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character of original interest. Whenever it is possible he lets Jacqueline speak for herself; and when, in her correspondence, or her poetical effusions, he does not find the necessary particulars of her life, he has recourse to the writings of her sister Gilberte, (Madame Périer) to supply what is wanting in this respect. It may be said, in fact, that it is only in the introductory part of the book that the author himself appears. Had biography always been written in this manner, some portions of the history of the world would be less enveloped in darkness, or less perverted by those writers who, instead of letting their heroes appear as they really were, clothe them either with imaginary perfections, or darken their memory by false ac

cusations.

Mr. Cousin begins his work by remarking that, during the seventeenth century-the brilliant age of Louis XIV.-the women were almost equal to the men in intellectual acquirements. Let it not be supposed, however, that Mr. Cousin is an admirer of what we vulgarly call a blue-stocking. On the contrary, it is impossible to mark with more energy and truth than he, the distinction-unhappily too often neglected-between a woman'of a superior mind and a woman who writes for the public.

Man

"I am not," says he, "of the school of Moliere in respect to women. and woman have the same soul and the same destiny. They will be obliged to render the same account of the use which they shall have made of their moral and intellectual faculties. It is barbarous in man to seek to degrade these faculties. It is a crime in woman to allow them to be degraded. Ought not women to be instructed in the grounds of their religious faith, if they are to practise it as intelligent and free moral agents? And if religious instruction is not only allowed them even enjoined upon them-what other instruction can appear above their comprehension? Either woman was not born to be the companion of man, or it is an absurd contradiction not to allow her to hold a spiritual intercourse with him of whose destiny she is to partake-whose labors she is at least to understand, and whose sufferings she is to relieve. Let us, then, allow her to cultivate her intelligence by all useful studies and acquirements, provided she violates not the supreme law of her sex-modesty-the source of all her charms."

He then shows that woman is a domestic being, and highly approves of Rousseau's ideas on the education of woman, which, he says, Rousseau understood much better than that of man:

"Man, on the contrary, is born for action; he acts even when writing. All serious authors write to defend some noble cause confided to their courage or their genius. A man who writes merely for the sake of writing—to get a name or to make a fortune-the author by profession, is an able workman, who contributes to the amusement of the public, and who thus obtains a just degree of consideration, but who can never acquire true glory. True glory is attained at another and higher price; it is the universal testimony of the gratitude of mankind; and mankind is not prodigal of its gratitude. If I say this of the man of letters, what shall I say of the woman who writes? What a woman who, thanks be to heaven, has no public cause to defend, appears before the public? And her modesty does not revolt at the idea of disclosing to all eyes-of selling to him who bids highest, -to expose to the examination of the bookseller, the reader or the journalist, her most secret beauties-her most mysterious charms-her soul-her feelings-her sufferings her internal struggles? This is a spectacle which, although I see it every day, and among the most respectable women, will ever be to me an incomprehensible mystery. In this respect I belong, I confess, to another age. If any one should tell me that Madame de Sévigné intended for the public, or for the • Mercure de la France,' those letters in which she pours out the effusions of her maternal affection and her inexhaustible facility, I should answer, without hesitation-firstly, 'You injure Madame de Sévigné in my eyes. She was for me a mother, full of passion and genius; you convert her into a bel esprit,' and sec

ondly, 'You are mistaken.' When we write for publication, and in order to be read by every one, we write very differently. We may, indeed, write very agreeably, but never with that natural grace—with that involuntary charm, which the heart alone inspires, and which the coquette does not find on looking in her mirror."

Mr. Cousin ends this spirited passage, which of course loses much of its original force in our translation, by saying

"There are but two things which can justify a woman in becoming an authoress-great talent, or poverty; and I confess I have more respect for the latter than for the former excuse."

It will be seen by this extract that Mr. Cousin, because he thinks that woman was not born for the anxieties and cares of public life, does not consider her as a being in any way inferior to man. What he says is a good answer to those women who, from the superiority of their intelligence, or from some defect in their early education, aspire to the difficult honor of appearing as authoresses before the public, and who, consequently, accuse men of tyranny, when they advise them to stop and reflect before they take the first and irretrievable step in the career which is about to open before them. They always imagine-or rather affect to imagine, that we do not wish to allow them the privilege of thinking, because we do not desire that they should give to the public the result of their thoughts. Unfortunately, many women-particularly in France, do not understand the difference that there is between using those faculties with which God has endowed them, to charm and adorn their private life, and exercising them to gratify their thirst for fame. In France, women, when they are gifted with superior intelligence, are much disposed to imitate the example of two of the most remarkable women of our age-Madame de Stael and George Sand.Mr. Cousin has, therefore, done well not only to express his horror and contempt for the authoress by profession, but also to set up before the public the bright and pure image of Pascal's sister, in order to show that woman may be gifted with the rarest qualities, and yet possess all those virtues which belong to her alone.

