Nicole, and the subject of our present sketch, represent its philosophical and literary activity.
Such was the company to which Pascal joined himself in 1655. They had been settled in divers places,-at first, in 1637, when they were still only a few disciples gathered around St Cyran, in the immediate neighbourhood of Port Royal de Paris; and then, when driven from this after their great head"s imprisonment, for a short time at a place called Ferte Milon; and then, finally, in 1639, at Port Royal des Champs. Here they made a great change for the better by their a.s.siduous industry.
They drained the marshy valley, cleared it of its overgrowth of brushwood, and converted it into a comparatively smiling and salubrious abode. On the return of the sisterhood from Port Royal de Paris in 1648, the nuns found the place improved beyond their expectations. The conventual buildings had been repaired, and the church kept in good preservation. The bells of the church tower pealed a welcome; a large concourse of the neighbouring poor a.s.sembled in the courtyard to greet them; while the Solitaries-one of their number, a priest, bearing a cross-waited at the church door to enter with them, and swell with their voices the Te Deum with which they celebrated their return. After this they parted, a few of the brotherhood repairing to a house which had been taken for them in Paris, but others retiring to the well-known farm on the hill known as Les Granges. There was, of course, the strictest seclusion maintained in the nunnery, as before, and the inmates of Les Granges were wellnigh as completely severed from it as the brethren who retired to Paris.