He was never a general, though an excellent soldier. He was never of himself a good courtier, though he always had a great mind to become one. He was never a good partisan, though his whole life has been spent as such. That air of bashfulness and timidity which he has in society, becomes in business apologetic. He always fancied he had need of it; and this circumstance, together with his "Maxims," which do not exhibit sufficient faith in virtue, and his practice of always quitting an affair with as much impatience as he had entered into it, makes me conclude that he would have done better to have become acquainted with his own character, and to have been content to pass, as he might have done, for the most accomplished courtier, and the most amiable man in private life, that had appeared in his age.

CHARACTER

OF

THE CARDINAL DE RETZ,

BY THE DUKE DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.

(From Madame de Sevigne's Letters.)

PAUL DE GONDI CARDINAL DE RETZ possesses great elevation of character, a certain extent of intellect, and more of the ostentation than of the true greatness of courage. He has an extraordinary memory, more energy than polish in his words, an easy humor, docility of character, and weakness in submitting to the complaints and reproaches of his friends, a little piety, some appearances of religion. He appears ambitious without being really so; vanity and those who have guided him have made him undertake great things, almost all opposed to his profession. He excited the greatest troubles in the state, without any design of turning them to account; and, far from declaring himself the enemy of Cardinal Mazarin with any view of occupying his place, he thought of nothing but making himself an object of dread to him, and flattering himself with the false vanity of being his opponent. He was clever enough, however, to take advantage of the public calamities to get himself made cardinal: he endured his imprisonment with firmness, and owed his liberty solely to his own daring. In the obscurity of a life of wandering and concealment, his indolence for many years supported him with reputation : he preserved the archbishopric of Paris against the power

of Cardinal Mazarin; but, after the death of that minister, he resigned it, without knowing what he was doing, and without making use of the opportunity to promote the interests of himself and his friends. He has taken part in several conclaves, and his conduct has always increased his reputation.

His natural bent is to indolence; nevertheless, he labors with activity in pressing business, and reposes with indifference when it is concluded. He has great presence of mind; and knows so well how to turn it to his own advantage on all the occasions presented him by fortune, that it would seem as if he had foreseen and desired them. He loves to narrate, and seeks to dazzle all his listeners indifferently by his extraordinary adventures; and his imagination often supplies him with more than his memory. The generality of his qualities are false; and what has most contributed to his reputation is his power of throwing a good light on his faults. He is insensible alike to hatred and to friend

ship, whatever pains he may be at to appear taken up with the one or the other. He is incapable of envy or of avarice, whether from virtue or from carelessness. He has borrowed more from his friends than a private person could ever hope to be able to repay ;-he has felt the vanity of acquiring so much on credit, and of undertaking to discharge it. He has neither taste nor refinement; he is amused by every thing, and pleased by nothing. He avoids, with considerable address, allowing people to penetrate the slight acquaintance he has with every thing. The retreat he has just made from the world, is the most brilliant, and the most unreal action of his life; it is a sacrifice he has made to his pride under pretence of devotion-he quits the court, to which he cannot attach himself; and retires from a world, which is retiring from him.

MORAL REFLECTIONS, SENTENCES,

AND MAXIMS.

1.

SELF-LOVE is the love of one's self, and of every thing on account of one's self; it makes men idolize themselves, and would make them tyrants over others if fortune were to give them the means. It never reposes out of itself, and only settles on strange objects, as bees do on flowers, to extract what is useful to it. There is nothing so impetuous as its desires, nothing so secret as its plans, nothing so clever as its conduct. Its pliancy cannot be depicted, its transformations surpass those of Ovid's "Metamorphoses," its refinements those of chemistry. We cannot sound the depths, nor penetrate the darkness of its abysses. There it is concealed from the keenest eyes, it goes through a thousand turns and changes. There it is often invisible to itself; it conceives, nourishes, and brings up, without being conscious of it, a

A

vast number of loves and hates. Some of these it forms so monstrous, that when brought to light it is unable to recognize them, or cannot resolve to own them. From this darkness which conceals it, spring the ridiculous ideas it has of itself; hence come its errors, its ignorances, its grossness, and its follies with respect to itself. Hence it comes that it fancies its sentiments dead when they are only asleep, it thinks that it has no desire to arise from its repose, and believes that it has lost the appetites which it has satiated. But this thick darkness which conceals it from itself does not prevent its seeing perfectly every external object-in this, resembling our eyes, which see every thing, and are only blind to themselves; in fact, in its greatest interests and in its most important affairs, where the violence of its desires call for all its attention, it sees, it perceives, it understands, it imagines, it suspects, it penetrates, it divines every thing; so much so, that one is tempted to believe that each of our passions has a magic peculiar to itself. Nothing is so close, and so firm as its attachments, which it vainly endeavors to break off at the appearance of the extreme evils which menace it. Sometimes, however, it accomplishes in a short time, and without effort, what it had not been able to