''\%i 
 
 PQ 
 
 1796 
 
 B8
 
 WNlVCftSlTY OF 1 
 CAUFORN'A. I

 
 THE 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 FENELON, 
 
 ARCHBISHOP OF CAM BRAY. 
 
 CHARLES BUTLER, Esq, 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 3PEINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORMEj 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 « 
 
 1810.
 
 Qjiare quis tandem me reprehendat, si quanium ctetens ad 
 Jestos ludorum dies celcbrandos, quantum ad alias voluptates, et 
 ad ipsam requiem animi et corporis conceditur iemporis : quan- 
 tum alii tempes/ivis conviviis, quantum aleae, quantum pil<E, ta7itum 
 mihi egomet ad hac studia recolenda siimpsero. 
 
 Cic. pro Archia. 
 
 Le changemeiit d'e'tude, et toujours un delassement pour moi. 
 
 D^Aguesseau. 
 
 PoPLE and Miller, Printers, 
 22, Old Boswell Court, Strand.
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT REVEREND 
 
 HENRY LORD BISHOP OF NORWICH, 
 
 TBI8 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE OF FENELON, 
 
 IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 
 
 By his Lordship's 
 Most obedient and most humble servant, 
 
 CHARLES BUTLER.
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 HORiE BIBLICiE, volume the first, being a connected 
 series of Notes on the Text and Littrary History of the Bibles, 
 or Sacred Books of the Jews and Chi-istiaiis, Fourth edition, 
 
 HORJE BIBLIC^, volume the second, being a connected 
 series of Notes on the Koran, Zend-Avesta, Vedas, Kings, and 
 £dda, or the Books accounted sacred by the Mahometans, 
 Parsees, Hindus, ChinesCy and Scandinavian nations. Second 
 edition. 
 
 With Two Dissertations — I. On a Council said to have 
 been held by the Jews at Ageda, in Hungary, in 1650, with 
 the original Narrative of the Council. — II. An Historical 
 Outline of the Disputes concerning the Authenticity of 1 John, 
 Chap. V. ver. 7. 
 
 BORJE JURIDICiE SUBSECIV^, being a connected 
 series of Notes concerning the Geography, Chronology, and 
 Literary History of the principal Codes and Original Docu- 
 ments of the Grecian, Roman, Feuded and Canon Law. Second 
 edition. 
 
 A CONNECTED SERIES of NOTES on the chief Revo- 
 lutions of the principal States which composed the Empire of 
 Charlemagne, fi-om his Coronation in 814, to its Dissolution in 
 1806; OH the Genealogies of tlie Imperial House of Habs- 
 bourgh, and of the Six Secular Electors of Germany : and on 
 Roman, German, French, and English Nobility. 
 
 Sold by Whith, Fleet-street ; and Longman, Hurst, 
 Rees and Orme/ Paternoster row, London.
 
 THE 
 
 LIFE OF FENELON. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 ^RlNCIPJt WRITERS OF THE LIFE OF FENELOJf, 
 
 With the name of Fenelon, the most 
 pleasing ideas are associated. To singular 
 elevation botli of genius and sentiment, he 
 united extreme modesty and simplicity; 
 unconquerably firm in every thing which 
 he considered a duty, he displayed, both 
 on great and ordinary occasions, a meek- 
 ness, which nothing could discompose. 
 In the midst of a voluptuous court, he 
 practised the virtues of an anchorite ; equal- 
 ly humble and elegant, severe to himself 
 
 B
 
 2 
 
 and indulgent to others, a mysterious holi- 
 ness hanas on his character and attracts 
 our veneration, while his misfortunes shed 
 over him a tinge of distress, which excites 
 our tenderest sympathy. 
 
 Not long after -his decease, a short 
 account of his life was published by the 
 chevalier Ramsay, who had been the pre- 
 ceptor of Prince Charles, the son of our 
 James the second. The chevaHer Ram- 
 say passed several years in the strictest 
 intimacy with Fenclon, and, after Fenelon's 
 decease, was entrusted by his family, with 
 his papers. In 1734, a great nephew of 
 Fenelon published memoirs of him, which 
 are short, but contain some curious details. 
 A tljird account of the life of Fenelon was 
 published in 1787, by father Querbeuf, an 
 ex-jesuit. In 1808, a life of Fenelon was 
 published in three volumes octavo, by M. 
 de Bausset, bishop of Alais at the begin- 
 ning of the French Revolution, and after- 
 wards member of the imperial chapter of 
 the church of St. Denis at Paris. He
 
 seems to have ho(f access to all the papers 
 in the possession of the family of Fenelon, 
 M'hich could be of use to him, in the 
 composition of his work. From the work 
 of M. de Bausset, the following account of 
 the life of Fenelon is principally extracted. 
 
 B 2
 
 CHAP. IL 
 
 FJMILY or FENELON. 
 
 The village of Sallgnac, from vvhiclv ite' 
 family of Fenelon took its title, lies at the 
 distance of about two leagues from Sarlat. 
 In 1460, it was raised to a Barony. On 
 the decease of Anthony de Salignac, gover- 
 nor of Peregord and Limousin under John 
 d'Albret, King of Navarre, it descended 
 to his eldest son, and, on the decease of 
 that son without issue male, it descended 
 to his daughter and heiress. She mar- 
 ried into the house of Birlo, and on her 
 marriage it was stipulated that the descen-
 
 <3ants of it should use the surname and 
 arms of Salignac, with tbeirfamily surname 
 and arms. The surname of Salignac was 
 also used by the younger son of Anthony 
 de Salignac. From him, Fenelon, the 
 subject of these pages, lineally descended. 
 Bernard, his great grandfather, was sent 
 ambassador by the court of France to 
 Queen Elizabeth ; and history mentions to 
 his honour, that, when he was desired by 
 his court to justify to her the massacre at 
 ^aris on St. Bartholomew's day, he refused 
 the unwarrantable commission. 
 
 Francis de Salignac de la Mothe Fene- 
 lon, whose life is now presented to the 
 reader, was a son, by a second marriage, of 
 Pons de Salignac, count of La jSIotlie Fe- 
 nelon. The marquis de Fenelon, his un- 
 cle, took on himself the charge of his edu- 
 cation. The marquis's character appears 
 to have been truly respectable. The great 
 Cond^ used to say of him, that *' he was 
 equally qualified for conversation, tor the 
 field, and for the cabinet." An idea may
 
 be formed of the openness of his disposi- 
 tion, and the austerity of his principles, by 
 what he said to M. de Harlai, on his 
 nomination to the archbishoprick of Paris; 
 — *' there is a wide difference, my right 
 reverend Lord, between the day, when the 
 nomination to such an office brings to the 
 party the compliments of the whole king- 
 dom, and the day, on which he appears 
 before God, to render him an account of 
 its administration/' M. Olier, the founder 
 of the congrei^dtion of St. Sulpice, engaged 
 the marquis in an extraordinary project. 
 The law of duelling, w as once, in France, 
 as it was once in most other kingdoms of Eu- 
 rope, a part of the civil jurisprudence of the 
 country. In 1547, a duel was fought by 
 the count Guy Chabot and the count of 
 Chaterguer-ai, in the presence of Henry 
 the second and his court. The count of 
 Chaterguer-ai was mortally wounded ; his 
 death affected the monarch so much, that 
 he solemnly vowed not to permit another 
 duel. Cardinal Richelieu repressed dudt-"
 
 ling, by some extraordinary examples of 
 severity; after his death, it burst out with 
 great fury. M. Olicr conceived a plan of 
 supplying the insufficiency of the law, by 
 putting honor in opposition to itself. With 
 this view, he formed an association of gen- 
 tlemen of tried valour, who, by a writing 
 signed with their hands, to whicli the so- 
 lemnity of an oath was to be added, were 
 to oblige themselves never to give or accept 
 a challenge, and never to serve as seconds 
 in a duel. The marquis of Fenelon was 
 placed at the head of the association ; and 
 no one vyas admitted into it, who had nojk 
 eminently distinguished himself in the ser- 
 vice. On the Sunday of Pentecost, in the 
 year 1651, in the midst of an immense con- 
 course, they assembled in the church of 
 St. Sulpice, and put into the hands of M. 
 Olier, a solemn instrument, expressing their 
 firm and unalterable resolution, never to 
 be principals or seconds in a duel, and to 
 discourage duelling to the utmost of their 
 power. The great Conde was struck
 
 8 
 
 with the proceeding ; " A person," he said 
 to the marquis of Fenelon, " must have the 
 opinion which I have of your valour, not to 
 be alarmed at seeing you the first to break 
 the ice on such an occasion." 
 
 Lewis the fourteenth seconded the views 
 of the respectable pastor : he took a solemn 
 oath not to pardon a duel, and in the course 
 of his reign, published several severe laws 
 against duelling : by the last of them he 
 established a court, composed of the mar- 
 shalls of France, to hear and determine 
 all cases of honour. They were invested 
 with ample powers, and the severest penal- 
 ties were inflicted on tliose, who should give 
 or accept a challenge, or otherwise disobey 
 their decrees. Still duelling continued ; 
 and the ordinance was eluded, by the dis- 
 tinction between duel and rencontre : the 
 latter was supposed to be unpremeditated, 
 and was therefore held not to fall within 
 the laws against duelling, which was sup- 
 posed to be premeditated. To prevent 
 this evasion, Lewis the fifteenth puhhshed
 
 his ordinance of 172?, which, after confirm- 
 ing the laws of his predecessors against (Uiels, 
 provided, that though the rencontre were 
 quite sudden and unpremeditated, the ag- 
 gressor should be punished with death. But 
 tliis ordinance had httle etrect. At length 
 good sense came to the aid of law ; so that 
 towards the end of that monarch's reign, 
 a duel was no longer essential to a character 
 for personal honour and bravery. The law 
 of duel once also made a part of the eng- 
 lish jurisprudence. In \651, a duel was 
 awarded by the court of chivalry between 
 Donald Lord Rca, and Mr. David Ramsay, 
 and all the preliminaries of place, time, and 
 w^eapons were adjusted by his majesty's let- 
 ters patent ; but, a few days before the 
 combat was to have taken place, his ma- 
 jesty, by a letter, addressed to the lord 
 constable and lord marshall, revoked his 
 letters patent, and enjoined the parties not 
 to proceed to combat. 
 
 Duelling was never so common in Eng- 
 land as on the continent. It was a common
 
 10 
 
 observation of foreigners, that many circum- 
 stances and expressions pass as matters of 
 course in England, which would be consi- 
 dered heinous offences among them. They 
 attribute it to the roughness of our political 
 discussions in the house of commons, which 
 influence more than we ourselves are aware 
 of, our manners in private life. The only 
 circumstance which occurs in the jurispru- 
 dence of England, of a person condemned 
 capitally for a duel, is the case of Major 
 Oneby, reported by sir John Strange, (page 
 766',) and that case was attended with cir- 
 cumstances of particular aggravation. The 
 major prevented his execution by laying 
 violent hands on himself, in the nio;ht which 
 was to precede it.
 
 11 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 TIIL YOUTH OF FENELOS. 
 A. D. 1651. MT. 1. 
 
 PRANcrs de Salignac de la Mothe Fenelon, 
 archbishop of Cambray, was born in the 
 castle of Fenelon, in Peregord, on the sixth 
 day of August, 1651. M. de Bausset in- 
 forms us, that the early years of Fenelon 
 were distinguished by many traits, both of 
 courage and moderation, which were sur- 
 prizing in a child, and which we should 
 read with pleasure, even in the life of a 
 person less eminent We wish he had com- 
 municated some of them to his readers, as 
 every trait, indicating a future Fenelon, 
 must be interesting. The same author in-
 
 forms us that Fenelon acquired, at a very 
 early age, that charm of style, which so 
 particularly marks his writings. As soon 
 as his years permitted, he embraced the 
 ecclesiastical state. At this important part 
 of tlie hfe of Fenelon M. de Eausset stops 
 to give a general view of the church of 
 France at that period : we shall select from 
 it the most striking parts of his account of 
 the great rival bodies, the Jesuits and 
 jansenisis. 
 
 *' The institute of the Jesuits," says M. 
 Bausset, " to which no other institution 
 ever was or ever could be compared, for the 
 energy, foresight, and depth of design, with 
 which it was planned and conducted, was 
 calculated to embrace in its vast functions, 
 all the ordeis and classes of society, and all 
 the elements that make a part of its civil or 
 religious powers. Versed in every species 
 of knowledge, its members derived from it, 
 that consideration which superior talents 
 and knowledge seldom fail to confer. The 
 confidence which roman catholic govern-
 
 13 
 
 iiients placed in the Jesuits, and the suc- 
 cess of their general scheme of education, 
 threw the instruction of youth almost ex- 
 clusively into their hands. The severity of 
 their manners, their temperance, their per- 
 sonal decency and disinterestedness, did 
 them honour as religious men and citizens. 
 These were never contested by their ene- 
 mies ; and they were a complete refuta- 
 tion of the charges of loose morality, so often 
 imputed to them. The organization of the 
 body was so perfect, that it neither had 
 youth nor age. Immediately on its ap- 
 pearance, it formed establishments in every 
 catholic state, attacked the descendants of 
 Luther in all their subdivisions, and founded 
 missions in the east, in the wilds of Ame- 
 rica, in the Indies, in China, and in Japan. 
 At the end of two centuries the order v\ as 
 in full vigour of maturity." 
 
 " By what spirit of frenzy," exclaims IVI. 
 Bausset, " did it happen, that the roman 
 catholic governments, whom they served so 
 ■well, deprived themselves of such useful
 
 14 
 
 defenders ? The silly and laughable charges 
 against the Jesuits, which were made a 
 pretence for their dissolution, are now 
 scarcely remembered. But it is recol- 
 lected, that their accusers dealt in general 
 charges ; and that while the heaviest accu- 
 sations were brought against the whole body, 
 nothing was proved against individuals. 
 In every part of catholic Europe, public 
 instruction ceased on the banishment of 
 the Jesuits ; this is equally acknowledged 
 by their enemies and their friends." 
 
 Such is M. Bausset's account of the Je- 
 suits, and such, to this hour, is the general 
 languatje of roman catholics in their re- 
 gard. 
 
 He then presents his readers with a 
 view of the janscnists, confining it chiefly 
 to those, who, from their residence in the 
 convent of Port-royal or its neighbourhood, 
 or from connections with them, obtained 
 the appellation of Portroyalists. — In every 
 aera of the christian religion, the learned 
 and the idle ha\e attempted to sound the
 
 15 
 
 abyss of grace and predestination, and con- 
 sumed their time in vain efforts to recon- 
 cile, with the infinite wisdom and goodness 
 of the deity, the moral and natural evils 
 which he foresees, and decrees, or permits. 
 Towards the end of the sixteenth century, 
 Michael Baius, the parent of Jansenism, a 
 theologian of Louvain, was engaged in these 
 abstruse speculations, and published a trea- 
 tise on grace, which was condemned at 
 Rome, and retracted by its author.' He 
 was supposed to allow too much to grace, 
 and too little to free will. IMolina, a Spa- 
 nish Jesuit, entered the lists against him, 
 and was accused of the opposite error. 
 The cause was carried to Rome ; a congre- 
 gation of cardinals was appointed to hear 
 it : in the space of ten years, it was argued 
 before them two hundred times ; but the 
 congregation broke up without coming to a 
 resolution on any of the points submitted to 
 them. Undismayed by their want of success, 
 Jansenius, bishop of Ipres, after twenty- 
 two years study, composed a large volume
 
 15 
 
 on the subject, in which, if he did not adopt 
 the system of Baius, he adopted a systeni 
 directly opposite to that of Molina. The 
 Jesuits and their adherents attacked hi^ 
 work ; five propositions were extracted 
 from it, not as existing in it literally, but 
 as containing the essence or ultimate ten- 
 dency of its doctrines. They were formally 
 condemned by the Pope, and the universal 
 church acquiesced in their condemnation. 
 But the advocates of Jansenius rallied : 
 they admitted that the propositions were 
 erroneous, but denied that any of them were 
 contained in the writings of Jansenius, or 
 were fairly inferable from his principles.' 
 This most important point, whether an ill- 
 written book, of an obscure flemish prelate, 
 contained five propositions on an unintel- 
 ligible subject, was the origin of a dispute, 
 which continued for two centuries, and, at 
 different times, convulsed both the church 
 and state of France to their centres : the 
 progress of the controversy will be men- 
 tioned in a future part of this work.
 
 17 
 
 Among the jansenists, the family of Ar- 
 naud held a distini»;uishcd rarjk. One of 
 that liuuily was ahbesy of Port-royal, a con- 
 vent in a solitary uncultivated tract of land 
 in the neighbourhood of Paris; and several 
 of her relations were members of the com- 
 munity. The celebrated Anthony d*Ar- 
 naud, the two Le Maitres, and Le Sacy re- 
 tired to the same spot, and were followed by 
 several persons of rank and talent. They 
 spent tiieir whole time in prayer and study ; 
 and their writings are amongst the ablest 
 compositions in the french language. Their 
 enemies admitted that they carried it to its 
 perfection, and tixed its standard. The 
 reign of Lewis the fourteenth, so famous 
 for its literary glory, produced no greater 
 writers than those who inhabited the Port- 
 royal solitude. Unfortunately for religion, 
 literature, and science, too much of their 
 time was consumed in advocating the cause 
 of Jansenism. 
 
 M. de Bausset then proceeds to give an 
 account of the Sulpiciens, a community of 
 c
 
 18 
 
 secular priests, far inferior Iti renown to the' 
 Jesuit^ 01 jansenists, but not without consi- 
 derable celebrit}^ in their day. 
 
 The account which M. de Bausset gives 
 of them, is most edifying. Avoiding pubUc 
 notice, engaging in no contest, resigning to 
 others those good works wliich confer cele- 
 brity, it was their object to be actively em- 
 ployed ill the service of the church in her 
 most obscure and humble functions ; and 
 within that modest but useful line of duty, 
 their exertions were uniformly confined. 
 They had numerous establishments in 
 France ; and had existed one hundred and 
 fifty years without the slightest abatement 
 of their first fervour, when, at the beginning 
 of the french revolution, they perished in 
 the general wreck of what was most res- 
 pectable or holy in France. M. de Baus- 
 set mentions, as a circumstance greatly to 
 their honour, that during the whole term of 
 their existence, their concerns never once 
 became the subject of a suit at law. To 
 the Jesuits, Fenelon was always greatly at-
 
 19 
 
 tached : from the jansenists he always kept 
 at a great distance ; nothint» could be more 
 contrary to his disposition, than their gloomy 
 devotion and immoderate severity. His 
 spiritual director, M. Tronson, was supe- 
 riour of St. Sulpice. This circumstance 
 attached Fenelon to the sulpiciens, and his 
 attachment to them continued through his 
 life. 
 
 cS
 
 go 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 JEKELON IS ORDAINED PRIEST^ 
 A. D. I676. jET. 25. 
 
 In the seminary of St. Sulpice, Fenelon- 
 was ordained priest : he passed the three 
 following years in absolute retirenaent; 
 after which, by the desire of the curate 
 of the parish of St. Sulpice, he deli- 
 vered, on Sundays and festivals, in the 
 church of the parish, a course of familiar 
 explanations of the old and new testament; 
 these first made him known to the public. 
 It appears that in the fervour of his zeal, 
 he once intended to transport himself to 
 Canada, and devote his life to the conver- 
 sion of the savages ; and that afterwards,,
 
 «1 
 
 on finding his constitution would not endure 
 the cold of that climate, he changed his 
 resolution, and determined to dedicate him- 
 self to the missions of the east. M. de 
 Bausset favours us with a letter written by 
 him, under this impression, which shows a 
 mind saturated with religious and classical 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " Several trifling accidents have delayed, 
 till this moment, my return to Paris ; but 
 now at last, I set off, and I almost fly. 
 With this voyage in my thoughts, I have a 
 greater voyage in contemplation. All 
 Greece opens herself to me j the sultan re- 
 tires in a fright ; the Peloponnesus already 
 begins to breathe in freedom. Again, will 
 the church of Corinth flourish ; again will 
 she hear the voice of her apostle. I feel 
 myself transported into these delightful re- 
 gions ; and, while I am collecting the pre- 
 cious monuments of antiquity, I seem to 
 inhale her true spirit. I search for the 
 Areiopagus, where St. Paul preached the 
 unknown God to the wise of the world.
 
 But after the sacred, the profane comes for 
 her turn, and I do not disdain to enter the 
 Pyreum, where Socrates unfolded the plan 
 of his republic. I ascend the double sum- 
 mit of Parnassus ; I pluck the laurels of 
 .Delphos, I breathe the sweets of Tem[)e. 
 
 *' When shall the blood of the Turks lie 
 mingled with the blood of the Persians, on 
 the plains of Marathon, and leave Greece 
 to religion, to philosophy, and to the fine 
 arts, which regard her as their natural 
 soil ? 
 
