given us credit for. For my part, I am perfectly satisfied to be thought not handsomer than I make myself, nor of a better humor than I paint myself, nor more clever and accomplished than I am. I therefore repeat that I am clever, but my capacities are spoilt by melancholy; for, although I know my own language passably well, although I have a retentive memory and a flow of ideas not very confused, I am, nevertheless, so absorbed by my melancholy, that I often express very badly what I wish to say.

To converse with sensible people is one of the greatest pleasures I experience. I prefer it, however, when serious and consisting chiefly of morality. I have no objection, notwithstanding, to lively subjects; and if I do not joke much, it is not because I do not know how to estimate trifles well said, or do not find highly amusing the sprightly sallies in which certain ready-witted persons excel. I write well in prose; I do well in verse; and if I were captivated by the glory which comes from this quarter, I think I might, with little labor, acquire a tolerable reputation. I am fond of general reading; but I prefer that which tends to cultivate the mind and fortify the soul. Above all, I delight in reading with a person of good understanding; for then we reflect at every instant on what we read, and from these reflections arises a conversation of the most agreeable and useful kind. I am a pretty good judge of works in prose and verse which are submitted to me; but I am apt to give my opinion of them too freely. One of my defects also is, that sometimes I am too scrupulously delicate and too critically severe. I am not averse to disputation, and I often willingly join in it; but I support my opinions with too much warmth; and when an unjust side is defended against me, I sometimes get so enthusiastic in the cause of reason, that I become almost unreasonable myself.

I possess virtuous sentiments, excellent inclinations, and so great a desire to be a perfectly good man, that my friends cannot do me a greater favor than telling me candidly of my faults. Those who know me rather particularly, and who sometimes have the goodness to give me their advice, know that I have always received it with all imaginable pleasure, and with all the submission that could be desired. All my passions are moderate and pretty well regulated: I am scarcely ever seen in anger; and I never conceived hatred to any one. I am not, however, incapable of avenging myself if I am offended, or if my honor required that I should resent an insult; on the contrary, I am certain that duty would so well supply the place of hatred, that I should pursue my revenge with more vigor than other men.

Ambition does not trouble me. I fear but few things, and death not at all. I am not very sensible of pity; and I should wish not to be so at all. Notwithstanding, I would do every thing in my power to comfort a person in distress: and I think, in fact, that one should do every thing for him, even to showing much compassion for his affliction; for miserable people are such fools, that it is this which does them the greatest good in the world: but at the same time I hold that we should only affect compassion, and carefully avoid having any; it is a passion that is perfectly useless in a well constituted mind, serving but to weaken the heart, and being only fit for common people, who, never acting by the rules of reason, are in want of passions to stimulate them to action.* I love my

* This is altogether the Stoical doctrine of pity; indeed, La Rochefoucauld appears to have had in his mind the following passage from Epictetus :—

Οταν κλαίοντα ἴδῃς τινὰ ἐν πένθει, ἤ ἀποδημοῦντος τέκνου, ἤ ἀπο

friends; and I love them in so great a degree, that I would not hesitate a moment to sacrifice my own interests to theirs. I am complaisant towards them; I put up patiently with their ill humors; but I never take much pains to please them when they visit me, and I am never much disquieted at their absence. I have naturally very little curiosity about the greater part of what excites it in others. I am very close; and have less difficulty than others in not revealing what has been told me in confidence. I am rigidly observant of my word; and I would never fail to keep my promises at any sacrifice: and this has been my constant rule through life.

I observe the most punctilious civility towards women; and I believe I never uttered a syllable in their presence which could give them a moment's pain. When they are endowed with mind, I like their conversation better than that of men: there is a certain sweetness about it which is not to be found among ourselves; and besides, they appear to me to express themselves more distinctly, and give a more agreeable turn to every thing they say. As to gallantry, I formerly practised it: at present, young as I am, I think no more of it. I have given up flirtations; and I only wonder that there are so many sensible people who can occupy their time with them. I extremely approve of the belles passions; they exhibit greatness of mind; and although in the inquietudes they produce there is something

λωλεκότος τὰ ἑαυτοῦ, πρόσεχε, μή σε ἡ φαντασία συναρπάσῃ, ὡς ἐν κακοῖς ὄντος αὐτοῦ, τοῖς ἐκτός· ἀλλ ̓ εὐθὺς διαίρει παρὰ σεαυτῷ, καὶ λέγειν ἔστω πρόχειρον, ὅτι, τοῦτον θλίβει οὔ τὸ συμβεβηκός [ἄλλον γὰρ οὔ θλίβει] ἄλλα τὸ δόγμα τὸ περὶ τούτου· μέχρι μέν τοι λόγου μὴ ἔκνει συμπερι φέρεσθαι αὐτῷ, κἂν οὕτω τύχῃ, συνεπιστενάξαι. Πρόσεχε μέν τοι, μὴ καὶ ἔσωθεν συνεπιστενάξης.—ΕΡΙΟΤΕTI Enchiridion, cap. xxii.

opposed to the strict rule of wisdom, yet they accommodate themselves so well to the most austere virtue, that I conceive it would be unjust to condemn them. Having experienced all that was delicate and forcible in exalted sentiments of love, if ever I should fall in love, I believe it would be in that way, but according to my present way of thinking, I am of opinion that the knowledge which I possess of these matters will never pass from the head to the heart.

CHARACTER

OF

THE DUKE DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD,

BY CARDINAL DE RETZ.

(From De Retz's Mémoires.)

THERE was always something incomprehensible in the whole character of M. de la Rochefoucauld. He was fond of being mixed up with intrigues even from his childhood; a time when he could not discern petty interests, which, indeed, have never being his failing, nor comprehend greater ones, which, in another sense, have never being his strong point. He was never capable of carrying on any affair; and I know not why, for he possessed qualities which, in every one else, would have supplied the place of those he wanted. His discernment was not extensive; and he could not even take in at once the whole of what was within his range: but his good sense, excellent in theory, united to his gentleness of character, to his insinuating address, and to an admirable ease of manners, ought to have made more amends than it did for his want of penetration. He had always an irresolution, which was habitual to him; but I do not even know to what to attribute this irresolution. I cannot assign it to the fertility of his imagination, which was any thing but lively. I cannot assign it to the sterility of his judgment; for though not happy in working it out, he had a good store of reason. We see the effects of this irresolution, although we know not the cause.