CHAPTER IV.
PORT ROYAL AND PASCAL’S LATER YEARS.
Whatever day-dreams Pascal may have cherished, “God 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 amusements, 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. “God made use of my sister,” says Madame Périer, “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 Périer, “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 God, 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 amusements, 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 God. 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 God 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. God 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 assist the sister with his advice, but was reluctant
himself, in his weak state of health, to assume 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 assumption 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 Périer. She continues in the same letter:—