 *' Arva beata, 
 " Petamus Arva, divites et insulas ! 
 
 " O island ! consecrated by the heaven- 
 ly visions of the beloved disciple ; never 
 shall I forget thee ! On your soil, I will 
 kiss the footsteps of the evangelist, and 
 fancy I behold the heavens open. Then 
 shall I be seized with indignation against 
 the false prophet, who attempted to un- 
 fold the oracles of the true phophet j and 
 return thanks to God, who did not destroy
 
 Q3 
 
 liis churcli, as he destroyed Babvlon ; but 
 vhained up tlie dragon and crowned his 
 church with victory. Tlie schism disap- 
 pears ; — tlie east and west are re-united; — 
 and Asia, alter a long night, sees the day 
 return to her. The land consecrated by 
 the cross of Christ, and watered by his 
 blood, is delivered from those, who profan- 
 ed her, and is invested with new glories. — 
 Finally, the children of Abraham, scat- 
 tered over the earth and more numerous 
 than the stars of the heavens, are collected 
 from the four winds, and come in crowds 
 to adore the Christ, whose aide they pierc- 
 ed on the cross. 
 
 ^' This is sufficient : you will rejoice to 
 hear this is the last of my letters ; and the 
 last of my enthusiastick 'flights, with which 
 you will be importuned. 
 
 " Fr. de Fenelon." 
 
 While Fenelon lived in this happy state, 
 he contracted an intimate friendship with 
 two persons whose names, like his own,
 
 24 
 
 will reach the latest posterity, Bossuet and 
 the Ahbe Fleury. To the former, who 
 was greally his superior in ye<irs, and was 
 then in the zenith of his great reputation, 
 he particularly attached himself. Bossuet, 
 denying himself to all others, used to per- 
 mit Fenelon and Fleury to accompany him 
 to Gerniigny, the country residence of the 
 bishops of Meaux. They had stated hours 
 of prayer, private study, and relaxation ; 
 and in these last, under the humble name 
 of conversation, the bishop unfolded to 
 them all his sacred and literary stores of 
 knowledge. Nothing could exceed the 
 bishop's regard for Fenelon, or Fenelon's 
 veneration for the bishop. Who does not 
 lament that the union of such men was 
 ever dissolved ?
 
 fl5 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 FEffELON IS EMPLOYED ON THE MISSIONS AMGNS 
 TUE NEW CONF ERTED PROTESTANTS. 
 
 A. D. 1685. ^T. 34. 
 
 It appearsthat Fenelon first attracted thefa- 
 vourot Lewis tiic fourteenth by hisgreatsuc- 
 cess in the rehgious missions, wliich, on the 
 revocation of tiie edict of Nantes, were un- 
 dertaken, by the direction of that monarcii, 
 for proselytising the liugonots to the catho- 
 lic religion, and confirming the faith of the 
 new converts *. 
 
 By the edict of Nantes, Henry the fourth 
 granted Vo the hugonots, the free exercise 
 of their religion, and placed them nearly on 
 
 * See Appendix, Note 1.
 
 25 
 
 an equality of civil rights with his other sub-^ 
 jects. I'heir pastors were salarised at the 
 expence of the state ;^ their churches were 
 allowed to choose deputies, who were to 
 hold assemblies for regulating their internal 
 concerns ; and they were permitted to retain 
 some toitilied towns, and garrison them 
 with troops of their own persuasion, as a 
 security for the observance of the edict. 
 ^V''ith some jealousy on tlie side of the ca- 
 tholics, and some discontent on tiie side of 
 the hugonots, the edict was observed, dur- 
 ing the reign of Henry the fourth, witliout 
 either party's having any just cause of com- 
 plaint. The edict was confirmed by his 
 successors immediately after his accession 
 to the throne ; but the hugonots were dis- 
 countenanced, and had a very small share 
 of the favours of government or the smiles 
 of the court. This naturally encreased 
 their discontent, and their discontent was 
 fomented by the different parties who con- 
 tended for the favour of the court, and who 
 regularly patronized the hugonots, while
 
 27 
 
 they were in opposition, anH regularly neg- 
 lected them, while they were in adminis- 
 tration. At length, tiie hugonots broke 
 out into open war ; they were supported 
 hy the cnglish, hut the war was soon ter- 
 luinated by the taking of the city of La 
 Rochelle. The hugonots were then oblig- 
 ed to deliver up their forfeited towns: in 
 other respects, the edict remained in force ; 
 and it was confirmed to them by Lewis 
 the fourteenth, on his accession to the 
 throne. 
 
 But the extinction of the hugonot reli' 
 gion, in every part of his dominions, was 
 one of that monarch's most favorite pro- 
 jects, and, through the whole of his reign, 
 pursued by him with unde\iating attention. 
 By his direction, all means of favour and 
 exclusion were put in practice to make pro- 
 selytes : the ministers ot the hugonots were 
 laid under many restraints, in the exercise 
 of their functions ; their consistories and 
 synods were seldom allowed to meet ; their 
 schools of theology and philosophy were
 
 28 
 
 broken up ; and seven hundred of their 
 churches were taken from them or demo- 
 lished : — finally, by an edict of the 23d 
 of October \6S5, Lewis the fourteenth 
 absolutely revoked the edict of Nantes : 
 and, by a second edict of the same day, 
 interdicted wholly to the hugonots, the 
 exercise of their religion, ordered the mi- 
 nisters to quit the kingdom, einploycd 
 priests to educate the children of the hu- 
 gonots in the catholic religion, and com- 
 manded all the intendants of provinces and 
 crovernors of towns to cause the edict to be 
 
 o 
 
 rigidly enforced. Some of them exceeded 
 their instructions, and, under the pretence 
 of preserving the priests from insult, and 
 compelling the attendance of the children 
 at mass and public instruction, distributed 
 soldiers in the principal places inliabited 
 by hugonots, and connived at their out- 
 rages. The soldiers were principally taken 
 out of the dragoon companies ; which gave 
 their employment the appellation of the 
 Dragonade, To subtract themselves from
 
 29 
 
 this persecution, two hundred thousand 
 families quitted France, and, dispersing 
 themselves in the protestant states, enriched 
 them with their arts and industry, and made 
 them resound with their execrations of their 
 tyrannical persecutor. It is greatly to the 
 honour both of Fenelon and of Bossuet, 
 that they blamed the use of compulsion in 
 effecting the religious conversion of the hu- 
 gonots. 
 
 *' Violence and persecution," says M. 
 Bausset, " were so contrary to the character 
 and principles of Fenelon, that he con- 
 demned, without hesitation, the rigour 
 which some agents of persons in power 
 employed against the peaceable and sub- 
 missive hugonots. He equally condemned 
 the blind zeal, with which some persons 
 endeavoured to force acts of conformity 
 from those who were not sincerely convinc- 
 ed, but only intimidated and terrified. He 
 knew that this species of conformity muat 
 necessarily be rather an act of hypocrisy, 
 than a real act of religion."
 
 30 
 
 In a letter to the duke of Beauvilliersii. 
 Fenelon liiCntions, that he was informed bj' 
 public report, that the council on the af- 
 fairs of the hugonots, to which the duke 
 belonged, was determined on rigorous mea- 
 sures. " Tb*it," says Fenelon, " is not the 
 true spirit of the gospel. The Mork of God 
 is not effected, in the heart, by force.'* 
 The marshal of Noailles consulted Fenelon 
 on the line of conduct he should pursue, 
 in respect to the hugonot soldiers under his 
 command. In his answer, Fenelon says, 
 " That tormenting and teaziftg heretic sol- 
 diers into conversion will answer no end j 
 it will not succeed ; it will only produce 
 hypocrites ; the converts made by thera 
 will desert in crouds. If an officer, or any 
 other person can insinuate the truth into 
 their hearts, or excite in them a desire of in- 
 struction, it is well ; but there should be no 
 constraint, ^ indirect officiousness. When 
 they are ill, a catholic officer may visit 
 them, procure them assistance, and drop on 
 tliem a few salutary words. If that pro- 
 
 **)■■
 
 31 
 
 duce no good, and the sickness continue^ 
 one may go a little furthrr, but soltly, and 
 without constraint. One may hint, that the 
 ancient is the best church, and derived to 
 us immeiliately from the apostles. If the 
 sick person be unable to enter into this, 
 you should be satisfied with leading him 
 to make some acts of sorrow for his sins, 
 and some acts of faith and charity, adding 
 words like these, O my God ! I submit to 
 whatever the true church teaches. In what- 
 ever place she resides, I acknowledge her 
 for my mother." 
 
 The chevalier Ramsay relates, that Fe- 
 nelon recomuiendcd to prince Charles^ the 
 son of our James the second, never to use 
 compulsion in matters of religion. " No 
 human power," he said, " can force the im- 
 ))enetrable retrenchments of the freedom 
 of the mind. Compulsion never per- 
 suades, it only makes hypocrites. When 
 kings interfere in matters of religion, they 
 don't protect it, they enslave it. Give civil 
 liberty to all, not by approving all religions.
 
 as indifferent, but by permitting in patience 
 what God permits, and by endeavouring to 
 bring persons to what is right by mildness 
 and persuasion." 
 
 Tlie counsel, which Fenelon gave to 
 others, he was himself the first to ])ractise. 
 The province of Poitou was appointed for 
 the scene of his mission. When he was 
 presented to Lewis the fourteenth, the only 
 request he made to the monarch was, that 
 the troops, and every species of military 
 parade, might be removed to a great dis- 
 tance from the province. — We have men- 
 tioned that the sentiments of Bossuet on 
 this subject agreed Avith those of Fenelon ; 
 and we add with pleasure, that both the 
 cliancf'llor D'Aguesseau, and the chancel- 
 lor's father, the intendant of Languedoc, 
 concurred with them in the same opinion 
 The latter resigned his office of intendant, 
 rather than witness the dragonade.
 
 S3 
 
 CHAP. VL 
 
 FENEl.ON PUBLISHES UIS TREATISES OJf TIIS 
 MISSION OF THE CLERGY, AND FEMALE EDU- 
 CATION. 
 
 A. D. 1607. iET. 36\ 
 
 The object of the first of these treatises is 
 to prove that the great majority of mankind, 
 being of themselves wholly incapable of 
 forming a just judgment on the several ar- 
 ticles of the christian faith, divine wisdom 
 could afford them no surer guide to lead 
 them to truth, than a visible authority, de- 
 riving its origin from the apostles, and from 
 Jesus Christ himself, and continued through 
 an uninterrupted succession of pastors, to 
 the end of time. — Of all the points in dis- 
 
 D
 
 34 
 
 pute between ronian catholics and protest* 
 ants, this perhaps ib the most important. 
 At the celebrated conference between Bos- 
 suet and Claude, on the subject of the 
 church, it seems to have been agreed by 
 them, that every point, on which the two 
 churches were divided, would be settled by 
 a decision of this question. Bossuet and 
 Fenelon contended that the roman catho- 
 lics alone can show an uninterrupted suc- 
 cession of pastors, consecrated by a form, 
 which may be traced to the apostles, while 
 the reformed churches cannot trace their 
 ancestry beyond the sixteenth century. 
 This circumstance of itself is said by them 
 to decide the question in favour of the ro- 
 man catholic church. The system and the 
 arguments of both are the same j but Bos- 
 suet writes for the learned and informed j 
 Fenelon for the simple and uninformed. 
 
 His treatise on female education endeared 
 him to every mother and every daughter in 
 France. He observes in it, that the educa- 
 tion of a daughter should begin with her
 
 So 
 
 birth, as it is inijlossible to attend too soon 
 to her physical or mental faculties ; that, in 
 her earliest years, instruction should be 
 conveyed to hpr, chicHy in narrative ; u hich 
 18 indirect instruction ; but that, even in her 
 very earliest years, her instruction should 
 be solid ; so tliat nothing should be allowed 
 a place in her faith or exercises of devotion, 
 which is not drawn from the gospel, or 
 which the church does not sanction. She 
 should be accustomed to reject idle histo- 
 ries, and kept from devotions, indiscreetly 
 introduced, and not authorized by the 
 church. The Historical Catechism of 
 Fleury, he mentions in his treatise three 
 times, with great commendation. Of the 
 female character he expresses himself in 
 terms of the highest praise; *' Women," 
 he says, *' were designed by their native 
 elegance and gentleness to endear domestic 
 life to man ; to make virtue lovely to chil- 
 dren, to spread round them order and grace, 
 and give society its highest polish. No at- 
 tainment can be above beings, whose end 
 D 2
 
 and aim it is, to accomplish purposes ar 
 once so elegant, and so salutary ; every 
 mear"5 : -^vMald be used to invijrorate by prin- 
 ciple an I culture, such native excellence 
 and grace."
 
 37 
 
 CHAP. VII 
 
 FENELON IS APPOINTED PRECEPTOR TO TBE 
 DUKE OF BURGUNDY, THE DUKE OF ANJOUy 
 AND THE DUKE OF BERRI, THE GRANDSONS 
 OF LEWIS THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 A.D. 1609. iET. 38. 
 
 Fenelon's success in his missions in Poi- 
 tou conipletely satisfied the expectations he 
 had raised. Soon after his return from 
 them, he was appointed preceptor to the 
 duke of Burgundy, the duke of Anjou, and 
 the duke of Berri, the three sons of the 
 dauphin. 
 
 Whatever were the defects in the cha- 
 racter of Lewis the fourteenth, it is allowed 
 that he possessed, in the highest degree, 
 the merit of discovering and employing the
 
 38 
 
 talents ©f his subjects. Three times in the 
 course of his reign he had to appoint the 
 governors and preceptors of the royal 
 princes ; and, on each of these occasions, 
 the appointment did him honour. The 
 education of the dauphin was intrusted to 
 the duke of Mortaurier and Bossuet; and 
 wlien the dukes of Burgund}', Anjou, 
 and Berii, the sons of the dauphin, arrived 
 at a proper age, he appointed the duke of 
 Beauvilliers their governor. 
 
 The duke of Beauvilliers was married to 
 a daughter of the celebrated Colbert; Col- 
 bert's two other daughters were married to 
 the dukes of Chevreuse and Mortemar ; all 
 the dukes held charges of importance in 
 the court, and all the writers of the time 
 recount, in their praise, that while they 
 were attentive to please the king, by an 
 anxious discharge of their duties, none of 
 them ever flattered him in his irregularities, 
 or paid court to the objects of his unlaw- 
 ful attachments. Madame de Montespan 
 never, in the long course of her long sway,
 
 39 
 
 saw any of them among her courtiers. In 
 the midst of his wanderings Lewis always 
 shewed sentiments of decency and delicacy : 
 he was struck with the contrast between the 
 dignity of the conduct of this family and 
 the ignoble subserviency of the generality of 
 his courtiers. This circumstance first re- 
 commended the duke of Bcauvilliers to his 
 favour, and, when the duke of Burgundy 
 reached his eighth year, the monarch ap- 
 pointed the duke of Bcauvilliers the gover- 
 nor of the duke of Burgundy and his two 
 brothers, with an unlimited power of nomi- 
 nating all tlie other officers about them, and 
 ail their inferior attendants. The duke 
 immediately appointed Fenelon to the place 
 of preceptor, and Fleury to the place of 
 sub-preceptor. The general impression of 
 Fenelon's character at this time, and the 
 circumstances which immediately led to his 
 appointment, are thus mentioned by the 
 duke de St. Simon. 
 
 "The duke de Bcauvilliers, a very pious 
 noble man, was a great friend of the congre-
 
 40 
 
 g^tion of St. Siilpice. On some occasion, 
 he remarked a tall person, with a counte- 
 nance AAorn by profound study, with eyes 
 pouring fire like a furnace, and a physiog- 
 nomy, which no one who had once seen 
 could ever forget. It coujbined in it, the 
 most opposite traits of character ; but none 
 of them contradicted the other. It had a 
 mixture of gravity and gallantry, ofthese- 
 i ious and the gay ; of the doctor in divinity, 
 of the bishop and the high nobleman ; but 
 acuteness, grace, decency, and above all, 
 dignity predominated. It required exertion 
 to cease from gazing on him. Every por^ 
 trait of him spoke; but no painter gave an 
 idea of the justness or the harmony of the 
 original, or of the delicacy which marked 
 each feature of his countenance. In his 
 manners, there was a similar relief of op- 
 posite qualities ; they were easy, and made 
 every person around him easy ; that fine 
 taste, which only habits of high life can 
 confer, entered, as of its own accord, into 
 his conversation, with a natural, soft, flow-
 
 41 
 
 ing and insinuating eloquence ; a turn of 
 expression, always natural, neat and pleas- 
 inn, and a singular talent of expressing in- 
 telligibly the most abstruse ideas ; an easy 
 flow of wit, the quality and quantity of 
 which, exactly suitable to the person and 
 the occasion for which it was intended, 
 he could turn at pleasure. In company 
 with him, it was impossible to quit him ; 
 when he stole away, it was impossible 
 not to run in search of him. 
 
 " The duke de Beauvilliers •was subdued 
 by such an assemblage of agreeable quali- 
 ties, and wished that madame de ]\Iainte- 
 non should share in his admiration. Twice 
 a week she dined at the hotel de Beauvilli- 
 ers, or the hotel de Chevreuse, and made a 
 fifth with the two sisters and their hus- 
 bands ; a bell was on the table and no ser- 
 vant admitted, that they might converse 
 without restraint. It was a sanctuary, 
 from which the court was excluded ; but 
 Fenelon was admitted. The purity of his 
 morals obtained for him the esteem of the
 
 42 
 
 ttle society ; bis feeling piety gained hfm 
 their hearts ; they were enchanted by his 
 spirituaHty ; so that, when the duke of 
 BeaiiviHiers was named governor of the 
 duke of Burgundy, with power to appoint 
 the preceptor, he immediately cast his eyes 
 on Fenelon." 
 
 No choice was ever more applauded by 
 the public ; —among the letters, which Fen- 
 elon received on the occasion, M. de Baus- 
 set presents us with one addressed to him 
 by his friend M. Tronson, an extract 
 of which must be acceptable to our rea- 
 ders. 
 
 " The education, which his majesty has 
 been pleased to entrust to you, is so con- 
 nected with the state and the good of the 
 church, that it is impossible for me not to 
 be highly pleased in seeing it put into such 
 good hands. But my joy changes into 
 alarm, when I consider the dangers to 
 ^\hich it exposes you. It is true that it 
 gives you an opportunity of doing much 
 good ; but it is also true, that it may occa-_
 
 43 
 
 ;5ion your being the cause of much evil. 
 You now live in a country, where the gos- 
 pel of Christ is little known; and where, 
 even those acquainted with it, make use of 
 it chiefly to do themselves honour before 
 men. It is not necessary to live a great 
 while in it, to bring yourself to regard, as im- 
 moderate and excessive, the maxims, which, 
 M hen you meditated on them at the foot of 
 the cross, appeared to you clear ; ^ind to 
 think the most obvious and clea** duties, 
 doubtful and impracticable. Circimistances 
 will arise in which you will be tempted to 
 think prudence and charity require of you 
 to make terms with the world ; but how 
 strange will it be for a christian, and still 
 more for a priest, to enter into any compro- 
 mise with the enemy of his salvation ! Tru- 
 ly, sir, your situation is dangerous: confess 
 that it is difficult not to lose yourself in it, 
 and that to conduct yourself in it properly, 
 requires no common virtue. If ever the 
 study and meditation of the scriptures 
 were necessary to you, they are at this
 
 44 
 
 time indispensible. It should seem, that 
 hitherto you have chiefly wanted it for fill- 
 ing your mind with just notions, and nou- 
 rishincT her with the lessons of eternal 
 truth; henceforth you stand in absolute 
 need of it for keeping yourself free from bad 
 impressions, for preserving yourself from 
 falsehood. It is of infinite consequence to you 
 never to lose sight of the terrible moment of 
 death, when the glory of the world wil! dis- 
 appear like a dream, and every created ob- 
 ject, to whom you would then seek for sup- 
 port, will sink under you. " — This was cer- 
 tainly the language of friendship.
 
 45 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 FUNELON'g EDUCATION OF THE DUKE OF 
 BURGUNDY. 
 
 As the duke of Burgundy was the first of 
 the three royal brothers, in succession 
 to the crown of France, he particularly en- 
 gaged the attention of Fenelon ; his cha- 
 racter is thus described by the duke de St. 
 Simon. 
 