Jacqueline Pascal was born at Clermont, in Auvergne, on the 4th October, 1625. At an early age she evinced a superior mind, and the wit of her childish repartees often astonished those about her. It is curious, however, that when, at the age of seven, her sister, Gilberte, who was only six years older, attempted to teach her to read, she could not prevail upon her to apply herself to this first, but necessary acquirement; and it was not until she had heard her sister read some verses that, pleased with their rhythmical harmony, she said, “When you wish me to read, let me read verses, and I shall attend to my lesson as long as you like."

This early taste for poetry did not belie itself at a later period. When eight years old she began to compose verses herself; at the age of thirteen she had the small pox; the entire loss of her beauty was the consequence of this terrible disease. Far from grieving at this loss, which she was already old enough to appreciate, had she been in the least vain, she composed some verses, in which she expresses her gratitude to God, who, in depriving her of her beauty, had given her an additional and more certain means of preserving her innocence. When fifteen, she went with her family to Rouen, where she resided for five or six years, frequenting society and exercising her poetical muse. It was not until 1646, when having been confirmed in this town by the Bishop de Belley, that she evinced the first signs of that spirit of devotion, which ended by her immuring herself in a convent. After her return to Paris, in the course of the following year, she became

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acquainted with Mr. Singlin-she chose him for her confessor. In the letters written at this time to her sister, we see that she had already become very devout. She was then staying at Paris with her brother. In 1648, her father came to Paris to visit his two children. She took this occasion to ask his permission to retire into a convent. Etienne Pascal, (the father,) though a good Christian, was not sufficiently devout to be willing to consent to her leaving him entirely; he refused her request. She then asked him to allow her to retire for a fortnight to Port-Royal.

"This retirement was but short," says Mr. Cousin, "but the letter in which she asks her father's permission, denotes great respect for his will, but at the same time an unconquerable longing after solitude and monastic life."

This letter is indeed very curious. She says:

"It is customary for persons of all conditions, whether they be worldly or not, to retire at the time of all great religious festivals, to some convent, there to enter in nearer communion with God alone. In such a retreat, I shall be able to ascertain whether God has destined me for this mode of life. I shall there be able to hear him speak to me, and I shall perhaps become assured that I am not intended for such a place. Should it be thus, I shall beg of you to think no more of what I have said to you. But if God assures me that I am destined for this sort of life, I shall wait without anxiety the moment which you will choose for the accomplishment of his glory, for I am convinced it is the only thing you seek for."

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Her father, however, continued of the same opinion, and entreated her to live with him until he should be called from this world. She consequently followed him to Clerment, with her brother. She spent seventeen months at this place. All her time was employed in prayer, or in acts of devotion or of charity. A priest of the town having heard of her talent for poetry, requested her to translate into French the Latin hymn, Jesu natra redemptio. She fulfilled his wish; but having subsequently, from some scruples of conscience, as to whether it was right to indulge in this poetical taste, consulted Mother Agnes, (one of the nuns of Port Royal,) and having received for answer: You had better keep this talent a secret; God will not ask you to account for it; humility and silence are the virtues of your sex;" she entirely gave up writing verses. Mr. Cousin remarks that the institution of Port Royal was at a later period less tenacious on this point, for it allowed Jacqueline, after she had entered the Convent, to publish some verses on the miracle of the Holy Thorn. In November, 1650, she returned to Paris with her father. She continued to visit the nuns of Port-Royal, and on the request of Mother Agnes, she wrote some reflections on the Mystery of the Death of the Saviour. These reflections are full of feeling, and at the same time bear the stamp of a vigorous mind. We can trace in them some resemblance to the thoughts of Pascal, but they have neither that originality nor that vehemence which are the characteristics of his style. We shall not attempt to give an analysis of these reflections; it will suffice to say, that she mentions successively what she considers to be the principal characteristics of the death of our Lord, and from each of these she draws a moral lesson concerning the destiny of every Christian who becomes dead to the world. Some of these conclusions seem to us rather far-fetched.

For example, she says:

"Jesus did not wait until he was old to die, but seems rather to have wished to anticipate death when in all the vigor of life. This teaches me not to wait until the weakness of old age shall have overtaken me, but to anticipate the death of the body by a mystical death."

* Director of the Convent of Port Royal.

On the other hand, there are some of these reflections which breathe the purest Christian faith.

The following year, (1651,) was destined to favor Jacqueline's wishes. Her father died at Paris on the 24th of September. There was now, it seemed, no obstacle to her embracing the monastic life, and she determined to do so whenever the family affairs were settled. But a new and unexpected obstacle arose. Her brother, who at first had been so favorable to her decision, now opposed it. She therefore determined to enter PortRoyal without his knowledge, and the 4th of January was fixed for the execution of this resolution. She led him to suppose that she merely intended retiring for some days to the convent. Madame Périer, in the memoirs she has left of Jacqueline, tells us that—

