in very close hiding, and by God’s grace without trouble or disquiet.” “Would you like me to tell you where M. Arnauld is hidden?” inquired a lady of the gendarmes who were searching her house for traces of him. “He is safely hidden here,” pointing to her heart; “arrest him if you can.”
It was in the interval betwixt the first and second judgment of the Sorbonne that the first of the ‘Provincial Letters’ appeared. The story is, [116a] that during the course of the process Arnauld, Nicole, and Pascal, along with M. Vitart, the steward of the Duc de Luynes (to whom Arnauld’s second Letter had been addressed), and other friends, were met in secrecy at Port Royal des Champs. Their conversation turned to the pending case, and the misapprehensions and prejudices which prevailed in the public mind regarding it. It was felt that some effort should be made to clear away these prejudices, and to diffuse right information in a popular form. Arnauld, ever ready with his pen, was prepared himself to undertake this task; and in a few days afterwards he read to his friends a long and serious paper in vindication of his position. But his friends were not moved as he expected. His pen, powerful in its own sphere, was not fitted to tell upon the popular mind; and his audience were too honest to conceal their disappointment. Arnauld, in his turn, frankly acknowledged the truth forced upon him. “I see you do not find my paper what you wished, and I believe you are right,” he said; and then, turning all at once to Pascal, he said, “But you, who are young, who are clever, [116b] you ought to do something.”
The effect was not lost upon Pascal. He divined with his genuine literary instinct exactly what was required in the circumstances, although distrusting his power to produce it. He promised, however, to make an attempt, which his friends might polish and put in shape as they thought fit. Next day he produced “A Letter written to a Provincial by one of his friends.” The Letter was unanimously pronounced exactly what was required, and ordered to be printed. It appeared on the 23d January 1656; and a second followed six days later.
Nothing could have been happier or more admirably suited for their purpose than those Letters. They took up the subject for the first time in a light intelligible to all. They brought to play upon it not only a penetrating and rapid intelligence, but a brightness of wit, and a dramatic creativeness, which made the Sorbonne and its parties, the Jansenists and their friends, alive before the reader. Never was the triumph of genius over mere learned labour more complete. Arnauld, as he listened to them, must have felt his own thoughts spring up before him into a living shape, hardly less startling to himself than to his opponents.
Addressing his friend in the country, the author expresses his surprise at what he has come to learn of the character of the disputes dividing the Sorbonne:—
“We have been imposed upon,” he says. “It was only yesterday that I was undeceived. Until then I had thought that the disputes of the Sorbonne were really important, and deeply affected the interests of religion. The frequent convocation of an assembly so illustrious as that of the Theological Faculty of Paris, attended by so many extraordinary and unprecedented circumstances, induced such high expectations that one could not help believing the business to be of extraordinary importance. You will be much surprised, however, when you learn from this letter the upshot of the grand demonstration. I can explain the matter in a few words, having made myself perfectly master of it.”
Two questions, he says, were under examination—“the one a question of fact, the other a question of right.”
He explains the question of fact as consisting in the point whether M. Arnauld was guilty of temerity in expressing his doubts as to the propositions being in Jansen’s book after the bishops had declared that they were. No fewer than seventy-one doctors undertook his defence, maintaining that all that could reasonably be asked of him was to say that “he had not been able to find them, but that if they were in the book, he condemned them there.”
“Some,” he continues, “even went a step farther, and protested that, after all the search they had made in the book, they had never stumbled upon these propositions, and that they had, on the contrary, found sentiments entirely at variance with them. They then earnestly begged that if any doctor present had discovered them, he would have the goodness to point them out; adding that what was so easy could not be reasonably refused, as that would be the surest way to silence all objectors, M. Arnauld included. But this they have always refused to do. So much for the one side.
“On the other side are eighty secular doctors, and some forty mendicant friars, who have condemned M. Arnauld’s proposition, without choosing to examine whether he has spoken truly or falsely—who, in fact, have declared that they have nothing to do with the veracity of his proposition, but simply with its temerity. Besides these were fifteen who were not in favour of the censure, and who are called Neutrals.”
Having thus stated the question of fact, and the