 " The duke of Burgundy was born ter- 
 rible, and during his first years, continued 
 an object of terror. Hardhearted, angry, 
 to the extreme of passion, even against 
 inanimate objects, impetuous to a degree 
 of fury, incapable of bearing the least
 
 46 
 
 opposition to bis wishes, even from time 
 or climate, without putting himself into 
 paroxysms of rage that made one tremble 
 for his existence, (a condition in which I 
 have often seen him,) stubborn in the high- 
 est degree, passionate in the pursuit of 
 every kind of pleasure, addicted to the 
 gratifications of the table and violent hunt- 
 ing, delighted, to a degree of extacy, with 
 music, and with deep play, in which he 
 could not endure to lose, and in which it 
 was personally dangerous to be engaged 
 with him ; in fine, abandoned to all the pas- 
 sions, and transported by every kind of 
 pleasure ; often ferocious, naturally born 
 to cruelty, barbarous in his raillery, seizing 
 the ridiculous with astonishing justness ; 
 iiigh as the clouds, in his own opinion, 
 considering other men as atoms, with which 
 he had no resemblance, and regarding his 
 brothers, though they ^vere educated on an 
 equality witii him, as intermediate beings, 
 between him and the rest of the human race: 
 — But even in his passions, talent beamed
 
 47 
 
 from him : his repartees were surprizing : 
 in liis answers, there was always some- 
 thing of justness and depth ; lie seemed to 
 play with the most abstract subjects j the 
 extent and vivacity of his genius were asto- 
 nishing: but they always kept him from 
 attending to any one thing at a time, and 
 thus made him incapable of learning any 
 thing. — The prodigy was, that, in a short 
 space of time, religion and the grace of 
 God, made him a new man ; and changed 
 those terrible qualities into all the oppo- 
 site virtues. From the abyss which I 
 have described, there arose a prince, affa- 
 ble, gentle, moderate, patientj modest, hum- 
 ble, austere only to himself, attentive to 
 his duties, and sensible of their great ex- 
 tent. His only object appeared to be, to 
 perform all his actual duties of a son and 
 subject, and to qualify himself for his future 
 obligations." 
 
 Fenelon gave up himself entirely to the 
 duties of his employment; he foresaw, says 
 M. de Bausset, that, with the singular dis-
 
 48 
 
 position which his pupil had received frond 
 nature, he ^vould make that rapid progress 
 in science, which none but persons of ex- 
 traordinary genius can make, and which is 
 not ahvays attainable by the offspring of 
 kings. The difficulty was to subdue the 
 temper, thus forcibly constituted, in such 
 a manner, as to preserve its nobler parts, 
 while all that was too violent in it, was 
 removed. It was the object of Fenelon to 
 place on the throne that perfect form of 
 virtue, which he had in his mind, after the 
 example of the great artists of antiquity, 
 who endeavoured to express in their woiks, 
 that perfect form of beauty, which they car- 
 ried with them in idea. 
 
 But what care, attention, art, manage- 
 ment, observation, and choice of means 
 were necessary to model the prince into 
 such a character ! — In entering on his office, 
 Fenelon laid down to himself a rule, to 
 which he rigidly adhered, never to ask of 
 the court a favour- for himself, his friends, 
 or his family. His private levenue was
 
 49 
 
 small, and no pecuniary income was attach- 
 ed to ills office ; our author gives us ex- 
 tracts ot" letters which shew that, though his 
 establishment was on the smallest scale, 
 it was with difficulty that he found money 
 to answer his current expences. Still he 
 Jkept the narrowness of his circumstance^ 
 to himself J he never asked, and till his 
 nomination to the Abbey of St. Valery, at 
 the end of several years after his appoint- 
 ment to his office, he never received a fa- 
 vour from the court. It was more painful 
 to him to refuse the solicitations of his 
 family that he would use his interest at court 
 in their favour. The marchioness de La- 
 val, the only daughter of the marquis de 
 Fenelon, by whom he was educated, re- 
 quested him to obtain a lieutenancy for her 
 son, then four years old. Fenelon answer- 
 ed her by calling to her recollection his 
 general rule ; " I wish," says he, *' that 
 consistently with my principles, I could in- 
 terfere in your son's behalf, but, though my 
 life should depend on it, I would not ask a 
 
 E
 
 so 
 
 favour of the king." He leaves her at li- 
 berty to act for herself; but intimates, 
 that her solicitations would be fruitless, as 
 the king never conferred offices on persons 
 in early infancy, but on those whose fathers 
 had been killed in battle. Other letters 
 from him, which are cited by M. de Baus- 
 set, speak the same language. 
 
 Such a proceeding naturally raised him: 
 in the esteem of his pupil. In his general 
 demeanor towards him, Fenelon assumed a 
 conduct, by which, though it were full of 
 condescension and aftbction, he placed him- 
 self at an unmeasureable height above him. 
 Of this, our author gives the following in- 
 stance. On some occasion, Fenelon had 
 expressed himself to the duke, in a tone of 
 great authority : the duke was indignant ; 
 " not so, sir,'' he said to Fenelon, " I know 
 \^'ho I am; and who you are,'' — Fenelon 
 made no reply j he put on an air of recol- 
 lection, and, giving the duke a serious and 
 sorrowful look, retired, and spoke to him 
 no more in the course of the day. Tiie
 
 t 
 
 51 
 
 following morning, Fenelon entered tlie 
 duke's bed-chamber while he was asleep ; 
 ordered the curtains of his bed to be open- 
 ed, and the duke to be awakened ; then, 
 assuming a cool inditierent look, *' Sir," he 
 said, ** you yesterday told me you knew vvho 
 you were, and who I was. ]\fy duty ob- 
 liges me to inform you, that you know nei- 
 ther. You imagine that you are greater 
 than I am -, this, some valet has told you ; 
 but you oblige me to tell you, that I am 
 jgreater than you. Birth, here, is out of 
 the question. You would pronounce a 
 person mad, who should give himself a pre- 
 ference over his neighbour, because the 
 dews of heaven had fertilized his field and 
 not fallen on his neighbour's. You are not 
 wiser than such a man ; if you are vain of 
 your birth, it confers on you no personal 
 merit. You must be sensible that I am 
 your superior in knowledge ; I have taught 
 yon every thing you know ; and, what you 
 know, is nothing in comparison of what 
 remains for me to teach you. With respect 
 £ 2
 
 .52 
 
 to authority, you have none over me. I have 
 full and absolute authority over you. This, 
 you have been often told by the king. You 
 suppose I consider myself very happy in 
 the honour of being your preceptor. Un- 
 deceive yourself; I undertook the charge 
 of you at the king's request; it could be no 
 satisfaction to me to receive so fatiszuinH an 
 employment. That you may have no doubt 
 on this head, I shall now lead you to the 
 king, and request him to appoint me a 
 successor, whose exertions about you will 
 be more successful than mine." 
 
 The duke of Uurgundy was thunder- 
 struck with this declaration. Remorse, fear, 
 and shame for a time prevented him from 
 speaking; " I am confounded," he cried, 
 ** for my conduct of yesterday. If you 
 s])eak to the king, I am ruined for ever. If 
 you abandon me, what will be thought of 
 ir.e? I promise you, yes I do promise you, 
 that you shall be satisfied with me in future. 
 liut do you promise me." — Fenelon would 
 -make no promise ; it was not till a long
 
 oontiniiance of good conduct liad convinced 
 him ot" the sincerity of his jjupil's repent- 
 ance, and after a formal intercession of ina- 
 dame de IMaintenon, that Fenelon received 
 Jiim into favour. > 
 
 In one respect, Fenelon was particularly 
 fortunate : every one about the person of 
 tlie royal prince, looked up to him uith 
 veneration, and co-operated in his plans of 
 education. When the duke of Burgundy 
 fell into any of those fits of anger and im- 
 patience to which he was so much subject, 
 the governor, preceptor, masters, officers 
 and servants, who attended him, observed 
 a perfect silence. They avoided answering 
 his questions ; and either did not look- at 
 him, or looked at him with terror, as if 
 they were frighted at being with a person 
 who discovered signs of abberration of in- 
 tellect, or witii pity, as if they beheld a 
 person, whose mental malady made him an 
 object of compassion. His books, every 
 thing used in the way of his instruction were 
 removed from him, as useless to a persop
 
 54 
 
 in his deplorable state. They were no^ 
 restored to him, and none of the parties re- 
 sunned their general demeanour towards 
 him, till the fit of passion entirely subsided. 
 
 It was a rule with Fenelon, to permit the 
 duke to interrupt his studies, whenever he 
 was inclined to enter into any useful and 
 learned conversation. He adopted this plan 
 the more readily, as he found such conver- 
 sation tended to humanize his pupil, to sof- 
 ten his mind, to make him gentle and com- 
 pliant, and to call forth his pleasing qua- 
 lities. But study was resumed the instant 
 the conversation ceased to be useful. So 
 far from lessening the general hours of 
 study, this conduct encreased the duke's 
 ardour for literature, and induced him to 
 dedicate to it a greater portion of his time. 
 Of his own accord, he requested some per- 
 son might always read to him at his meals. 
 
 The fables which Fenelon composed for 
 the duke of Burgundy are admirable. The 
 great object of them appears to be to sof- 
 ten his pupiPs manners, and to open his
 
 56 
 
 mind to humanity, beneficence, and the 
 milder virtues. Heaven and earth aad all 
 animate and inanimate nature are called 
 into action by them, to invite the future 
 monarch to make justice, peace, and happi- 
 ness reign on earth. 
 
 " Who is the young hero," say the 
 songsters of the groves instructed by the 
 shepherds, " that comes among us, and ap- 
 pears to interest himself in our happiness ? 
 Jle seems pleased with our songs j he loves 
 poetry; it will soften his heart, and make 
 him as amiable as he now appears haughty. 
 May he increase in virtue, as a flower just 
 opened by the spring j may he love the 
 gentle pleasures of the mind ; may the 
 graces dwell on his eyes ! May Minerva 
 reign m his heart! May he equal Orpheus 
 in the sweetness of his strains, and Hercules 
 in his heroic actions ! May he have the 
 valour of Achilles, but none of his ferocity ! 
 May he be good, wise, beneficent ! May 
 he sympathise with men ! He loves our 
 «?ongs j they penetrate his heart as the dew
 
 56 
 
 falls on our gardens parched by the sun. 
 May the gods moderate his passions ! May 
 they ever make him happy 1 May he 
 restore the golden age ! May wisdom fill 
 his soul, and spread from it over all mor- 
 tals ! ^lay flowers grow under his feet!" 
 
 What an effect, exclaims M. de Bausset, 
 must instructions, arrayed in such charms, 
 have on a prince who was all soul and wit ! 
 But then the fables of Melanthos, and the 
 Aledal follow, which the royal pupil could 
 not read without sinking into the earth, at 
 the view they gave him of the deformities of 
 his own character, and almost adoring the 
 being, whose hand was stretched out to save 
 him, to rescue him from himself.— " What 
 terrible woe has befallen i\felanthos ? Out- 
 wardly all is right with him ; inwardly all is 
 wrong. Last night, he went to rest, the 
 delight of the human race ; this morning 
 one's ashamed of him, one must hide himi 
 As he was dressing, a plait of his shirt 
 displeased him j all the long day he is to 
 be in a rage, and every one is to suffer 4 he
 
 S7 
 
 is an object of fear, an object of compas-r 
 sioii; be cries as a diild, and roars as a 
 lion. A malignant vapour blackens bis 
 imagination, as tiie ink dirties bis fingers. 
 Don't speak to bitn of wbat gave bim de- 
 ligbt a moment since; it is enougb tbat be 
 was pleased with it then, tbat be should 
 not endure it now. The j;)arties of pleasure, 
 which lately be desired so much, now 
 weary him ; they must be broken up ; be 
 must contradict and irritate and complain 
 of every one ; and then is angry that no 
 one will lose his temper with him. When 
 he can find no pretence for being dissatis- 
 fied with others, he turns against himself; 
 he blames himself, finds out tbat he is good 
 for nothing, be despairs of improvement; 
 he takes it ill tbat persons will not comfort 
 bim ; be wishes to be alone -, then be can't 
 endure solitude, and returns to society, y.nd 
 quarrels with all about bim. They are 
 silent, he takes otfence at their silence ; 
 they speak softly, be supposes they Sjjeak 
 against him ; they talk in their common
 
 58 
 
 voice, he pretends they talk too much, and 
 is angry that they appear gay while he is 
 sorrowful ; they become serious, he consi- 
 ders it a reproach of his faults j they laugh, 
 he supposes it is at him. What must we 
 do ? be as steady and as patient as he is 
 insupportable, and expect in peace that to- 
 morrow morning he will be as good as he 
 was yesterday. This strange humour passes 
 off as it comes : when it seizes him one 
 -tvould suppose that a spring of the machine 
 was broken, and the whole run backward. 
 He resembles the picture of a person pos- 
 sessed : his reason is inverted ; press him 
 and you may make him say, at full noon, 
 that it is night ; for, when the fit is once on 
 him, there is no longer day or night for his 
 dismounted intellects. Don't say to him 
 to-morrow we will go to such a place, to 
 divert ourselves ; tlie man of to-day \f ill 
 not be the same man to-morrow ; he, who 
 is now making you a promise, will dii^^ap- 
 pear at the instant, and in his place you'll 
 iCe a certain something without shape.
 
 S9 
 
 without name. It wills, it wills not, it 
 threatens, it trembles, it mixes laughable 
 haughtiness with contemptible littleness ; it 
 cries, it laughs, it plays the fool, it is in a 
 rage. In his fury, however, Melanthos, 
 though wild and mad, and though he do 
 not discover one ray of reason, is witty, is 
 eloquent, is cunning, and abounds in re- 
 partee. Be particularly careful to say no- 
 thing to him, that is not perfectly just, 
 exact, and reasonable ; he has all his senses 
 about him, to take advantage of it, and put 
 you in the wrong j on a sudden he becomes 
 reasonable, to show your errors. Then, a 
 fit of distress comes on him j he loves no 
 one ; he has not a friend ; every one per- 
 secutes him, every one betrays hiui; he has 
 no obligations to any one ; wait a moment, 
 he seems to be in need of every one j he is 
 full of affection, he loves every one; he 
 flatters, insinuates, bewitches those who 
 could not bear him ; he confesses his errors, 
 and laughs at his oddities ; he mimicks 
 himself, and he mimicks himself so well,
 
 60 
 
 that you would think him again in his airs. 
 After this comedy, so perfectly well acted 
 at his own expence, you hope at last tlie 
 demoniac is gone for ever. Alas ! you are 
 quite mistaken; to night he will again be 
 the demon, and to-morrow he will again 
 lau2;h at himself, and continue unreclaim- 
 ed." It was impossible for the royal pupil 
 not to recognize himself in this picture ; or 
 to read it without emotions and resolutions 
 of amendment. 
 
 In a fable less serious, but equally in- 
 structive, Fenelon describes Bacchus inat- 
 tentive to the lessons of Silenus, and a 
 faun laughing at his blunders : Bacchus 
 puts on air of dignity, and asks the faun, 
 " how he dares to laugh at the son of 
 Jupiter;" the faun coolly answers, "why 
 does the son of Jupiter dare to make blun- 
 ders?" 
 
 The dialogues, which Fenclon composed 
 for tlie duke of Burtfundy, are in a higher 
 style. He brings by them, the most celer 
 brated personages of antient and modern
 
 61 
 
 liistoi'y before his pupil ; and all the s[)eak- 
 ers take occasion to mention some incident 
 in their lives, that conveys to him, in fe\T 
 hut impressive uorJs, some salutary truth. 
 In every page of them, the charms of the 
 milder virtues are happily pourtrayed; when 
 vanity or voluptuousness are to be censur- 
 ed, the most pointed ridicule is used; when 
 tyranny is to be execrated, the strongest lan- 
 guage is adopted. A meeting of Caesar and 
 Cato is supposed : 
 
 " Thou wilt be greatly surprized," says 
 Cajsar, " when I inform thee, that I died 
 of the wounds I received from my friends 
 in the senate house. AV'hat treachery ! 
 '* No," replies Cato, " I am not surprized. 
 Wast thou not the tyrant of those friends 
 as well as of the other citizens ? Was it not 
 their duty to lend their hands to their op- 
 pressed country ? It was their duty to sa- 
 crifice not only a friend but a brother, as 
 was done by Timoleon, and even their 
 own children, as was done by Brutus.- But, 
 •tell me, in the mirlst of thv previous glory.
 
 62 
 
 wast thou happy ? — No, thou wast not If 
 thou liadst loved thy country, thy country 
 would have loved thee ; he, whom his coun- 
 try loves, ^vants no guards ; his country 
 watches round him. True security arises 
 from doing good, and from interesting every 
 one in your preservation. Thou vvouldst 
 reign and be feared. Well, thou didst 
 reign, and thou wast feared : but mankind 
 delivered themselves from the tyrant, and 
 their fears of him, by the same stroke. So 
 may all those perish, who wish to be fear- 
 ed by men ! They have every thing to fear ; 
 all the world is interested in anticipating 
 their acts of tyranny, and delivering them- 
 selves from the tyrant." 
 
 Such were the exertions of Fenclon in 
 educating the duke of Burgundy. We have 
 seen what the duke St. Simon, whose evi- 
 dence cannot be refused on this subject, says 
 of tl:|eir success. Madame de Maintenon, 
 in one of her letters, gives the same testi- 
 mony : ** we saw all those defects, which 
 alarmed us too mucli in the voulh of the
 
 63 
 
 duke of Burgundy, gradually disappeair. 
 Every year produced, in him, a visible in- 
 crease of virtue. Rallied at first by every 
 one, he obtained, in the end, the admiration 
 of the freest livers. So much had his piety 
 changed him, that, from being the most 
 passionate of men, he became mild, gentle, 
 and complying ; persons would have thought 
 that mildness was his natural disposition, 
 and that he was innately good." — All the 
 writers of the time, who mention the duke 
 of Burgundy, express themselves of him 
 in the same terms. 
 
 Fenelon now be^an to enjoy the fruits of 
 his labours J his success in the education of 
 the duke of Burgundy had excited general 
 admiration, and his conciliating manners 
 had obtained him general love. Lewis ilie 
 fourteenth presented him to the Abbey of 
 St. Valery, one of the richest in France ^^ 
 and afterwards named him Arclibishop of 
 Cambray. He was consecrated in the cha- 
 pel'of St. Cyr, in the presence of madame 
 d# Maintenon and his three royal pupils.
 
 61 
 
 We enter into the feelings of the preceptor 
 and his pupils on this occasion. Unfortu- 
 nately, it was almost the last. day of the 
 preceptor's happiness ; to use an expression 
 of the chancellor d' Aguesseau, " events soon 
 afterivards took place that revealed the se- 
 cret which caused all his calamities, — his 
 too great taste for the pious excesses of the 
 mystics." — This memorable circumstance in 
 the archbishop's life must now be present- 
 ed to the reader.
 
 6i 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 QVtETISM. 
 
 A. V. I696. ^T. 45. 
 
 In every age of Christianity, different de- 
 nominations of christians, both orthodox 
 and heterodox, have aimed at a sublime 
 spirituahty above visible objects and natu- 
 ral feelings, and attempted, by assiduous 
 prayer and abstraction from terrene subjects, 
 to raise themselves to an intellectual con- 
 templation of the deity, and communion with 
 him. Among them, the Quietists, to whose 
 doctrines the subject of these pages now 
 leads, were eminently distinguished in the 
 ecclesiastical history of the middle ages, 
 I"
 
 66 
 
 and of moJeiii times. The patrfarch of 
 modern quietists is Michael de Molinos, a 
 Spanish, priest, x^ho resided at Rome, to- 
 wards the end of the 16th century. His 
 pious reveries procured him a considerable 
 number of disciples of both sexes ; they were 
 condemned by the pope, and his disciples 
 were persecuted j but they preserved an 
 obscure existence, and, with a slight modi- 
 fication, or rather, under the cover of more 
 guarded language, were levived in the age 
 of Lewis the 14th, and, during several years, 
 distracted the gallican church* In a re- 
 ligious, and even a philosophical point of 
 view, the controversy, to which they gave 
 rise, is a curious subject of enquiry, and it 
 certainly forms the most interesting part of 
 the biography of Fenelon. 
 
 Quietism is an abuse of the science of sa- 
 cred contemplation, or as it is termed in the 
 schools, of Mystical Theology *, and an un- 
 warranted extension of its language. Every 
 
 * See Appendix, Note II.
 
 6y 
 
 age of the christian church furnishes con- 
 templative writers of eminence. To a per- 
 fect understandin<r of the doctrines of the 
 qnietists, some acquaintance with the works 
 of those writers is necessary : but, even with 
 that aid, it is not very easy to give an ac- 
 count of them, which will be found at once 
 accurate and intelligible. This difficulty is 
 admitted by Bossuet : he acco(mtsfor it by 
 observing that the errors of the quietists 
 arose rather from an exacr2;eration of what 
 in itself was good, than from their adoption 
 of principles intrinsically erroneous : this 
 will clearly appear from a slight view of 
 their principal errors. 
 