"The evening previous to the day appointed for her departure, she informed her brother of Jacqueline's intention of spending some little time at the convent, in order to become acquainted with this mode of life. Pascal was much moved, and retired to his room without seeing my sister, who was in an adjoining closet, in which she was in the habit of saying her prayers. She did not leave it until my brother had retired, for she was afraid she might be moved if she saw him. I repeated to her all the kind things he had said to me, and we then retired to bed. But although I was perfectly willing that she should take the step she was about to take, as I thought it was the greatest happiness that she could attain, yet I was so much agitated when I thought of the importance of her resolution, that I could not sleep all night. At about seven o'clock in the morning, as my sister did not get up, I was afraid she had not slept either; I went to her bedside and found her fast asleep. The noise I made, however, awakened her; she asked me what o'clock it was. I told her; and having asked her how she felt, and how she had slept, she answered that she felt very well, and had slept perfectly. She then got up, and went away to enter the convent with the same calmness and tranquil manner with which she would have accomplished the most unimportant action. We did not take leave of each other, as we were afraid of being too much moved, and I turned away when I saw her about to depart. It was in this way that she renounced the world, on the 4th of January, 1651, being at that time twenty-six years old."

There is something inexpressibly touching in the simple manner in which this scene is related, and however convinced we may be that the sentiment which dictated the action of the young woman was erroneous, we cannot but be moved when we reflect on it. There are now, comparatively speaking, but few convents in the world, and those that still exist are no longer upheld by that religious spirit which guided the conduct of former ages. Catholicism, even in Catholic countries, has no longer that influence which it had in past ages; for Catholicism is founded on that despotic control of the mind, which is inconsistent with the spirit of the free age in which we have the happiness to live. We are firmly convinced that the world will sooner or later become Protestant, because the pure form of Christianity we profess, is the only religion in harmony with the desires and wants of our own times-and yet we are touched on reading this simple account of a young girl about to renounce the world, and to immure herself in a conWhat is it that thus moves us? Is it the religious principle upon which Jacqueline acts? No! it is the sincere conviction which dictated her conduct,-which, however, it may be in opposition with our own notions of religious faith, will ever be the source of deep emotions in the human breast. Earnest and sincere conviction, whatever may be its nature, must excite our admiration, and sometimes, our enthusiasm.

vent.

Jacqueline had hardly entered the convent, when she wrote to her brother, reminding him that she did not require his consent to take the veil, but at

the same time asking him for it, and even requesting him to be present at the ceremony.

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Although I am free," she says, after having first informed him of her intention to take the veil," and although it has pleased God to chastise me, and at the same time to fulfil all my wishes in the manner that you know, and which I will not repeat, for fear of mingling any painful recollections with the joy I now feel, in destroying the only obstacle which opposed itself to my taking the vows, yet I feel the want of your consent-not that it is indispensable to accomplish my wishes, but so as to be able to accomplish them with perfect satisfaction and tranquillity of mind."

This letter is signed, Sœur de Ste. Euphémie; this was the name she had taken at the convent. "There is something of the woman and something of the saint in this letter," says Mr. Cousin. She now speaks with all the authority of one who has for ever renounced the world, and then by turns she seems to forget herself, and allow herself to be carried away by her natural affection. Thus, at the end of her letter, she says: It is only for form's sake, that I have desired you to be present at the ceremony, for I cannot think that you can have any idea of absenting yourself on this occasion."

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It was not until the following year that she actually took the veil. As she did not desire to be a burthen to the convent, which was not rich, she wished, on entering it, to make a donation, or, as it was called, a dowry. Her family opposed this, as they considered it as depriving them of their property in favor of strangers. She spoke to mother Agnes and to Mr. Singlin on the subject, and has left a memoir, in which her conversation with these two persons is faithfully related. They showed themselves most disinterested. Mr. Singlin advised her to write to her relations, and to tell them how much their opposition to her wishes had grieved her, but at the same time not to express any anger, but, on the contrary, to tell them that so slight a temporal blessing was not worth minding, and that it would not at all defer the celebration of the ceremony of her taking the veil. Jacqueline was nevertheless much grieved at these differences with her family. However, on the eve of the ceremony, her brother had an interview with the superior of the convent, and the whole affair was amicably settled.

A few years later, she was entrusted with the care of the novices of the convent, and in 1657, she wrote a little work entitled, Regulations for the Children. The severity of this system, which may almost be compared to solitary confinement, is truly shocking. It must, however, in justice to the author be observed, that Jacqueline, in the preface to these regulations,

says:

"It would not always be as easy as useful to execute all these rules. These things must be ordered with prudence; but it is necessary, according to the remark of a certain Pope, to unite the power which keeps the children in order without being insupportable, and the tenderness which gains their hearts without spoiling them. Sit rigor sed non exasperans; sit amor sed non emolliens.

There were children of all ages at the convent, from four to seventeen and eighteen. The eldest got up at four o'clock; the youngest, according as their healths and strengths would allow. They dressed in the most perfect silence, then said their prayers, and made their beds, after which they breakfasted. During the breakfast one of them was obliged to read the life of the saint whose day it was. After breakfast they went to work, all

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†These regulations were published in 1665, as a sequel to the Constitutions of the Monastery of Port Royal.

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