 I. To love God for his own perfections, 
 without any view to future reward or pun- 
 ishment, is the highest effort of the soul : 
 an habitual state of it is beyond the lot of 
 man; and, as it would exclude hope, the 
 foundation of all christian virtue, and fear, 
 the beginning of all christian wisdom, it 
 cannot be considered the duty of a chris- 
 tiaii. The quietists however professed that 
 F 2
 
 6& 
 
 lliey had attained this habitual state of 
 divine love; they scarcely acknowledged 
 any other virtue ; and this supposed free- 
 dom from hope and fear, the great agitators 
 of the human mind, was one of the princi- 
 pal reasons of their receiving the appella- 
 tion of Quietists. 
 
 II, The contemplation of the deity raises, 
 in the soul, conceptions and feelings which 
 she can neither express by language, nor 
 even embody by thought. When these are 
 at their higiiest elevation, a devotional si-* 
 lence ensues, the most profound act of ho- 
 mage which the creator can receive from 
 the creiiture. But a lon«; continuation of 
 this sublime devotion is above the natural 
 powers of man, and, as it would exclude 
 prayer, an attempt to attain it, must seem 
 a disobsdience to the precepts of him, who 
 orders us ahva}S to pray, and framed for 
 us a form of prayer. Vet, to this sublime 
 and perpetual silence of the hiunan mind, 
 under the view of the deity, as to a com- 
 mon duty, the quietist aspired. All expfi-
 
 69 
 
 cit acts of devotion, even of the purest or 
 simplest faitli, respecting the trinity, th« 
 incarnation, or the particular attributes of 
 the deity, and still more, those which arose 
 from the articles on the creed or the peti- 
 tions in tiie Our Father, were below his 
 sublime devotion. His object was to as- 
 cend to God alone, and to rest in silent 
 adoration of his divine essence, without hope 
 and without fear. — This gave the quietisls 
 a further title to their apellation. 
 
 III. A constant spirit of conformity to 
 the divine will, is the duty of every chris- 
 tian, and enters into every virtue ; but, to 
 discover the divine will, and, when it is dis- 
 covered, to act in conformity to it, requires 
 exertion on our parts, and a correspondence 
 of action with the graces with which we are 
 favoured. — Inert and inactive, the quietist 
 presented himself to the deity. A formal 
 petition for good, a formal deprecation of 
 evil w as, in his view, a degradation from the 
 general submission which he owed to the 
 divine will, and fell very short of that aban-
 
 70 
 
 donment of himself to it, which the soul 
 owed to her creator. 
 
 IV. That resignation of the soul, which 
 relies on God*s infinite mercy for eternal 
 happiness in the next life, and for as much 
 of the good of this life as is consistent with 
 her sanctification, was beneath the virtue of 
 a quietist. His resignation was to arise to 
 a sublime indifference, both for temporal 
 and eternal things j he was to look on both, 
 without desir€ or alarm. Indulging him- 
 self in the impossible supposition, that such 
 a sacrifice could be acceptable to God, he 
 offered himself to reprobation in this life, 
 and to eternal punishment in the next. This 
 indifference to salvation, from a supposed 
 conformity to the will of God, was the high- 
 est effort of a quietist's virtue, and com- 
 pleted his title to his appellation, 
 
 V. So strange a sacrifice was to be follow- 
 ed by as strange a reward. Far above an 
 humble hope of eternal bliss, and an hum- 
 ble confidence of present favor, tiie ordi- 
 nary happiness of the just in this life, the
 
 71 
 
 quietist professed to aspire. — Flis soul 
 was, even in this life, to assume a new exis- 
 tence, to be transformed into the divine es- 
 sence, and to be so far individualised with 
 the deity as to lose the consciousness of her 
 existence separate from him. 
 
 VI. Whether we express our admiration 
 or love of God, approach him in prayer, or 
 speak his praise, our language must partake 
 of the imperfections of our nature, and must 
 therefore fall infinitely beneath its subject. 
 Still, we should exert ourselves to use, in 
 all our addresses to the deity, and in every 
 mention of him, the noblest and purest terms 
 in our power ; and not only respect for the 
 awful being whom we address, but good 
 sense and taste, point out to us the duty of 
 ^voiding, with the greatest care, every ex- 
 pression, in his regard, which, in itself is 
 low, or has a tendency to raise a vulgar, si 
 grotesque, or an irregular idea. Expressi- 
 ons of the very lowest kind, and tending to 
 raise the most vulgar, grotesque, and irregu- 
 lar ideaS; are to be found, too often, in th«
 
 72' 
 
 writings of the quietists, and their expres- 
 sions of divine love are sometimes such, as 
 would better become the strains of an ama-r 
 tory sonneteer. 
 
 VII. The looseness of the doctrinal lan- 
 guage of quietism was, perhaps, still more 
 blameable. It was diflficult to fix on it any 
 meaning; and, when something of its 
 meaning was discovered, it was necessary 
 to understand it with so much limitation, 
 and in a sense so peculiar to the writings of 
 the quietists, that the obvious import of 
 their phrases had generally little, and some- 
 times no resemblance with the notions 
 they were intended to convey. 
 
 Such was the general nature of the 
 charges brought against the quietists. To 
 all of them the quietists pleaded guilty, so 
 far as to allow the facts, on which they were 
 built i but the consequences drawn fron^ 
 them the quietists confidently denied^ They 
 observed, that ascetic devotion, like every 
 other science, had its appropriate nomenr 
 clature, upon which its professors wer^
 
 73 
 
 agreed, and by which, therefore, their doc- 
 trines were to be tried and explained. 
 Thus explained, they contended that their 
 doctrines would be found to express the 
 noblest and purest sentiments of divine 
 love. Tliey observed, that the language 
 of the ancient was the same as the lan- 
 guage of the modern mystics; and they 
 suggested that there could be no just reason 
 for \vithholdin<j from the latter the indul- 
 
 o 
 
 gence uhich was shewn the former. 
 
 These assertions were not wholly desti-? 
 tute of foundation. It is admitted that the 
 quietists themselves always protested 
 against the pernicious consequences imr 
 puted to their doctrines. From that cir- 
 cumstance, from the general spirit of piety, 
 which is to be found in many parts of their 
 writings, from the acknowledged purity of 
 their morals, and their regular observance 
 of their religious duties, it has been con- 
 tended, with some appearance of reason, 
 that their religious system, as it was ex- 
 plained by themselves, was much less re-
 
 74 
 
 prehensible than, standing singly, it appear- 
 ed in their own writings ; and from these 
 circumstances it was inferred by many, that 
 their errors lay less in their tenets, than in 
 the lanuuauje in which their tenets were ex- 
 pressed. 
 
 In this mode of viewing the charge 
 against the quietists, much of it was an- 
 swered ; but much of it remained to be an- 
 swered, for which they had no defence. 
 
 I. What is only true with an explanation, 
 is untrue without it. The explanation, 
 which the quietists offered, when put on 
 their defence, was either not to be found, 
 or was only faintly discoverable in their 
 writings. Thus, with respect to the gene- 
 rality of readers, their doctrine stood un- 
 explained, and was therefore, on the face 
 of it, chargeable with the errors w ith which 
 it was reproached. 
 
 II. With all the limitations, by which 
 their writings could be qualified, they 
 could, at most, be useful to very few — to 
 that small number of persons only, whose
 
 79 
 
 exalted piety and contemplative habits, en- 
 abled llicin to coujprchend and relish such 
 sublime speculations. To persons in the 
 lower ranks of a spiritual life they would 
 be both unintelligible and prejudicial. Yet, 
 in all th'-ir writings, the quietists affected 
 to inculcate, that their doctrine was the 
 only solid foundation of a spiritual life, and 
 that to learn and practise it was the uni- 
 versal duty of christians. 
 
 III. The unavoidable tendency of their 
 writings was to draw the faithful from vocal 
 prayer and meditation, the real support of 
 a spiritual life, by exciting them to aim at 
 a state of passive and quiescent devotion, in 
 which, without any other effort on their 
 part, than a recollection of their beino; un- 
 der the eye of the divinity, and an intellec- 
 tual belief of his presence, they were to 
 expect the pious sentiments, with which he 
 should visit them. Now, when it is con- 
 sidered how very few are capable of [)rc- 
 serving a devotional habit of mind, even for 
 a short time, without actual prayer and
 
 76 
 
 meditation, and even without the assistance 
 of a book, it may easily be perceived, that 
 the stale of passiveness and quiescence re- 
 commended by the quietists, immediately 
 tended to a general subversion of all prayer 
 and meditation. 
 
 IV. But the most pernicious part of 
 their writings was the language in which 
 they attempted to express their resignation 
 to the divine will. In the ordinary ac- 
 ceptation of them, their expressions amount- 
 ed to an absolute indifference to future 
 rewards and punishments, and even to vice 
 and virtue. That this was not their mean- 
 ing may be conceded ; but it is certain, 
 that, in its common acceptation, the gene- 
 ral language of their writings had that 
 import.
 
 77 
 
 CHAP. X, 
 
 MABJME DE GUYOK. 
 
 The revival of quietism in the reign of 
 Lewis the fourteenth, was owing to madame 
 de Guy on, and her finding too warm and 
 powerful a friend in Fenelon. 
 
 She was descended from respectable 
 parents, and inherited from them an ample 
 fortune. Beauty, wit, elegance, whatever is 
 most captivating in the female form or the 
 female mind, she is allowed to have pos- 
 sessed in an eminent degree ; and, after a 
 very severe enquiry, her adversaries were 
 forced to confess, that, in every part of her
 
 78 
 
 life, her morals were irreproachable; she 
 married at an early age ; was left, while she 
 was still }Oung, a widow with children, and 
 tlien, resolving to ij[ive herself whollv to 
 devotion, she delivered up her children to 
 their father's family. This exposed her to 
 censure ; but it was admitted that, in the 
 settlement of the pecuniary concerns of her 
 children, she conducted herself with gene- 
 rosity. Soon after -she became a widow, 
 she placed herself under the spiritual direc- 
 tion of father La Combe, a barnabite friar, 
 who had been a disciple of Molinos. Un- 
 der the impression of his instructions, she 
 framed a system of spirituality, of which 
 the doctrines of Molinos formed the ground 
 work, and pretended a divine mission to 
 propagate it among the faithful. With 
 that view, she composed two works : her 
 Short Method of Prayer^ she put into the 
 hands of beginners ; her Torrents^ she pre- 
 sented to the perfect. She travelled over 
 many parts of France, every where made 
 friends and proselytes, and finallv arrived
 
 79 
 
 in Paris. She was soon admitted to the 
 private parties at the Hotel de Beaiivilliers: 
 there, in Fenelon, she found a wilhng 
 hearer J and, when she descanted before 
 him, on the love, the pure, disinterested 
 love of God, she touched a nerve of ex- 
 quisite sensibility, which vibrated to his 
 heart. 
 
 That she had wit and eloquence is al- 
 lowed by all her contemporaries j but her 
 writings unquestionably abound with spi- 
 ritual nonsense. She teaches in them that 
 the soul, which completely abandons her- 
 self to the divine will, reserves for herself 
 nothing ; not even in death, or life, or per- 
 fection, or salvation, or heaven, or hell : 
 that man is so woithless, that it scarcely 
 deserves his own enquiry, whether he is 
 to be eternally saved or eternally lost; 
 that God sometimes takes from a soul 
 every gift of grace and virtue ; that the 
 duty of a christian soul in this state, is to 
 permit herself to be buried and crushed, to- 
 suffer the stench of her death, to leave her-
 
 80 
 
 self to rot, and to trv no means of avoid iri« 
 her corruption ; thut, at length, she be-' 
 comes insensible ol her own stench, and 
 accustoms herself to it, so as to remain at 
 ease in it, without hope of arising out of it i 
 then her inanition commences, and she 
 begins lo live to God alone. This should 
 seem a picture of a soul abandoned to dis- 
 order, forsaken by God, and hardened in 
 vice ; but is presented by madame deGuyon 
 as a picture of the most perfect virtue. In 
 some part of her writings, she assumes a 
 prophetic character ; she pretends to seei 
 clearly the state of souls, to have a mira- 
 culous power both over souls and bodies ; 
 she calls herself the corner stone of the 
 cross, rejected by human architects ; she 
 declares that she had attained so lofty a 
 state of perfection, that she should no 
 longer pray to the saints, or even to the 
 mother of God, as it did not become the 
 spouse of Christ lo request the prayers of 
 others. On some occasions, her language 
 is so offensive to decency^ that her expres*
 
 81 
 
 sions will not bear repeating. In exposing 
 this objectionable part of her writings, Bos- 
 suet beautifully a[)ostrophizes the seraphs, 
 and entreats them to briiiii; burnini; coals 
 from the altar of heaven, to purify his lips, 
 lest they should have been defiled by the 
 impurities which he had been obhged to 
 mention. 
 
 From the hotel de Eeauvilliers, where it 
 was first introduced, quietism rapidly ex- 
 tended over Paris and the provinces : and 
 attracted the notice of the frcnch clergy. 
 They pronounced it a dangerous innovation, 
 chimerical in theory, subversive in practice, 
 of the true spirit of religion, and leading 
 indirectly to a frightful laxity of morals. 
 At first it was relished by madarae de 
 Maintenon, but her good sense quickly led 
 her to suspect it; she advised upon it with 
 many persons of distinguished eminence in 
 the church ; they universally declared 
 against it, and, from that time, she profes- 
 sed herself the enemy both of quietism, and 
 madi^e de Guyon. Fenelon would not 
 
 G
 
 82 
 
 admit the quietism of madame de Guyon, 
 in the odious sense which was given to that 
 word, and generally espoused her cause, 
 
 Bossuet, the bishop of Meaux, was at 
 that time the oracle of the french clergy ; 
 and to him madame de Guyon, when her 
 doctrine became a subject of dispute, ad- 
 dressed herself He declared immediately 
 against the spirituality of madame de Guy- 
 on ; but in all his personal intercourse with 
 her, he appears to have conducted himself 
 with condescension and delicacy. So much 
 was she satisfied with him, that she conmiu- 
 nicated to him all her works, both manu- 
 script and in print. She even put into his 
 hands, a manuscript account of her life ; 
 it is written with vivacity, and, in some 
 parts of it, pleases by its piety ; but it 
 abounds with vanity and enthusiasm. The 
 late Mr. John Westlcy translated it into 
 English : in his preface to it, he says, 
 *' Such another life as that of madame 
 de Guyon, I doubt whether the world ever 
 saw. — It contains an abundance of excel-
 
 83 
 
 lent things, uncommonly excellent : several 
 things, which are utterly false and unscriptu- 
 ral ; nay, such as arc dangerously false. — As 
 to madame de Guyon herself, I believe, she 
 was not only a good woman, but good in an 
 eminent degree ; deeply devoted to God, 
 and often favoured vvith uncommon commu- 
 nications of his spirit." 
 
 It is very remarkable that madame de 
 Guyon never showed her manuscript to 
 Fenelon : —Was she more apprehensible of 
 Fenelon's good sense and discernment than 
 of Bossuet's? — After having examined with 
 great attention, the writings which madame 
 de Guyon communicated to him, Bossuet 
 had a personal conference with her ; he 
 explained to her what he thought reprehen- 
 sible in her works, and gave her advice for 
 her conduct. She acquiesced in every 
 thing he suggested ; he then said mass, and 
 what, in her circumstances, was very re- 
 markable, administered to her tlie blessed 
 sacrament with his own hands. 
 
 Of these circumstances, Bossuet informed 
 G 2
 
 Fenelon, and sent him large extracts. M'hiph 
 he liad made from the writings of madaiae 
 de Guvoii, with remarks on tliem, and cli- 
 deavoLired to draw from Fenelon a direct 
 condemnation of her doctrine. Fenelon 
 professed the highest d<:;fereace for his au, 
 thority ; he admitted that several passa- 
 ges in the works of madame de Guyon 
 would not bear the rigid examination of 
 scholastic accuracy ; but he contended that 
 they were entitled to a more benign inter- 
 pretation, and, on that ground, deprecated 
 for them the prelate's severity. 
 • For some time, madame de Guyon lived 
 in th.e retirement and quiet which Bossuet 
 r:ecommended to her : by degrees she grew 
 tired of her obscurity: and, hearing that 
 reports injurious to her ciiaracter were in. 
 circulation, she applied to inadauje dc 
 ]\laintenon, to prevail on Lewis the four- 
 teenth to aj)[)oint comnns.sioners to enquire 
 into her doctrines and morals. ]\Iadanje 
 de Maintenon observed, that madame de 
 Guyon'a morals had never been scrioubly
 
 85 
 
 * 
 
 Sfccusfed ; bat, as her doctrines hud occa- 
 sioii<^l a Wftsicl^'rable defp'cc of fernTcnt in 
 tlic niiiul of ihe public, she thought it a pro- 
 per subject of'cri(|uiry. On madanie dc Main- 
 teiion's srjorgestion, L•c^vis the fourteenth ap- 
 pointed the bishop of Meanx, the bishop of 
 Chaitres, and ^I. Tronson, commissioners 
 fat i\\h enquiry. They assembled at Issy, 
 ix retired country house, belonging to the 
 congregation of St. Sulpice, of which, it has 
 been mtmtroned, that IM. Tronson ^vas su- 
 perior. 
 
 The conferences were carried on, withou't 
 much interruption, during six months : th'e 
 subject was discussed, the authorities exa- 
 mined, and the inferences v.eighed with 
 gi*eat deliberation. Bossuet always admit- 
 ted that, before these disputes, hcMas little 
 conversant with mystical theology, and Had 
 read little Of the mystical writings of St, 
 Francis of Sales, St. John of the cross, and 
 other spiritualists of eminence. At his 
 request, Fenebn made extracts from those 
 works for him, and accompanied them with
 
 S6 
 
 observations, evidently calculated to make 
 Bossuet think favourably of them and of 
 madame de Guyon. 
 
 After a fijll and patient examination of 
 the writings of madame de Guyon, and of 
 the general doctrine of quietism, the confe- 
 rences at Issy closed. The commissioners 
 drew up thirty articles; Fenelon was con- 
 sulted upon them, made some alterations 
 in them, and added to them, four, whicl^ 
 were entirely new* In that state they were 
 signed by the three commissioners, and by 
 Fenelon. They contain no mention of 
 ^ladame de Guyon, or her doctrines j but 
 profess to express the doctrine^ of the 
 church on the principal points of dispute 
 on the subject of quietism. They declare 
 that every christian is bound to practise the 
 theological virtues, and make acts of them ; 
 to desire and pray explicitly for his eternal 
 salvation, as a blessing which God wishes 
 to grant him, and enjoins him to desire ; 
 to pray for the remission of his sins, for 
 the blessing of perseverance, for increase of
 
 87 
 
 virtue, and for strength to resist temptation ■ 
 that it is unlawful to be indifferent to salva- 
 tion, or to any thing with which salvation is 
 connected : that these acts of devotion do 
 not derogate from a high state of perfec- 
 tion J that faith and the ordinary measure 
 of grace will raise a christian to perfection ; 
 that we should always endeavour to obtain 
 it, without waiting for a particular inspira- 
 tion ; that acts of faith and hope form a 
 part of the sublimest prayer, as they neces- 
 sarily enter into charity, w hicli is its founda- 
 tion : that perpetual prayer does not con- 
 sist in a perpetual and uninterrupted 
 address to the Deity, but in an occasional 
 prayer, and an habitual disposition and 
 readiness to perform his holy will; that 
 passive prayer, as it is described and ad- 
 mitted by St. Franci? of Sales, and some 
 other spiritualists, approved of by the ro- 
 man-catholic church, should not be rejected ; 
 that, without it, persons may be great 
 saints; that it is a dangerous error to exclude 
 from it, an attention to the particular at-
 
 tributes of tlie Deity, or to the mysteries 
 of faith, to the passion, the death, or the 
 resurrection of Christ : that the gift of hio-h 
 prayer is very uncommon, and should 
 always be submitted to the examination of 
 spiritual superiors. 
 
 Whatever may have been the errors of 
 madame de Guyon, her docility is entitled 
 to praise. Without any reserve or equivo- 
 cation, she signed a M-riting, expressing her 
 acquiescence in the doctrine contained in 
 the articles of Issy. The bishop of 
 Chartres, and afterwards cardinal de No- 
 ailles published a condemnation of her 
 writings ; to each of them she readily sub- 
 scribed. 
 
 It was soon after the breaking up of the 
 conferences at Issy, that Fcneloii was nomi- 
 nated to the archbishoprick of Cambray y 
 every thing respecting quietism then seemed 
 to be set at rest. At his own warm re- 
 quest, Bossuet officiated at the consecration 
 of Fenelon ; and it appears that he was 
 anxious to shew to Fenelon this mark of 
 regard.
 
 S9 
 
 Quietism, liOM'cver, continued to i;nm 
 grouLitl. To stop its projfrcss, l^ossuet 
 composed his " Instruction sur les ctats de 
 Toraison." It was formally approved of 
 by the cardinal de Noailles, and the bishop 
 of Chartres ; and Bossuct earnestly wished 
 that it should have the a [--probation of the 
 new archbishop. This Fcnelon declined 
 on two grounds ; he thought it contained 
 an absolute and unqualified denial of the 
 possibility of a pure disinterested love of 
 God, and that its censures of madame 
 de Guyon, were too general and too se- 
 vere. 
 
 It seems to be admitted that there was 
 some ground for the first of these objections; 
 on the second little can now be said. It 
 appears, however, that Fenelon's motives 
 for withholding his approbation of the work 
 appeared satisfactory to the cardinal de 
 Noailles, the bishop of Chartres, and ma- 
 dame de Maintenon ; but they required of 
 Jiim immediately to publish some work, ii\ 
 ■which he should express, in precise and
 
 90 
 
 unequivocal terms, his adherence to the 
 doctrine contained in the articles of Issy, 
 and his disapprobation of the doctrine of 
 the quietists.
 
 91 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 THE CONTEST OF FEXEI.ON JSD BOSSUET^ Cjy 
 THE SUBJECT OF QUIETISM, PARTICULARLY 
 Olf FENELON's book " EXPLICATION DES 
 MAXIMES DES SAINTS SUR LA VIE INTERI- 
 EURE." 
 
 In performance of his engagements with 
 the cardinal and the bishop of Chartres, 
 and with madame de INIaintenon, Fenelon, 
 soon after his consecration, published his 
 celebrated " Explication des Maximes des 
 Saints surla Vie interieure,** the immediate 
 cause of all his woe. It is certain, that, 
 before it was printed, it was examined, with 
 the most severe and scrupulous attention, by 
 the cardinal de Noailles and M. Tronson, 
 and by M. Pirot, a theologian of great emi-
 
 92 
 
 nence in his day, attached to Bossuet, and 
 consulted by him, on his work, " Sur les 
 c'tats d'oraison." All of them pronounced the 
 ]\Iaximes des Saints a golden work ; and 
 cardinal dc Noailles said, he had no charge 
 to brinjT against the author, but his too 
 great docility. It is, however, equally 
 certain, that immediately on its appearance, 
 it was distinctly and loudly condemned by 
 the public voice. In a private letter of 
 Bossu€t, he justly remarked, that, at a time 
 when a false mysticism did so much harm, 
 nothing should be written on the subject, 
 but to condemn it, and that the true mys- 
 tic should be left in peaee to God. 
 
 Till this stage of the business, Lewis the 
 fourteenth was kept in ignorance of the 
 disputes in question : it was then thought 
 necessary that he should be made ac- 
 quainted with them. Bossuet fell at his 
 feet, informed Wm of the fact, and askod 
 " his pardon for not having informed him 
 sooner of the fanaticism of his mitred bro- 
 ther." A less theatrical revelation of the
 
 93 
 
 secret, would, }ierliap8, have been more 
 consonant to tluj itictatea of christian pru- 
 dence and charity. 
 
 To Fenelon, Lewis the fourteenth was 
 never partial. — This circumstance is men- 
 tioned both by the duke dc St. Simon and 
 the chancellor d'Aguisseau ; they observe 
 that Fenelon had a loftiness of genius, of 
 which that nwnarch felt an awe; and some- 
 tbinw of an extraordinary elevation of cha- 
 racter, which did not accord with the severe 
 simplicity of the royal mind ; so that, though 
 Lewis the fourteenth was not insensible to 
 the merits of Fenelon, and had raised him 
 tooneof tlie tiighest ranks in the gallican 
 church, he had no personal attachment to 
 him. Hence, when Bossuet disclosed to 
 Lewis the fourteenth, the fanaticism, as he 
 termed it, of Fenelon, tliere was nothing in 
 the mind of Lewis the fourteenth, which 
 pleaded in the archbishop's favour, and the 
 monarch's aversion from all novelties, par- 
 ticularly in matters of religion, argued 
 strongly against him. From madamc de
 
 94 
 
 Maintenon, who had once been so partial 
 to him, it was natural that Fenelon should 
 expect more indulgence ; but, at the time of 
 Bossuet*s disclosure to Lewis the fourteenth, 
 she was quite alienated from Fenelon. His 
 piety had first recommended him to her j 
 when that piety appeared to her to be tinc- 
 tured with quietism, it became odious to 
 her* Good sense and severity marked her 
 character, as much as they did the character 
 of Lewis the fourteenth : it was therefore 
 natural for her to view Fenelon's partiahty 
 for madame de Guyon, (for such his refu- 
 sal to censure her writings must have ap- 
 peared to madame de Maintenon) with 
 disgust. Besides, — a sense of her own 
 preservation would naturally irritate ma- 
 dame de Maintenon greatly against Fen- 
 elon, and induce her rather to seek, than 
 avoid occasions of expressing herself to his 
 disadvantage. Lewis the fourteenth's an- 
 ger with him was very great, and it appears 
 by a letter, of which M. de Bausset gives 
 his readers an extract, that madame de
 
 95 
 
 Maintenon was apprehensive of his being 
 seriously displeased with her for keeping 
 FeneIon*s conduct so long concealed from 
 him. Some writers have intimated that 
 madame de Maintenon had a very particu- 
 lar cause of complaint against Fenelon : 
 by their account Lewis the fourteenth con- 
 sulted Fenelon on the propriety of making 
 public his marriage with madame de Main- 
 tenon, and Fenelon advised the monarch 
 against it. — But this story rests on very 
 slight authority ; and M. de Bausset men- 
 tions, that among Fenelon's papers he did 
 not discover the slightest circumstance in 
 its support^ and that it was disbelieved in 
 Fenelon's family. It is, however, certain 
 that, from the time of which we are now 
 speaking, madame de Maintenon's conduct 
 to Fenelon, was unfriendly. To restore 
 him to the favour of her sexagenary lover, 
 might not be in her power ; but it is diffi- 
 cult to suppose that it was not in her poAver, 
 to save Fenelon from many mortifications, 
 and, in a great measure, to break his fall <,
 
 96 
 
 »nd if she had this power, she owed to her 
 former friendship for him, to his character^ 
 at once so amiable and so respectable, and 
 even to the claims which genius in distress 
 evei" has on the powerful and the great, 
 to exert it all for hin). But her friendly 
 arm was never stretched out to Fenelon. 
 It was in her own establishment at St. Cyr, 
 that Lewis the fourteenth's displeasure at 
 Fenelon was first publickly displayed. The 
 monarch repaired to St. Cyr, summoned 
 the whole community before him, dismis- 
 sed three of the religious, who were sup- 
 posed- to be attached to the opinions of 
 madame de Guyon, declared they should 
 never be readmitted, and expressed the 
 strongest indignation against that lady and 
 all Ijer adherents. 
 
 Many attempts were made to bring the 
 dispute to an amicable termination. Expla- 
 nations were suggested, conferences were 
 proposed ; but every tiling proved inetfec- 
 tual. Nothing short of a formal retractation, 
 would satisfy Bossuet. He declared that th«
 
 97 
 
 maxims of the saint contained soYne posi.- 
 lions vv hich were errors of faith ; others, 
 that led directly to quietism and the most 
 fatal consequences ; some things that were 
 abominable; and several falsifications of 
 passages in the writings of St. Francis of 
 Sales. Yet he spoke of Fenelon, as an 
 author dear to his heart, who was so used 
 to listen to him, and to whom he was so 
 used to listen. " God," says Bossuet, '* in 
 whose presence I write, knows, with w^hat 
 feighs I have raised to him my sorrowful 
 voice, in complaint that a friend of so many 
 years thought me unworthy of treating with 
 him, — me, who never raised m^ voice more 
 than half a tone against him. I impute it 
 to my sins, that such a friend has failed me, 
 the friend of my life, whom I carry in my 
 heart." Yet, when the cardinal de NoaiU 
 les and the bishop of Chartres seemed to 
 relax in favour of Fenelon, " take your 
 own measures,*' Bossuet sternly said to 
 them, " I will raise my voice to the hea- 
 vens against those errors, so well known to 
 
 H
 
 you ; I will complain to Rome, to the whole 
 earth ; it shall not be said that the cause of 
 God is weakly betrayed ; though I should 
 stand single in it, I will advocate it." After 
 the affair of quietism was over, Lewis the 
 fourteenth asked Bossuet, how he would 
 have acted, if he had not met with the royal 
 support : " I should have raised my voice 
 still higher than I did," answered Bossuet. 
 The storm continually increasing, Fen- 
 elon determined to carry the cause to Rome 
 For this he requested the monarch's per- 
 mission, and it was immediately granted. 
 Lewis wrote, with his own hand, to the 
 Pope, a letter, penned by Bossuet. It de- 
 nounced to the pope the Maxims of the 
 Saints, as *' a very bad and very dangerous 
 work ; condemned by bishops, by many 
 doctors, and a multitude of learned reli- 
 gious men j that the explanations offered 
 by the archbishop could not be supported." 
 The monarch concluded by " assuring the 
 pope, that he would use all his authority 
 to cause the decision of the holy see to be
 
 99 
 
 carried into execution." Tljis certainly was 
 not the tone of moderation and impartiality, 
 with which the cause ought to have heen 
 presented to the holy see. A few days after 
 the letter was written, the cardinal de No- 
 ailles, Bossuet, and the bishop of Chartres, 
 signed a formal condemnation of the Maxims 
 of the Saints, and delivered it into the hands 
 of M. Delphini, the pope's nuncio. It was 
 penned by Bossuet, and is expressed with 
 great moderation j but it was greatly soften- 
 ed by the cardinal de Noailles and the bi- 
 shop of Chartres, after it came from the 
 hands of Bossuet— It should, however, be 
 remarked, that it mentions as an expression 
 of Fenelon's " the involuntary emotion of 
 Jesus Christ on the Cross." Now, both 
 before and after the bishops had signed 
 this instrument, Fenelon uniformly declared 
 that the expression had been interpolated 
 by the printer's mistake. — Aftet such a de- 
 claration, the expression should not have 
 been noticed ; or, if it were noticed, the 
 H 2
 
 100 
 
 archbishop's declaration should have been 
 noticed equally. 
 
 Fenelon applied to Lewis the fourteenth 
 for his permission to go to Rome, under 
 any restrictions his majesty should think 
 proper. This, the monarch absolutely re- 
 fused, but permitted him to send agents to 
 Rome, to act for him. He ordered Fen- 
 elon to proceed immediately to his diocese, 
 to remain there, and not to stop at Paris 
 longer than his affairs made his stay abso- 
 lutely necessary. Immediately on receiving 
 this letter, Fenelon wrote to madame de 
 Maintenon, and in his letter, expressed, in 
 short and unaffected language, his concern 
 at his having incurred the displeasure of 
 her and the king, his obedience to his ma- 
 jesy, and his future submission to the sen- 
 tence of the holy sec. IVfadame de Main- 
 tenon was so much affected by Fenelon's 
 letter as to be seriously ill. Lewis reproach- 
 ed Ijer with it; "we are then," he said, 
 " to see you die by inches, for this foolish
 
 101 
 
 affair." In passing through Paris, Fenelon 
 stopped before the seminary of St. Sulpice, 
 where he had spent his early, and probably, 
 ins happiest hours : but he forbore from 
 entering the house, least his shewing a re- 
 gard for it, might expose its inhabitants to 
 his majesty's displeasure. From Paris, he 
 proceeded strait to Cambray. 
 
 The agent whom he employed at Rome 
 was the abb^de Chanterac, a relation, with 
 whom he had long been united in the clos- 
 est friendship, and with whom he had long 
 lived in the habit of the most confidential 
 communication. The abb6 possessed every 
 quahty, which could recommend him, on 
 this occasion, to Fenelon. His probity 
 and piety were exemplary ; his mode of 
 thinking and acting were mild ; he spoke 
 and wrote the latin and italian languages 
 with ease and elegance ; the subject of the 
 controversy, and every thing, which had 
 passed in respect to it, were familiar to him ; 
 lie was intimately acquainted with Fenelon's 
 notions and views, and had the most sincere
 
 102 
 
 affection and veneration for him. " My 
 dear friend," Fenelon said in the instruc- 
 tions which he gave liim for his conduct at 
 Rome, *' consider God alone, in the un- 
 happy business. I often say with Mardo- 
 cheus, O Lord ! every thing is known to 
 thee ; thou knowest that, what I have done, 
 is not through pride, through contempt of 
 others, or the secret desire of glory. When 
 God shall manifest his pleasure, we too 
 should be pleased; whatever may be the 
 humiliation he sends us." 
 
 Bossuet's agents, were the abbe Bossuet, 
 his nephew, and the abb6 de Phillippeaux ; 
 both of them had learning and talents, both 
 were attached to Bossuet : but both inclined 
 to violent councils -, the friends of Bossuet 
 have laid to their charge the intemperate 
 spirit, which too often, in the course of the 
 controversy, was shewn by Bossuet. 
 
 Lewis the fourteenth removed Fenelon 
 from his office of preceptor to the duke of 
 Burgundy, the duke of Anjou, and the duke 
 of Berri, but permitted him to retain the
 
 103 
 
 title of their preceptor. His displeasure 
 with Fenelon extemted to his relations and 
 friends : the frown of the court was shewn 
 to them all ; but, to the eternal honour of 
 them all, it appears that, in spite of the mo- 
 narch's frown, every friend of Fenelon con- 
 tinued attached to him. The duke de 
 Beauvilliers proclaimed publickly his friend- 
 ship for him: Lewis the fourteenth reproach- 
 ed the duke with it, and intimated to him, 
 that it micfht be the cause of his own dis- 
 
 O 
 
 grace. " I will remember," the duke re- 
 plied, " that Fenelon was appointed pre- 
 ceptor to the duke of Burgundy upon my 
 recommendation ; I shall never repent of it. 
 Fenelon always has been, and is now more 
 than ever, my friend. I know I am the 
 w'ork of your majesty's hand : you raised 
 me, you may throw me down. If this 
 should happen, I shall recognize, in what 
 befals me, the will of the almighty. I 
 shall retire, with sincere regret at having 
 displeased your majesty ; not, however, 
 without the hope of leading a more quiet.
 
 104 
 
 life than a court allows." On some occa- 
 sion, a compromise was suggested, which, 
 if it had been accepted, would have hushed 
 the question, and of course removed the 
 duke from danger; the duke would not 
 even hear of it, and desired it might not be 
 mentioned to Fenelon. 
 
 But, among the friends of Fenelon none 
 was more constant than his royal pupil, the 
 duke of Burgundy. The instant he heard 
 of Fenelon's banishment, he ran to his 
 grandfather, flung himself at his feet, im- 
 plored, with tears, his clemency, and, as a 
 proof of the purity of Fenelon's doctrine, 
 appealed to what his own conduct would 
 ever be. Lewis was aflfected with the no- 
 ble conduct of his grandson j when he re- 
 covered himself, he told him that, what he 
 solicited was not a matter of favour: lliat 
 the purity of faith was at stake, *' and of 
 that," he said, " Bossuet is the best judge." 
 The duke retired in silence : how he felt 
 and how he conducted himself afterwards 
 in respect to Fenelon, will be mentione/,1
 
 105 
 
 in a future j)a[!;c of this work : the precep- 
 tor and pupil were worthy of each other. 
 
 After the cardinal dc Noailles, the bi- 
 shop of Chartres, and Bbssuet had pub- 
 lished their eondemnation of tlie Maxims 
 of the Saints, the two former almost quit- 
 ted the war, and left the field to Bossuet 
 and Fenelon. " Then," to use the words 
 of the chancellor, D'Aguesseau, " were 
 seen to enter the lists, two combatants, 
 rather equal than alike. One of them of 
 consummate skill, covered with the laurels 
 which he had gained in bis combats for the 
 church, an indefatigable warrior; his age 
 and repeated victories might have dispensed 
 him from further service, but his mind, 
 still vigorous, and superior to the weight of 
 his years, preserved, in his old age, a great 
 portion of the fire of his early years. The 
 other, in the full strength of youth, not yet 
 much known by his writings, but enjoying 
 the highest reputation for his eloquence 
 and the loftiness of his genius : long exer- 
 cised in the subject of discussion, a perfect
 
 106 
 
 master of its language : nothing in it wa's 
 above his comprehension, nothing in it 
 which he could not explain, and every 
 tiling he explained appeared plausible. 
 Before they became rivals, they had long 
 been friends j both were estimable for the 
 purity of their morals ; both amiable for 
 the softness of their manners; both an 
 ornament of the church, of the court, and 
 of human nature : one was respected as 
 the sun setting in full majesty ; the other, 
 as the sun, who promised to fill the uni- 
 verse with ills glory, if he could but dis- 
 engage himself from a kind of eclipse in 
 which he was unhappily involved.** 
 
 It is admitted that the tenets objected 
 by Bossuet to Fenelon may be reduced to 
 two : 
 
 1st, That a person may attain an habi- 
 tual state of divine love, in which he loves 
 God, purely for his sake, and without the 
 slightest regard to his own interests, even 
 in respect to his eternal happiness. This 
 was said to elevate charity beyond human
 
 107 
 
 power, at the expence of the fear of God, 
 and the hope of divine favour. 
 
 2dly, That, in such a state, it is lawful, 
 and may even be considered as an heroic 
 effort of conformity to the divine will, to 
 conscRt to eternal reprobation, if God 
 should require such a sacrifice j the party 
 who makes such an act, conceiving at the 
 moment that such a sacrifice is possible. 
 
 It was also objected to renclon, that he 
 refused to subscribe to the condemnation 
 of madame de Gnyon, in whose writings 
 these propositions were expressed in the 
 boldest terms ; who maintained the possi- 
 bility of a permanent existence, of a state 
 of divine love, depending only on faith, and 
 a kind of intellectual view of the deity, from 
 which prayer and every other devotional 
 effort was absent, and even kept away ; 
 who confounded a holy resignation to the 
 divine will, with indifference to salvation ; 
 whose works abounded with expressions 
 on the love of God, offensive to good 
 sense and delicacy; with ridiculous and
 
 108 
 
 impossible suppositions, and monstrous and 
 disgusting errors. These were the charges 
 brought by Bossuet against Fenelon, with 
 subsidiary charges of inconsistency, dupH- 
 city, falsification, subterfuge, and other 
 similar accusations. Fenelon retorted on 
 Bossuet, that, by denying the pure love of 
 God, he elevated the hope and fear of God 
 at the expence of charity, and that his cen- 
 sures of madame de Guyon were too gene- 
 ral, and immoderately severe. 
 
 During this memorable controversy Bos- 
 suet and Fenelon repeatedly issued from 
 the press in the way of attack and defence. 
 It is admitted that each of them exerted 
 his utmost talents for composition, in these 
 publications : that no work of either is more 
 highly finished : that each shews in his 
 writings on this occasion, a conscious dig- 
 nity of character ; each cautiously abstains 
 from vulgar abuse, but each exerts every 
 power and artifice of composition to excite 
 the resentment of his reader against his ad- 
 versary. Had such works been written, on
 
 109 
 
 any subject of a general and permanent 
 interest, they would now be found, with the 
 Introduction to Universal History, and witli 
 Telemachus, in every library and on many 
 a toilet ; but, from the perishable nature of 
 the subject, after a momentary celebrity, 
 they sunk into oblivion, and are now read 
 by those only M' ho. anxiously labour to ac- 
 quire the highest polish of the French lan- 
 mia^e. 
 
 Sure of the active support of his sove- 
 reign, and confiding, as he certainly might 
 very far, in the justice of his cause, Bos- 
 suet appears to have expected that the 
 court of Rome would have proceeded al- 
 most immediately to the condemnation of 
 the accused book. With this impression, 
 Bossuet's instructions to his agents were, to 
 avoid the slightest intimation, that the con- 
 . demnation of it, '' would be attended with 
 the least difficulty ; that, in whatever man- 
 ner the sentence of condemnation should 
 be pronounced, it would meet with no re- 
 sistance." They were to represent, that
 
 lio 
 
 ** Fenelon, in his own diocese, was con- 
 sidered an heretic; and that, as soon as 
 Rome should speak, Cambray and all the 
 Low Countries would rise aiiainst him.'* 
 But the court of Rome was too wise to 
 proceed vvitu such precipitancy. For some 
 time, the pope took no other step in the 
 business, than to consult with his confi- 
 dential advisers on the best method of pro- 
 ceeding in it. He then appointed a com- 
 mission, composed of the persons in Rome 
 most distinguished for learning and piety ; 
 they were directed to extract, from the 
 book, such propositions as appeared to 
 them reprehensible. Several propositions, 
 which appeared to them of that descrip- 
 tion, they extracted ; and they referred 
 them to the pope himself, stating, at length, 
 their reasons for supposing them erroneous. 
 By the pope's orders, they were transmit- 
 ted to the agents of Bossuet and Fenelon, 
 for their observations ; and, when those 
 were returned, all the papers were again 
 laid before the pope, and, both in public
 
 Ill 
 
 And private consistories, repeatedly discuss- 
 ed in his presence. The pope permitted 
 nothing of his sentiments to transpire, ex- 
 cept that he thought the matter submitted 
 to him was important and full of difficulty. 
 Both Bossuet and his royal master were 
 surprized and mortified at tkis delay. At 
 the instigation of Bossuet, the monarch ex- 
 pressed his impatience of it to the nuncio, 
 and the nuncio described it stiongly to the 
 pope. His holiness desired him to ob- 
 serve to the king, that, " as the three bi- 
 shops had become accusers of Fenelon, and 
 liad given the greatest publicity to their 
 charge against him, every rule of justice, 
 and the practice of every judicial court re- 
 quired, that Fenelon should be fdly heard 
 in his defence." 
 
 For a time, the king seemed willing to 
 leave the matter to its course; but Bos- 
 suet intimated to him, that it was essential 
 to his glory and the good of the church, 
 that the sentence of Rome should be acce- 
 lerated. He composed, in the mime of
 
 il2 
 
 Lewis, a memorial, stating suecinctly the 
 arguments used against Fenelon, and urging 
 his speedy condemnation. Lewis with his 
 own hand, delivered this memorial to the 
 nuncio. Some time after, Lewis dismissed 
 the Ahh6 de Beaumont, and the Ahb6 de 
 Lano-eron; both of whom were the confi- 
 dential friends, and the former of whom 
 was the nephew of Fenelon, from their 
 situation of sub- preceptors to the royal 
 dukes : all Fenelon's other relations, and 
 several of his friends, were forbidden the 
 court. The abbe Bossuet and the abbe 
 Phillippeaux heard this with a transport of 
 joy, and earnestly recommended that th6 
 proscription might be extended to father le 
 Chaise, father Valois, and some other re- 
 ligious persons about the court ; *' they 
 wish all possible evil," writes the abb6 
 Bossuet to his uncle, " to the king, to ma- 
 dame de Maintenon, to the archbishop of 
 Paris, and to yourself." 
 
 Lender all these indignities Fenelon pre- 
 served the pious serenity of his mind.
 
 113 
 
 ** Yet but a little while," he says in one of 
 his letters, " and the deceitful dream of this 
 life will be over. We shall meet in the 
 kingdom of truth, where there is no error, 
 no division, no scandal ; we shall breathe 
 tlie pure love of God ; he will communicate 
 to us his everlasting peace. In the mean 
 while, let us suffer, let us suffer ; let us be 
 trodden under foot ; let us not refuse dis- 
 grace ; Jesus Christ was disgraced for us : 
 may our disgrace tend to his glory." 
 
 We liave seen that Lewis the fourteenth 
 had permitted Fenelon to retain the title of 
 preceptor to the royal dukes ; even that 
 sliiiht induisence was now withdrawn from 
 him ; Lewis ordered the list of the officers 
 about their persons to be presented to him, 
 and, with his own hand, drew a line over 
 the name of Fenelon. 
 
 The pens both of Fenelon and Bos suet 
 were soon put into action : a pastoral in- 
 struction of cardinal de Noailles was the 
 signal for war ; Fenelon, in answer to it, 
 addressed four letters to the cardinal ; five 
 I
 
 1 14 
 
 or six different works nere sent to the press 
 by Bossuet : all his controversial talents 
 and eloquence are displayed in them. 
 Fenelon replied to them : by the talents 
 which he displayed in his replies, he fairly 
 balanced his rival's character as a writer, 
 and, by their apparent candour and sim^ 
 plicity, won over every heart to his cause, 
 *' How painful is it to me,*' he says to 
 Bossuet, *' to carry on, against you, this 
 combat of words ! and that, to defend my- 
 self against your terrible charges, it should 
 be necessary for me to point out your mis- 
 representations of my doctrine? I am the 
 w-riter so dear to you, whom you always 
 carry in your heart ! yet you endeavour 
 to plunge me, as another Molinos, into 
 the gulph of quietism. Every where you 
 weep over my misfortunes, and, while 
 you weep, you tear me into pieces. What 
 can be thought of tears, to which recourse 
 is only had, when crimination is to be ag- 
 gravated ! You weep on my account, and 
 you suppress what is essential in my writ-
 
 115 
 
 hgs : you join together sentences in tliem 
 ahich arc wide asunder. Your own exag- 
 ) gerated consequences, formally contradicted 
 in my text, you hold out as my princi[)lcs ? 
 What is most pure in my text, becomes 
 blasphemy in your representation of it ! 
 Believe me, we are too long a spectacle to 
 the world ; an object of derision to the 
 ungodly; of compassion to the good. That 
 other men sliould be men, is not surpris- 
 ing; but that the ministers of Jesus Christ, 
 the angels of the church, should exhibit 
 such scenes to the prophane and the unbe- 
 liever, calls for tears of blood. How much 
 more fortunate would have been our lot, if, 
 instead of thusconsumino; our time in inter- 
 minable disputes, we had been employed 
 in our dioceses, in teaching the catechism, 
 in instructing the villager to fear God, and 
 bless his holy name.'* 
 
 Bossuet now saw, with surprise, that 
 Fenelon met him with equal arms, and 
 that, if the public opinion did not yet con- 
 sider Fenelon to be wholly innocent, it 
 , 1 2
 
 116 
 
 considered him to be cruelly persecuted, 
 and Bossuet to be his persecutor. Besides, 
 it had transpired, that in the consistories at 
 Rome, many voices had declared in favour 
 of Fenelon. 
 
 Another battery was now opened against 
 the archbisho[) : an attempt was made to 
 revive the stories, often propagated but 
 fully disproved, of the too great familiari- 
 ties of madamc de Guyon with father La 
 Combe. At this time father La Combe 
 had been a prisoner, during ten years, in 
 the chateau de Lourds, at the foot of the 
 Pyrennees. To have him more under its 
 command, the court caused him to be trans- 
 ferred to the chateau de St. Vincenncs : 
 there, he was prevailed upon to write to 
 madame de Guyon a letter^ exhorting her 
 to acknowledge and repent of their inter- 
 course. It was expected, that the ascer- 
 tainment of this fact, would indirectly ope- 
 rate to the detriment of Fenelon, by ex- 
 posing his connection with that lady to a 
 similar suspicion. So much importance
 
 1 17 
 
 was annexed to this circumstance that car- 
 dinal de Noailles liimself, witli the cur^ de 
 wSt. Sulpice, took the letter to niadame de 
 Guyon, and pressed lier, in the most so- 
 lemn and moving terms, to confess the 
 fault. She heard them with surprise, 
 coolly asserted her innocence, and declared, 
 that father La Comhe must have been 
 mad when he wrote such a letter. The ac- 
 cusation, however, was believed by the car- 
 dinal and by Bossuet. The latter for- 
 warded it to his nephew at Rome : " It is 
 better than twenty theological demonstra- 
 tions," was the nephew's answer on receiv- 
 ing it. " These are the arguments we most 
 need/* But the whole of this wretched 
 manoeuvre ended in nothing : it was soon 
 discovered that father La Combe's intellects 
 were wholly deranged ; he was removed to 
 Charcnton, and died in the course of the 
 following year, in a state of complete insa- 
 nity. Still the stories of Fenelon's sup- 
 posed habits with madame de Guyon were 
 kc|)t alive : ** It is asserted here," the abb6
 
 118 
 
 de Chanterae writes to him, '' that you fol- 
 lowed inadame de Guyon equally in her 
 disorders, as in her errors. To impress 
 this on the mind of the public, every new 
 courier is said to bring new confessions of 
 the woman, and fresh discoveries of her 
 abominations. It is asserted that your ad- 
 versaries are in possession o|s.the originals 
 of several of your letters tOt^htj^y which, 
 however, to save your reputatio^iij-jwe not 
 to be produced till the last extremity.!-.. It 
 was in this stage of the businjefes, that EeiBte- 
 lon's friends were dismissed ;ihe: €0^:. 
 When the abb^ de Chanterae informed ifi£. 
 pope of this circumstance, his hohhess wafe*c;-:g^^ 
 greatly affected; he repeated to Liibaseif v,>i ?»=• 
 With great emotion: *' expulerunt -toeptSr Sf»''-y 
 tem, expulerunt consanguincos, expulcwuit \ ^.-^' 
 amicos," they have put out of doors- hkmer- "V '"^ 
 phew, his relations, his friends ! 
 
 In spite of the odious measures we have;. .; .^^^> 
 mentioned, in spite of the logic and "clot- '.^.;^, ■ 
 quence ofBossuet, the public fayour begAtii;" 
 \o manifest itself more strongly for Fenclorjj
 
 119 
 
 and it hourly became more and more un- 
 certain, which would ultimately prove victo- 
 rious, Bossuct, aided by the favour of the 
 sovereign, or Fcnelon, who had nothing to 
 oppose him, but the exquisite beauty of 
 his genius, and the reputation of his virtue. 
 At this critical moment, Bossuct publish- 
 ed his celebrated Relation of Quietism. In 
 composing it, he availed himself of some 
 secret and confidental writings which he 
 had received from madame de Guyon, of 
 private letters written to him by Fenelon, 
 during their early intimacy, and of a letter, 
 which, under the seal of friendship, Fenelon 
 had written to madame de Maintenon, and 
 which, in this trying hour, she unfeelingly 
 communicated to Bossuet. The substance 
 of these different pieces, Bossuet connected 
 with so much art, interwove in them the 
 mention of so many curious facts, so enter- 
 taining an account of madame de Guyon's 
 visions and pretensions to inspiration, and 
 so many interesting anecdotes of the con- 
 duct of Lewis the fourteenth, and madame
 
 120 
 
 de Maintenon during the controversy ; he 
 occasionally inserted in it, so much digni- 
 fied and truly episcopal eloquence, he de- 
 plored so feelingly the errors of Fenelon, 
 presented his own conduct, during their dis- 
 putes, in so favourable a view, and put the 
 whole together with such exquisite skill, 
 expressed it with so much elegance, and 
 set it off by such brilliancy of thought and 
 expression, as excited universal admiration, 
 and attracted universal favor to its author. 
 In one part of it, he assumed a style of my- 
 stery, and announced, '* that the time was 
 come, when it was the almighty*s will, that 
 the secrets of the union should be revealed.'* 
 — a terrible revelation was then expected, 
 it seemed to appal every heart : it seemed 
 that the existence of virtue itself would be- 
 come problematical, if it should be proved 
 that Fenelon was not virtuous. 
 
 A letter of madame de Maintenon sliews 
 the eagerness with which the extraordinary 
 performance of Bossuet was read j " they 
 lalk here of nothing else ; they lend it, they
 
 inatch it from one another, they devour it :** 
 she lierself circulated copies of it every 
 where. Notliiiig could exceed the conster- 
 nation, which this raised among; the friends 
 of Fenelon, at Rome, and at Paris : — His 
 first intention was not to answer it ; but the 
 abbe de Chanterac imformed him, that the 
 impression, which it made against him at 
 Rome was so strong];, that a full refutation 
 of it was absolutely necessary. He there- 
 fore determined to reply. Bossuet*s rela- 
 tion appeared in the middle of June, Fen- 
 elon*s reply was published on the third of 
 August. 
 
 A nobler effusion of the indignation of 
 insulted virtue and genius, eloquence has 
 never produced. In the first lines of it 
 Fenelon placed himself above his antago- 
 nist, and to the last preserves his elevation. 
 " Notwithstanding my innocence," says 
 Fenelon, '* 1 was always apprehensive of a 
 dispute of facts ; I knew that such a dis- 
 pute between bishops must occasion consi- 
 derable scandal. If, as the bishop of Me-
 
 12? 
 
 aux has a hundred times asserted, my book 
 be full of the most extravagant contradic- 
 tions, and the most monstrous errors, why 
 does he have recourse to discussion?, which 
 must be attended with the most terrible of 
 all scandals ? why does he reveal to liber- 
 tines what he terms a woeful mystery, a 
 prodigy of seduction ? why, when the pro- 
 priety of censuring my book is the sole 
 question, does he travel out of it's text ? 
 but the bishop of Meaux begins to find it 
 difficult to establish his accusations of my 
 doctrine ; the Ijistory of madame de Guyon 
 then comes to his aid, and he lays hold of 
 it as an amusing tale, likely to make all his 
 mistakes of my doctrine disappear and be 
 forgotten. Thus, when he can no longer 
 argue the point of doctrine, he attacks me 
 personally; he publishes on the house-top 
 M'hat before he only ventured to whisper : 
 he has recourse to all that is most odious 
 in human society. The secret of private 
 letters written in intimate and religious con- 
 fidence, (the most sacred after that of con-
 
 123 
 
 fession), has nothing inviolable in him. He 
 produces my letters to Rome ; he prints 
 letters which I writ to him in the strictest 
 conlidencc. — But all will be useless to him; 
 he will find that nothing that is dishonoura- 
 ble ever proves serviceable." He then 
 takes up liossuet's insinuations respecting 
 madame de Guyon ; he produces the very 
 honourable testimonies of the bishop of 
 Geneva, both in respect to her piety and 
 her morals, under which she was first in- 
 troduced to him. He observes to Bossuet, 
 that, after the lona; examination he had made 
 of her doctrine, he permitted her to frequent 
 the sacraments habitually, and even allow- 
 ed her to state, in the declaration which he 
 made hei" sign, that it had always been her 
 wish to write in the most orthodox sense, 
 and that she never thought it was possible 
 to give her words any other meaning. 
 " Now," continues Fenelon, "if the bishop 
 of Meaux, who had a full knowledcje of ma- 
 dame de Guyon's most secret manuscripts, 
 of those vei'y manuscripts, from whiciij.in 
 
 ats
 
 154 
 
 his Relation, he has given such remarkable 
 extracts, with a view of representing her 
 as infected with the most extravagant and 
 dangerous principles ; if, in the full posses- 
 sion of these documents, he still thought 
 her intentions good, might not I, to whom 
 all these manuscripts, all these visions, all 
 these pretended miracles were altogether 
 unknown, be allowed to entertain that pri- 
 vate opinion in favour of madame de Guy- 
 on's intentions, which Bossuet, in a public 
 instrument, admitted to be presumable ?'* 
 This positive assertion by Fenelon, of his 
 absolute ignorance of madame de Guyon*s 
 manuscripts, is of the utmost importance 
 to his character, as it necessarily goes very 
 far in excusing his refusal of subscribing 
 to Bossuet's condemnation of her. It is to 
 be observed, that, throughout the contro- 
 versy, the truth of this assertion was never 
 questioned. 
 
 Bossuet, in his relation of quietism, ex- 
 claimed, " May I venture to say it ? Yes, 
 I can say it confidently, and in the face of
 
 125 
 
 the sun. Could I, the most simple of 
 mortals, the most incapable of artifice and 
 dissimulation ; could I, single and unaided, 
 from the solitude of my cabinet, buried in 
 papers and books, by imperceptible springs, 
 put all the court, all Paris, all the kingdom, 
 all Europe, Rome itself into action, to 
 ruin merely by the strength of my own 
 personal credit the archbishop of Cam- 
 bray?" In answer to this aninated figure, 
 Fenelon cites a passage on which Bossuet 
 deplores the general seduction in Fenelon's 
 favour. " You lament then," savs Fene- 
 Ion, " the sudden and universal seduction 
 in my favour! Permit me to avail myself 
 against you of your own vivid expressions. 
 Could I, in exile at Cambray, from the 
 solitude of my cabinet, by imperceptible 
 springs, attach to me so many disinterested 
 and impartial persons, who, before they 
 read my replies to you, were so prejudiced 
 against me ^ Could I in exile, I contra- 
 dieted, I overwhelmed on all sides, could I 
 do that for my writings, which the bishop of
 
 126 
 
 Meaux, in credit, in power, uith so many 
 means of making himself dreaded, could 
 not do against them ? The bishop of Meaux 
 complains that cabals and factions are in 
 motion ; that passion and interest divide 
 the world. Be it so ! But, what interest 
 can any person have to stir in my cause? 
 I stand single and am wholly destitute of 
 human help ; no one, that has a view to 
 his interest, dares look upon me. Great 
 bodies, great powers, says the bishop, are in 
 motion j but where are the great bodies, 
 the great powers that stand up for me ! 
 These are the excuses the bishop of Meaux 
 gives, for the world's appearing to be di- 
 vided on his charges against my doctrine, 
 which at tirst, he represented to be so com- 
 pletely abominable, as to admit of no fair 
 explanation. This division, in the public 
 opinion, on a matter which he represented 
 to be so clear, makes him feel it advisable 
 to shift the subject of dispute from a ques- 
 tion of doctrine to a personal charge." 
 Fenelon thus concludes :— *• If the bi-
 
 127 
 
 shop of Meaiix has any further writing, any 
 furtlier evidence to produce against me, I 
 conjure him not to do it by halves. Such 
 a proceeding is worse than any publication ; 
 I conjure him to forward it instantly to 
 Rome. I fear nothing, thank God, that 
 ^vill be communicated and examined judi- 
 cially ; I fear nothing but vague report and 
 unexamined allegation." 
 
 " I cannot here forbear from calling to 
 witness the adorable beinsj whose eve 
 pierces the thickest darkness, and before 
 whom we must all appear ; he reads my 
 heart ; he knows that I adhere to no per- 
 son, and to no book ; that I am attaclied 
 to him aloncj and to his church ; that in- 
 cessantly, in his holy presence, I beseech 
 liim, with sighs and tears, to restore peace 
 to his church, and shorten the davs of scan- 
 dal; to bring back the shepherds to their 
 flocks ; to reunite all in his holy mansion, 
 and bestow on the bishop of ivieaux as 
 many blessings as the bishop of ^leaux has 
 thrown crosses on me."
 
 128 
 
 Never did virtue and genius obtain a 
 more complete triumph. Fenelon's reply, 
 by a kind of enchantment, restored to him 
 every heart. Crushed by the strong arm of 
 power, abandoned^ by the multitude, there 
 Mas nothing to which lie could look but his 
 own powers. Obliged to fight for his 
 honour, it was necessary for him, if he did 
 not consent to sink under the accusation^ 
 to assume a port still more imposing than 
 that of his mighty antagonist. Much 
 had been expected from him, but none 
 had supposed that he would raise himself 
 to so prodigious a height as would not 
 only repel the attack of his antagonist, 
 but actually reduce him to the defen- 
 sive. 
 
 Bossuet published remarks on Fenelon's 
 reply; Fenelon published an answer to 
 these, which, on the question of facts, fixed 
 the public in his favour. 
 
 " What an indecency," says Fenelon, 
 ** it is to behold in the hou.^e of God, in 
 his very sanctuary, his principal minister^
 
 H9 
 
 unceasingly venting on each oilier, vague 
 declamations which prove nothing. Your 
 age, and my infirmities, must make us soon 
 appear before him, whom credit cannot in- 
 fluence, eloquence cannot seduce. You 
 profess to be afraid of my power, to fear 
 my subtilty. To ^^ hat are you reduced ! 
 You ore under a necessity of proving seri- 
 ously that I have more power than you ! 
 what cannot your subtilty prove if it can 
 prove a fact so contrary to what is known 
 to the whole world?" 
 
 In one of his works, Bossuet has com- 
 pared Fenelon and madame de Guyon to 
 the heretic Montanus and his prophetess 
 Priscilla. Fenelon exclaimed acrainst the 
 odiousness of the comparison : Bossuet, in 
 his justification, alledged that a criminal in- 
 tercourse between Montanus and Priscilla 
 had never been suspected ; that it was a 
 mere commerce of mental illusion, like that 
 of Fenelon and madame de Guyon. — 
 *' But," says Fenelon," does my illusion, 
 such even as you represent it, resemble 
 
 K
 
 130 
 
 that of JMonianus ? That fanatic had de- 
 tached from their husbands two wives, who 
 followed him ever}' wliere j he delivered 
 them up to a false spirit of prophecy, he 
 was himself possessed by it, and all three 
 in a transport t)f diabolical fury strangled 
 themselves. Such was the ma», the horror 
 of all succeeding times, to whom you com- 
 pare me J me, the dear friend of your lifC; 
 whom you carry in your heart. You say, 
 I have no right to complain of the com- 
 parison. No, my lord bishop, I do not 
 complain : I grieve for you — for j^ou, who 
 can coolly say you accuse me of nothing. 
 when you compare me to Montanus ! Who 
 now believes what you say ? You have 
 done for me more than I could have done 
 for myself. But what a wretched comfort 
 is this, when I see the scandal it brings 
 into the house of God j what a triumph 
 your disgrace is to heretics and liber- 
 lines.*' 
 
 " The scandal was not so great," says 
 the chancellor D'Aguesseau, "■ while these
 
 131 
 
 great antagonists confined their qnarrel to 
 points of doctrine : bnt the scene was truly 
 afflicting to all good men when they at- 
 tacked one another on facts, and differed 
 so much in their accounts, that, as it was 
 impossible that both should speak the 
 truth, persons saw with concern, but saw 
 with certainty, that one of the two prelates 
 must be guilty of untruth. Without say- 
 ing on which side the truth lay, it is certain 
 that the archbishop of Cambray contrived 
 to obtain, in the opinion of the public, the 
 advantage of probability : sut se donner, 
 dans Tesprit du public, I'avantage de la 
 vraisemblance." From this time the ques- 
 tion of facts was abandoned. 
 
 The apologies of Fenelon did not pro- 
 duce a less effect at Rome, than they did 
 at Paris ; and his friends, to use their own 
 words, experienced the same joy, as if, 
 having seen him for a long time struggling 
 with the waves, and finally sinking under 
 them, they beheld iiim regain the shore in 
 safety. The happiness of the abbe df; 
 K 9
 
 13e 
 
 Chanterac was pert'ecl : " When I saw," 
 he writes to Fenelon, " your innocence on 
 the point of being overwhehned in conse- 
 quence of your repugnance to answer the 
 unjust charges brought against you, and 
 that your silence put the doctrine of the 
 church in danger of beinas confounded with 
 the most gross errors, I own to you that 
 my soul was often sorrowful, and that as I 
 sate under the juniper branches I could not 
 always keep niy sorrows within bound. 
 ' Cum sederet subter juniperum, petevit 
 animas suas ut moreretur.' (III. Lib. R-Cg. 
 cap. 19') But now, when the truth is 
 known» and you have done all that depend- 
 ed on you to clear it up and defend it, 
 whatever may happen will so clearly ap- 
 pear to be the will of God, in our re- 
 gard, that I shall not venture to complain 
 of it to him, or even to be afflicted at it. 
 1 shall quietly submit myself to his holy 
 will." 
 
 The pope and cardinals received Fene- 
 lon*s apology from the abb6 in the most
 
 133 
 
 aftcctionatc manner : all of them expressed 
 themselves satisfied with it ; the abb6 men- 
 tions that, when they found iiow completely 
 Fenelon vindicated his iimoccncc, they 
 seemed to him to feel tiiemselves eased of 
 a weight which oppressed them. 
 
 The mortification of the abb6 Bossuet 
 was equal to their joy. " Fenelon," he 
 M rites to the bishop of Meaux, " is a wild 
 beast, to be hunted down for the honour of 
 the mitre and of truth, till he is quite sub- 
 dued and rendered incapable of doing fur- 
 ther mischief. Did not St. Augustin pur- 
 sue Julian even to death .? It is necessary 
 to deliver the church from the greatest 
 enemy she ever had. It is my opinion that 
 neither the bishops, nor the king, can, in 
 conscience, allow any rest to the arch- 
 bishop of Cambray." 
 
 In the course of the discussion, it was 
 frequently suggested to Fenelon, that he 
 might make a useful diversion in his favour, 
 by retorting on Bossuet, that the expres- 
 sions which Bossuet used in combattinj^
 
 fl34 
 
 disinterested love, went as far to the ruin 
 of charity as the language of Fenelon, in the 
 support of disinterested love, went to the 
 ruin of hope -, but those suggestions were 
 rejected by Fenelon : *' there might," he 
 said, " be prudence in such a measure ; 
 but let me Hve and die in simplicity." 
 
 It is necessary to mention a circumstance 
 in the controversy, which gave particular 
 scandal. In the days of their intimacy 
 Fenelon had communicated, in writing, to 
 Bossuet, the cardinal de Noailles, and M. 
 Tronson, an account of the most secret 
 dispositions of his conscience. Among 
 them, it was called his confession. Al- 
 luding to it, Fenelon, in the course of the 
 controversy, accused Bossuet of revealing 
 his confession. Bossuet held out this to 
 the public as a charge of having betrayed 
 Fenejon's sacramental confession. Such a 
 disclosure is justly considered, among 
 roman catholics, as a crime of the blackest 
 die. In roman catholic countries it is 
 punishable with death, and none but a
 
 135 
 
 villain, in whom every sentiment of religion, 
 virtue, and honour is lost, is supposed to 
 be capable of it, Bossuet's representation 
 of this fact raised a storm of indignation 
 against Fenelonj but it was immediately 
 explained by him to the satisfaction of the 
 public, and Bossuet never returned to the 
 chars^e : but the language in which Fenelon 
 made the charge, was very blameable. The 
 public at large was wholly ignorant of the 
 circumstance which explained it, and could 
 not therefore but suppose that Bossuet 
 stood accused by Fenelon of revealing hU 
 sacramental confession.
 
 136 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 THE POPLS CONDEMNATION OF FENELON S 
 " MAXIMS OF THE SAINTS." 
 
 A. V). 1699. X.T. 48. 
 
 Still the proceedings at Rome lingered: 
 the pope had begun by appointing twelve 
 consultors, who were to hold their meet- 
 ings in the chamber of the master of the 
 Sacred Palace ; they held twelve meet^ 
 ings, and finally, were divided in their 
 opinions. The pope then appointed a 
 congregation of cardinals : they met, 
 in consultation, twelve times without 
 coming to any resolution : he then ap- 
 pointed a new congregation of cardinals j
 
 137 
 
 t!iey met in consultation fifty-two times, 
 and at length extracted from Fcnelon's 
 work, several censurable propositions, and 
 reported them to the pope : after which, 
 they had thirty-seven meetings to settle the 
 form of the censure. During all this time 
 private conferences on the subject were 
 continually held by the pope*s direction, 
 and sometimes in his presence. 
 
 Lewis the fourteenth's impatience at the 
 delay was now shewn in a marked manner. 
 He wrote to the pope in strong terms : he 
 states in his letter to his holiness, that, 
 " while he expected from his zeal and 
 friendship a speedy decision on the arch- 
 bishop's book, he could not hear, without 
 sorrow, that the sentence so necessary to 
 the peace of the church, was delayed by 
 the artifices of those, to whose interest the 
 delay was of advantage." He entreats his 
 holiness, in the most pressing terms, to 
 pronounce sentence inmiediately. He ac- 
 companied his letter with one to the 
 cardinal de Bouillon^ his ambassador at
 
 1S8 
 
 Ron^e, making him responsible for the 
 event. 
 
 It was evident that the pope sought to 
 avoid a final decison : the height of the 
 subject, ahnost always above reason, made 
 it difficult to express an opinion upon it, in 
 such terms as should be both inteilijiible and 
 exact ; and it was difficult to censure any 
 of Fenelon's propositions, without censur- 
 ing a proposition of a similar sound, in the 
 writings of some writer, of whom the roman 
 catholic church thinks with respect. Be- 
 sides,- though Fenelon always declared his 
 determination to submit implicitly to the 
 judgment of the roman see, and much doci- 
 lity might be expected from him, it was 
 felt that such ^n act of submission was an 
 effiDrt of heroic humility, almost beyond the 
 power of human nature, and therefore not 
 to be taken for granted. If Fenelon should 
 not submit, there was a powerful party, and, 
 at a time not very distant, there might be a 
 powerful monarch, who would espouse his 
 cause, and this might bring fresh troubles
 
 139 
 
 into the churcli, already too much agitated 
 by the disciples ot Jaiisenius. It was also 
 observed to the pope, that, in many respects, 
 it was merely a dispute of words. On the 
 habitual state of disinterested divine love, 
 the attainment of which was said to be in- 
 culcated in Fenelon's writings, Fenelon him- 
 self uniformly declared his opinion that a 
 permanent state of divine love, without hope 
 and without fear, was above the lot of man; 
 and Bossuet himself alloAved that there 
 miaht be moments, when a soul, dedicated 
 to the love of God, would be lost in hea- 
 venly contemplation, and love, and adore 
 without being influenced either by hope or 
 fear, or being sensible of either. As to the 
 sacrifice of eternal bliss, an offer of which, 
 Fenelon was said to consider as the ultimate 
 effort of heroic resignation to the divine 
 will, Fenelon assimilated it to the wisii of 
 Moses, to be blotted from the book of life, 
 (Ex. c. 32. V. 32, Z'5, 34.), and to the wish 
 of St. Paul, (Rom. c. 9- v. 3.) to be an 
 anathema, - for the sake of those for whom
 
 140 
 
 they interceded. Bossuet justly contended, 
 that both the patriarch and the apostle 
 were to be understood, with an implied 
 supposition, that the sacrifice which they 
 offered was consonant to his will, and 
 might tend to his glory. This was ad- 
 mitted by Fenelon, but he contended that 
 the similar expressions of modern my- 
 sties should receive a similar construction. 
 As to the strange comparisons, the extrava- 
 gant suppositions, and the language of fond- 
 ness used by madamc de Guyon and other 
 mystics in expressing their love of God, 
 and their communion with him, which were 
 reprobated in the harshest terms by Bos- 
 suet, Fenelon admitted that they could not 
 be censured too severely, if it were just to 
 construe ihem strictly; but he contended 
 that theological precision could not be re- 
 quired, with justice, from such writers; and 
 that these expressions should be treated, 
 merely as effusions of pure and fervent 
 minds, who, feeling nothing wroni*; in them- 
 selves, suspected nothing wrong in others :
 
 141 
 
 and, as to the charge of advocating tliccauiic 
 ofmadamedc Guyon i Fenelon expressly 
 declared his readiness to desist from any 
 defence of her, and even from mentionins 
 lier name i he allowed that her writings were 
 in some respects Justly censurable i but he 
 alledged, that much w as imputed to her, of 
 what she was not guilty, and that her real 
 errors were greatly exaggerated, and, on 
 that account he avowed an unwillingness to 
 subscribe to a general censure either of her 
 conduct or her writings. 
 
 With these explanations, the real differ- 
 ence between Bossuet and Fenelon was not 
 very great ; and perhaps rather to be felt 
 than very accurately defined or described. 
 On this ground, it was suggested to the 
 pope, that^ w^ithout pronouncing a formal 
 decision on the points in contest, it would 
 be prudent in him, to be satisfied with issu- 
 ing a brief, in which the 2:eneral doctrine of 
 the church should be accurately propound- 
 ed, and both parties required to abstain horn 
 future discussions. It appears that the pope
 
 142 
 
 iiimself inclined to this plan j but, unfortu° 
 nately for Fenelon, Lewis the fourteenth had 
 made himself a party in the cause, and 
 Lewis the fourteenth was too powerful a sui- 
 tor, to be denied justice. In spite even of 
 this circumstance, the final decision of the 
 cause was repeatedly postponed, and the 
 papal balance •'emained steady for a pe- 
 liod of time, which the adversaries of Fen- 
 elon thought very long. At last it trem- 
 bled, with a slight preponderance, against 
 Fenelon. — The pope issued a brief, by which 
 twenty three propositions, reduceable to the 
 two we have mentioned, were extracted 
 from the obnoxious work, and condemned : 
 but the expressions used in the condemna- 
 tion of them, were gentle ; the proposition.^ 
 were said to be condemned because the} 
 might insensibly lead the faithful to errors 
 already condemned by the catholic church ; 
 and because they contained propositions, 
 which, in the sense of the words which im- 
 mediately presented itself, and according 
 to the order and connections of the senti-
 
 143 
 
 inents, were rash, scandalous, ill-sounding, 
 offensive to pious cars, pernicious in prac- 
 tice, and erroneous j but none of them was 
 said to be heretical, and the name of Fen- 
 elon, as the author of them, was not once 
 mentioned in the brief. Tiiese circum- 
 stances soothed the sorrow of the fiiends 
 of Fenelon, and considerably mortified his 
 adversaries. Their mortification was in- 
 creased by a bon mot of the pope, which 
 was soon in every mouth, that Fenelon was 
 in fault for too great love of God ; and 
 his enemies equally in fault, for too little 
 love of their neighbour. 
 
 " Now is the time come," wrote the good 
 abb<6 de Chanterac to his friend, " to put 
 in practice whatever religion has taught you 
 to be most holy, in a perfect conformity to 
 the will of God. You and all attached to 
 you, must be obedient to Jesus Christ, to 
 death, even to the death of the cross. You 
 will want all your piety, all the submission 
 which you have so often promised the pope
 
 144 
 
 in your letters, to possess your soul in pa- 
 tience, when you read the brief, which he 
 has just published against your book. — It 
 was mentioned to me, that I ought to see 
 him, to assure him of your submission. — 
 All of us together cannot be so much af- 
 fected, as he appears to be, for what may 
 be painful to you in his brief, — most pious, 
 most holy, most learned ; — were epithets he 
 often applied to you. All your friends here 
 think you should receive this brief with the 
 most perfect submission i and that the more 
 simple your submission shall be, the more 
 acceptable it will be to God and man. 
 Jesus Christ agonized on the cross, ex- 
 posed to the judgments of men, appears to 
 me the true model which reliiiion now holds 
 out for your imitation, and to which the 
 Holy Ghost wishes you to conform. It is 
 chiefly in situations like that, in which pro- 
 vidence has now placed you, that the just 
 man lives by faith, and that we ought ta 
 be founded, and rooted in the charity of
 
 145 
 
 Jesus Christ. Wlio shall separate us from 
 it ? never was I so intimately united to you 
 for eternity," 
 
 The first information of the pope's brief 
 Was conveyed by Fcnelon's brother to him 
 at the moment he ascended the pulpit of 
 his cathedral to preach ; and the news of 
 it was immediately circulated through the 
 (Congregation. Fenelon recollected himself, 
 paused for a few minutes, and then, chang- 
 ing the plan of his sermon, preached on 
 the duty of obedience to the church. The 
 isubject of his discourse, the sentiments it 
 (expressed; the religious calm with which it 
 was delivered: the solemn enga2;ement he 
 contracted by it to practise on that trying 
 occasion, the submission which he preach- 
 ed drew tears of sorrow, respect, and ad- 
 miration from the whole audience. 
 
 The first moment it was in his power, 
 Fenelon published a pastoral letter, ad- 
 dressed to all the faithful of his district: — 
 " Our holy father," he says in it, " has 
 condemned my book, entitled tlie * Maxiin.s. 
 
 L
 
 14^ 
 
 of the Saints/ and has condemned, in a par- 
 ticular manner, twenty-three jiroiiositions 
 extracted from it. Wc adhere to his brief^ 
 and condemn the book, and tl)e twenty- 
 three propositions, simply, absolutely, and 
 wittjout a sljadow of reserve." He sent 
 his pastoral letter to the j)0j3e, and solemn- 
 ly assured his holiness, that he would never 
 attempt to elude his sentence, or raise any 
 questions on its regard. 
 
 " Thus," to use the language of the 
 chancellor d'Aguesscau, "' the archbishop 
 of Cambray, who had fou2,ht like a lion in 
 defence of his work, while there was a 
 chance of victory, or even a chance of not 
 being conquered, submitted in an instant, 
 like the lowliest sheep of his flock. His 
 pastoral letter, short and affecting, com- 
 forted his friends, afflicted his enemies, and 
 l^ilsified every prediction which had been 
 made of tlie nice subtleties and distinc- 
 lioiis with which he w^ould seek to disguise 
 his defeat." ]\f. de Bausset gives extracts 
 ©f several letters written by Fenelon, aboui
 
 147 
 
 t!iis time ; all of them breathe an amiable 
 si)irit of peace and resignation, but, in ge- 
 neral, he declined all writing and discourse 
 on the subject, and, at an early moment, 
 almost wholly dismissed the controversy 
 from ills thoughts. 
 
 After what has been seen of the letters of 
 the abb(^' Phillippeaux and the abbe Eossuet, 
 it will not be surprizing, that the former 
 spoke of Fcnelon's i)astoral letter, as con- 
 sisting of dry expressions, and vague words; 
 or that the latter should say, " that it was 
 easy to discover its ambiguity and pride, 
 and impossible to read it without indig- 
 nation." But, who can read without sur- 
 prize, that the bishop of Aleaux himself, 
 said of it, "the cabal exalts the letter; 
 disinterested persons think it full of ambi- 
 guity and pride ;" — or that he should write 
 to his nepliew, who continued at Rome, 
 "after all, 1 think Home should be satis- 
 fied with the archbishop's letter : it contains 
 the essential, and expresses, however pom- 
 ^HJii-ly, his subinisbion." He sent his ne- 
 L 2
 
 14» 
 
 phew some remarks on it, but desired him 
 to keep them to himself. The bishop of 
 Chartres thought of it very differently ; he 
 wrote to Fenelon, that " he was dehghted 
 with his perfect submission : I have no 
 words to express how my heart is affected 
 with your humble and generous action." 
 The pope addressed a letter to Fenelon, 
 much less kind, and less honourable to him 
 than it would have been if Lewis the four- 
 teenth's name had not been called in to 
 chill its terms. 
 
 With the single exception of the cardinal 
 Cassanate, a decided partizcin of France, 
 all the cardinals desired the abb6 de Chan- 
 terac to testify to Fenelon their respect 
 and attachment. With friendly and wise 
 solicitude, they advised him to observe the 
 most rigid silence on the subject, and par- 
 ticularly to avoid further retractions, or ex- 
 planations ; they observed to him, that his 
 act of submission was perfect, that the 
 pope was satisfied with it, and that no one 
 therefore had a right to require more frouv
 
 149 
 
 him on the subject : — " It is impossible," 
 writes tlie abbe dc Chanterac to bin], ** to 
 praise, more than they did, your submission, 
 your pastoral letter, your letters to the 
 pope, the whole of your conduct. Some 
 things they said to me on the subject must 
 be reserved for private conversation." 
 
 It miglit be expected that the ready and 
 perfect submission of Fenelon would soften 
 the mind of Lewis the fourteenth ; but he 
 persisted in the line of extreme rigour, and 
 Fenelon was to drink the cup of his humi- 
 liation to its dregs. The inetropolitan pre- 
 lates of his kingdom were ordered, by the 
 king, to convene their suffragans, and, at 
 an assembly of them, to accept the brief 
 The cardinal of Noailles, as archbishop of 
 Paris, first assembled his suffragans. The 
 assembly consisted of himself and the bi- 
 shops of Meaux, Chartres, and Blois. As 
 the three first of them had been the leaders 
 of the attack on Fenelon, decency seemed 
 to require, that some other metropolitan 
 assembly should take the lead ; but thf
 
 150 
 
 court's opinion was known, and zeal was 
 the order of the day. Instead of conlininir 
 themselves to the acceptation of Ore bi icf, 
 the cardinal and liis sulfra^ans petitioned 
 the king for a general suppression of all 
 the vv'ritings, which Fenelon had published 
 in his defence : in this superfluous display 
 of zeal, seven of the remaining fifteen metro - 
 politun assemblies folloued their example. 
 
 All the metropolitan assemblies spoke in 
 high terms of Fenelon's piety, virtue, and 
 talents : some of them, among w hich was 
 the metropolitan assembly of Paris, com- 
 mended his submission as simple, absolute, 
 and without any restrictioti. The wording 
 of the declaration of that assembly was 
 entrusted to Bossuet ; and he mentions, in 
 a letter to his nephew, that much of it, as 
 he has prepared it, was softened. But, it 
 was among his own suffragans that Fenelon 
 met with the liarshest usage. The bishop 
 of Tournay intimated, that Fenelon's pas^ 
 toral letter did not express an internal ac- 
 quiescence in the brief of the pope. Fene-
 
 151 
 
 'Ion, with mild dignity, repelled the imputa- 
 tion j and the bisliops of Arras and St. 
 Omers, his other suffragans, stood up in 
 his support. 
 
 The next step of the court was to pro- 
 cure the registration of the brief. Tiiis, oil 
 account of some want of formality, was 
 attended with difficulty, but tlie overpow- 
 ering influence of I^wis the fom tenth, le- 
 velled every obstacle. Tlie brief was pre- 
 presented for registration by the chancellor 
 d'Aguesseau, then first attorney general of 
 liis majesty. He pronounced, on that occasi- 
 on, a discourse, which the president Ilcnault 
 describes, " as an immortal monument of the 
 solidity of the church of France, and an 
 eternal honor to the chancellor's memory." 
 M. d'Aguesseau mentions in it Fenclon's 
 submission in terms of high praise; " no 
 discordant voice troubled the holy concert, 
 the happv harmony of the oracles of the 
 church. What was the joy of the church, 
 when she found that he, among the pre- 
 lates, whose opposition she would have
 
 152 
 
 had most to fear, if his heart had been 
 an accompHce of his understanding, had, 
 more humble and more docile than the 
 lowliest of his flock, anticipated the judg- 
 ment of the prelates, and, by pronouncing 
 an afflicting but salutary sentence on him- 
 self, hastened to encourage the church, 
 frightened at his doctrine, by professing 
 readily and solemnly, a submission without 
 reserve, an obedience without bound, and 
 an acquiescence without a shadow of res- 
 triction." 
 
 The chancellor informs us, that in his 
 discourse, as he had originally penned it, 
 he had expressed himself in stronger terms, 
 in the praise of Fenelon^ but that, when the 
 discourse was read in manuscript to the 
 king, he objected to them. — It is remarka- 
 ble that the chancellor, who, in every part 
 of his voluminous works, writes with more 
 than roman gravity, appears always to have 
 a smile on his countenance when he men- 
 tions quietism : he evidently considered it 
 rather as an intrigue of the court than an
 
 153 
 
 affair of religion. The celebrated Leibniz, 
 (Torn. 5, page 189, Cogit. Miscellaneae,) 
 observes, that, before the war of words 
 began, the prelates should have agreed on 
 a definition of the word love, and that such 
 a definition would have prevented the dis- 
 pute. 
 
 After the registration of the pope's brief 
 in parliament, it only remained that a re- 
 port should be made of the affair to the 
 next assembly of the clergy. 
 
 This was intrusted to Bossuet, and he 
 penned this report in the language of mo- 
 deration. '* It was justly observed," he 
 says in it, " that the archbishop of Cam- 
 bray, who had more interest than any 
 other person, in eluding, if it had been pos- 
 sible, the sentence which condemned him, 
 was the first to submit to it, and expressed 
 his submission by a formal act. We recol- 
 lect-with joy the names of the illustrious 
 bishops whom he imitated on this occa- 
 sion. Following the example of the king, 
 all the provinces united in praising that
 
 154 
 
 submission : and thus it was shown, that 
 all, which it had been found necessary to 
 say against the work, had been spoken 
 without any breach of chanty." These 
 expressions of Bossuet, as they apply to Fe- 
 nelon, are very cold ; they are less an eu- 
 logy of Fenelon than an artful conclusion, 
 from premises which did not allow it, in 
 favour of the vehemence of conduct, with 
 which Bossuet knew he was generally re- 
 proached, and which Fenelon's humble 
 submission tended to place in its worst 
 light. 
 
 In speaking of madame de Guyon, Bos- 
 suet says, — '' As to the abominations, 
 U'hich seemed the necessary consequences 
 of her doctrine, they were wholly out of 
 the question ; she herself alwa3's mentioned 
 them with horror." 
 
 In this solemn and explicit declaration 
 ^ of the innocence of her morals, ended the 
 various charges and insinuations which had 
 been made against madame de Guyon 
 with so much publicity, and with such pa- 
 rade.
 
 155 
 
 Here tlic aflair of fjiilclism ends. At 
 the close of his account of it, IVf. de JBausset 
 expresses himself in term?, which, if \vc 
 make some allowance for his fear of saying 
 any tiling harsh of Lewis the fourteenth, 
 may be considered a fair representation of 
 the merit and demerit of tiie general con- 
 duct of the principal actors. All of them, 
 he says, preserved in it the character of 
 greatness, which posterity has stamped on 
 them. Seduced by his own virtuous mind, 
 Fenelon thought that the highest deiiree of 
 virtue attainable by man, was to unile himself 
 to the divine perfections, by a love of God, 
 free from interest j and he rectified, in the 
 writings which he published in his defence, 
 all that was incorrect or equivocal in the 
 work which was the subject of dispute ;—■ 
 Bossuet, crowned with triumpli and gluiy, 
 preserved his high rank of oracle of llic 
 gallican church : but Fenelon was blame- 
 able for his admiration of the sup[)o.sed 
 spiritual gifts of a visionary womnn, ful'
 
 156 
 
 permitting his admiration of them to pre- 
 vail over his better reason, and to prevent 
 his surrendering opinions, perhaps less er- 
 roneous in themselves than in the terms in 
 which he expressed them, to the peace of 
 the church. On the other hand, Bossuet 
 was blameable for connecting a mere 
 question of doctrine with a personal charge 
 of the worst kind, against an estimable and 
 amiable adversary. 
 
 Having thus assigned to Bossuet and 
 Fenelon, what he considers their due share 
 of praise and blame, M. de Bausset pro- 
 ceeds to his great idol: — Lewis the four- 
 teenth, he says, comes before us in his pro- 
 per light; he does not pretend to be a judge 
 of doctrine, he does not pretend to dictate 
 to the church, he petitions for a clear deci- 
 sion, and when he receives it, then, as the 
 external bishop, he causes it to be executed 
 according to the canons, and as sovereign, 
 he causes it to be executed with legal for- 
 mality. But had not Lewis the fourteenth
 
 157 
 
 his share of blame? By his severities to 
 Fcnclon and hiS friends, by his marked 
 support of Bossuet, by his pointed instruc- 
 tions to bis ambassadors, by his letters, 
 almost menacing, to the pope, ' did not the 
 external bishop attempt to influence the 
 decision, did he not anticipate the judgm:ent? 
 On the pope, INI. de Bausset is silent : 
 to this writer, the pope appears the only 
 actor in the business ^ wliose conduct \va» 
 perfectly free from bkme. The real errors 
 in the work of Fenelon, which was denounc- 
 ed to the pope, would have justified a more 
 severe censure, or rather a censure expres- 
 sed in harsher terms than the pope adopted. 
 To the extreme of severity, the pope was 
 repeatedly urged, (and we have seen in 
 what terms,) by the french monarch : but 
 he listened to meekness, and to wisdom, 
 which is always meek. He pronounced a 
 censure, afflicting to Fenelon, but much 
 milder than the king required or extreme 
 justice warranted. He generously wept over 
 t>lie virtue, the piety, and the talents, ther
 
 J.58 
 
 abuse of vvLich he was forced to condemn, 
 and did every thing in his power to heal 
 the wound he was obhged to inflict. 
 
 Fenelon's submission, however, made 
 hiui the hero of the day. " It stands a 
 solitary example in history," says the 
 chancellor d'Aguesseau, " of a controversy 
 upon a point of doctrine, which one single 
 sentence terminated, at the instant, with- 
 out its reproduction in any other form, and 
 without any attempt to reverse it by power, 
 or to elude it by distinctions. The glory 
 of it is due to Fenelon." 
 
 Some attempts were made to effect a 
 reconciliation between Fenelon and his 
 episcopal antagonists, but such a reconcili- 
 ation never took place. M. de Bausset, 
 however, informs his readers, that he has 
 discovered vestiges of a friendly correspon- 
 dence, after the affair of quietism, between 
 Fenelon and the bishop of Chartres ; and 
 cites a letter of madame de Maisonfort, 
 which mentions a projected journey of M. 
 de St. Andre, tho coafidential grand-vicai'
 
 159 
 
 of Bossuet, to Canibray, for the purpose 
 of brinijing about a reconciliation bttweeii 
 Bossuet and renel(;n. It appears tliat 
 Fenelon uniformly expressed himself of 
 Bossuet with respect, and mentioned his 
 talents and the services he had rendered to 
 religion, with admiration. 
 
 It is singular, that at a subsequent time, 
 when Bossuet was worn down with age 
 and infirmity, he applied to Lewis the 
 fourteenth, to nominate his nephew, the 
 abbe Bossuet, of whom such frequent men- 
 tion has been made in the preceding pages, 
 to be his coadjutor, and of coarse his suc- 
 cessor, in the bishoprick of Meaux, and 
 that he met with an absolute refusal. 
 After the deatii of the abb6 de Phillippeaux, 
 the other anient of Bossuet, a relation of 
 quietism, supposed to be written by him, 
 was published at Paris ; and, on the ap- 
 plication of some of the family of Fene- 
 lon, was declared, by an artet du concile, 
 to be scandalous and defamatory, and or- 
 dered to be publicly burnt.
 
 160 
 
 A question has been made, whether Fc- 
 nelon was sincere in his retractation. On 
 this point, we have the testimony of the 
 chevaHer Ramsay. In a formal conversa- 
 tion, which he had with" Fenelon, the che- 
 vaher observed to him, that he could not 
 reconcile his condemnation of his book, 
 with his adherence to his avo\\ed opinion 
 of the possible existence of a pure, and 
 absolutely disinterested love of God. Fe- 
 nelon replied, '* that in condemning his 
 book, the church had not condemned the 
 pure love of God j that it had only con- 
 demned the expressions used by him, in 
 cxphininor it, and those," he admitted, 
 " were unfit for a dogmatical work. My 
 book," he said to the chevalier, ** is good 
 for nothing ; it is an abortion of imagina- 
 tion, it is not a work of the heart ; I wish 
 you not to read it." Tiie doctrine it- 
 self remained dear to Fcnelon's till it 
 ceased to beat. He left behind him a vo- 
 luminous manuscript on the subject, to be 
 delivered to the pope after his decease.
 
 161 
 
 We have seen tliat madame de Guyon 
 was imprisoned, soon after the dispute on 
 quietism first broke out : a short time after 
 its termination, she was released. She then 
 retired to Blois, where she passed the re- 
 mainder of her days in retirement and 
 devotion, entirely silent on the events of 
 her life, her principles, and her writings. 
 She died at an advanced age, adored by 
 the poor, and universally esteemed. In 
 every vicissitude of life, she preserved the 
 esteem of the hotel de Beauvilliers, and her 
 other distinguished friends. A few days 
 before her death she made her will : she 
 prefixes to it a profession of her faith, of the 
 purity of her intentions, and her submission 
 to the church. 
 
 To close this account, perhaps too mi- 
 nute, and therefore already too long, of the 
 affair of quietism, it remains only to men- 
 tion, tiie steady affection which all the 
 antient friends of Fenelon, with the single 
 exception of madame de Maintenon, pre- 
 served for hira during the long continu-
 
 1^2 
 
 ance of the court's displeasure. No- 
 thincr could exceed their attachment to 
 him. He was a bond of union which ce- 
 mented them together, for many a good 
 and kind purpose. ** They took every 
 opportunity," says the duke de St. Simon, 
 " of meeting together ; it was their delight 
 to talk of Fenelon, to regret him, to express 
 their wishes for his return to them, to con- 
 trive means of seeing him/* 
 
 But none of them was more warmly or 
 steadily attached to Fenelon than his for- 
 mer pupil, the duke of Burgundy. Lewis 
 the fourteenth enjoined him not to corres- 
 pond with Fenelon, and spies were placed 
 near each of tiiem to prevent their inter- 
 course. Four years elapsed before there 
 was the slightest communication between 
 them : the duke then contrived to send a 
 letter to Fenelon. — *' At length, my 
 dear archbishop," writes the amiable- 
 youth, " I have an opportunity of breaking 
 the silence, which for these four years, I 
 have been obliged to keep with you. I
 
 16S 
 
 have suffered much since we parted j but 
 one of my greatest sufferings has been, not 
 to have it in my power, during all this time, 
 to testify to you how much 1 felt for you, 
 and to assure you, that my friendship for 
 you has increased with your misfortunes, 
 I shall not say how much I am disgusted 
 with what has been done in your regard.'* 
 He gives the archbishop an account of his 
 studies ; " I think," he says, *' that I per- 
 sist more steadily than I did, in the path 
 of virtue : but pray to God for me, that he 
 will please to strengthen me in my good 
 resolutions, and not suffer me to offend himi 
 auain." Fenelon's answer is most affec- 
 tionate j it contains much good advice, ex- 
 pressed in the most affectionate language, 
 but scarcely one word of himself, or his 
 misfortunes : '* My mind," he says in it, 
 " is at rest ; my greatest misfortune is not 
 to see you. I would give a thousand lives 
 as a drop of water, to see you what God 
 wishes you to be." 
 
 M 2
 
 164 
 
 CHAP. XIIL 
 
 TELEMACBUS. 
 
 During the disputes concerning quietism^ 
 a circumstance took place, which increased, 
 and perhaps unalterably fixed the aversion 
 of Lewis the fourteenth to Fenelon : —the 
 publication of Telemaclius. 
 
 It appears to have been composed by 
 Fenelon, while he was preceptor to the 
 royal dukes. Not long after the affair of 
 quietism broke out, Fenelon gave the ma- 
 nuscript of it to a valet de chambre, to be 
 copied by him ; and the valet sold it to a 
 bookseller at Paris. Tiie police at thai 
 time narrowly \vatched the motions of Fe-
 
 1(55 
 
 iielon ; they liad notice of the publication, 
 and, when tlic bookseller was at the 
 208th page of the impieifsion, seized, in the 
 king's name, all the copies which were 
 found in the possession of the bookseller ; 
 and every precaution was used to annihi- 
 late the work. But it was too late ; the 
 manuscript was preserved ; it was sold to 
 Adrian Moetjens, a bookseller at the Hague, 
 and by him it was immediately printed. 
 This edition appeared in 1699 i and is very 
 incorrect. Editions of it were rapidly mul- 
 tiplied ; it was translated into every euro- 
 pean language, and universally read and 
 admired. 
 
 Immediately on its appearance, it was 
 supposed to contain an intentional and 
 pointed satyr of Lewis the fourteenth, his 
 court, and his government. Calypso was 
 supposed to be the marchioness of Montes- 
 pani Eucharis, mademoiselle de Fontanges j 
 Telemachus, the duke of Burgundy ; Men- 
 tor, the duke of Beauvilliers ; Antiop^, the 
 duchess of Burgundy ; Protesilaus, Lou-
 
 165 
 
 vois ; Idomeneus, our king James the 
 second ; Sesostris, Lewis the fourteenth. 
 
 It does not appear, and Fenelon himself 
 always denied, that in the composition of 
 the work, he intended to pourtray these 
 objects, or intended to lead the attention of 
 his readers to them : but it is easy to sup- 
 pose, that, as he unavoidably wrote it 
 under a strong impression of what imme- 
 diately passed under his eye, the work 
 ■would contain a more striking resemblance 
 of the scenes passing before him, and 
 of the principal actors in them, than it 
 would have discovered, if the author had 
 lived at a distance from them. Admitting, 
 however, that no such individual resem- 
 blance was intended, or can be fairly 
 traced in Telemachus, still, it contained 
 enough to excite the monarch's highest dis- 
 pleasure. The disrespectful mention which 
 is made, in every part of it, of ambition, of 
 extensive conquest, of military fame, of 
 magnificence, and of almost every thing 
 else, which Lewis the fourteenth considered
 
 167 
 
 ns the glory of his reign, could not Ijul 
 prejudice the monarch against the writer. 
 When he reflected that it was the pro- 
 duction of one, on whom he had conferred 
 splendid marks of his favor, he could not 
 but think the publication an act of ingrati- 
 tude J when he recollected that the pre- 
 ceptor had probably instilled the principles 
 of the work into the heir of his throne, the 
 preceptor would naturally become an ob- 
 ject of personal hatred ; and these feelings 
 would be much aggravated by the re- 
 ception which the work met with, in the 
 countries whom Lewis the fourteenth view- 
 ed as his natural enemies, and who, soon 
 after its first publication, confederated for 
 the destruction of him and his family. He 
 knew their hatred of him, and whatever 
 they cherished, he could not but consider 
 as hostile to him. 
 
 In the monarch's general disHke of the 
 work, madame de Maintenon unavoidably 
 shared ; and, as Lewis the fourteenth sus- 
 pected her of a partiality to Fenelon, her
 
 168 
 
 interest required that she should take every 
 opportunity of expressing her disapproba- 
 tion of the author, and that she sliould be 
 forward in condemning the offending work. 
 This was soon perceived by the courtiers : 
 they quickly saw that Telemacims was 
 never to be mentioned. — Fenelon was a 
 member of the french academy : when 
 his successor was received into it, both 
 his successor and the member who pre- 
 sided at that sitting of the academy, 
 pronounced an eulogium of Fenelon, and 
 praised his other works, but neither of 
 thena mentioned Telemachus. 
 
 After several editions of Telemachus had 
 been printed, on the model of the edition of 
 1699, Moetjens himself gave a more per- 
 fect edition of it in 1701; and that edi- 
 tion was generally followed, in all subse- 
 quent editions, till the edition of 1717* 
 In that year, the marquis of Fenelon, great 
 nephew to the archbishop, published anew 
 edition of Telemachus, from a copy cor- 
 rected by Fenelon himself. With the leave
 
 169 
 
 of the regent, the marquis dedicated this edi- 
 tion to Lewis the fifteenth, who was then in 
 his eighth year. This edition became the 
 textus receptus, or the model tVcnn which 
 all subsequent impressions of Telcmachus 
 have been taken. 
 
 As a composition, Telemachus has per- 
 haps received its full measure of praise. 
 It is eminently defective in unity of design, 
 abounds with unnecessary details, is often 
 prosaic ; its moral is oftener taught by long 
 discourses, than by action, the proper ve- 
 hicle of moral in an epic poem ; and it con- 
 tain? more of profane love, than might be 
 expected from a man of prayer, always 
 writing at the foot of the cross ; but it 
 abounds with passages of exquisite beauty, 
 and contains some of true sublimity. A soft 
 tinge of poetic, and, it may be said, of 
 religious m.elancholy is shed over tiie whole, 
 which seems to elevate it to real poetry, 
 gives it an indescribable charm, and inte- 
 rests the reader, both for the author and his 
 hero. Wc find, by M. de Bausset, tliat
 
 170 
 
 Mentor's apology to Telemachus, for the 
 faults of kings, was inserted in the manu- 
 script, long after the first edition of the 
 work, and consequently long after 
 
 " The haughty Bourbon's unrelenting hate — " 
 
 Drvden. 
 
 had sealed the author's doom.
 
 171 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 fSNELON^S OTHER LITERARY WORKS, ASD CENE' 
 SAL LITERARY CHARACTER. 
 
 The mention of Telemachus, naturally 
 leads to some account of the other works 
 of Fenelon, and a general view of his lite- 
 rary character. 
 
 All his writings show much grandeur 
 and delicacy of sentiment, great fertility of 
 genius, a correct taste, and exquisite sen- 
 sihility. The poetical character appears 
 in them all; but generally, it is poetry, 
 descended from the heavens, to converse 
 familiarly with man, and lead him, by her 
 sweetest and simplest strains, to virtue and
 
 17« 
 
 happiness. By assiduous study, the works 
 of the best writers of antiquity became 
 familiar to him ; he imbibed their spirit ; 
 and his intimate acquaintance with tlieir 
 w'ritings, was his resource in every vicissi- 
 tude in Hfe, his ornament in prosperity, his 
 comfort in adverse fortune : and, in the 
 memorable contest we have mentioned, in 
 which every thing dear to him was in- 
 volved, the charm which it spread over 
 his writings, enabled him to divide the 
 world in his favor, against his mighty 
 adversary. 
 
 He appears to have formed himself more 
 on the Greek than the Roman. All the 
 good writers of antiquity are far removed 
 from the extremes of simplicity and refine- 
 ment ; but the greek, by their greater sim- 
 plicity, have an evident advantage over the 
 roman. The writings of Fenelon, when 
 quietism did not entangle him in its refine- 
 ments, are distinguished by simplicity both 
 of sentiment and expression. Without ap- 
 pearing to be measured, his periods are
 
 173 
 
 mellifluous, and, by a profusion, sometimes 
 perhaps carried to excess, of the little con- 
 nective words, uhich the french languaije 
 possesses much more than the english, but 
 in no proportion to the greek, each of his 
 sentences always leads to the following, and 
 harmonises with it both in sense and 
 sound. His Telemachus, and his replies 
 to Bossuet, contain many passages of great 
 splendor and pathos ; but their greatest 
 beauty is their tender simplicity. This at- 
 tached every reader to him, and gave Bos- 
 suet those sleepless nights which he inge- 
 nuously owned. The greatest fault of his 
 writings is, that they abound with what, in 
 music, is called rosalia, a repetition of the 
 same idea in the next higher notes. 
 
 After TelemachuS; the principal literary 
 work of Fenelon is, iiis Dialogues sur 
 V Eloquence en general, et sur celle de la 
 chaire en particuUer : it was published 
 after his death. The chief aim of it is to 
 shew, that the real object of eloquence, is 
 to excite in the auditors, virtuous and noble
 
 174 
 
 sentiments, and to impel them to generbu^ 
 anr} virruous deeds ; and that, when elo- 
 quence falls short of this, it fails of its end. 
 He particularly applies this observation to 
 the eloquence of the pulpit: we shall pre- 
 sent the reader vvith a general view of what 
 he says on this subject, when we shall have 
 occasion to mention his own sermons. 
 
 On popular oratory he observes, that the 
 first thing to be required of a public speaker 
 is, that he should be a virtuous man : this, 
 he pronounces to be indispensible to the 
 success of his eloquence. He asks, *' how 
 is a mercenary and ambitious orator to cure 
 his country of corruption and ambition } If 
 riches are his aim, how is he to correct the 
 venality of his countrymen ? I know," 
 says Fenelon, " that a virtuous and dis- 
 intcfested orator should not be permitted 
 to want the necessaries of life ; but let 
 him put himself in the way of not wanting 
 them ; let his manners be simple, unpre- 
 tending, frugal, and laborious ; if necessary, 
 let him work with his own hands, for hh
 
 17^ 
 
 subsistence. The public may confer lienors 
 on him, may invest him with authority: 
 but, if he is master of his passions, if he is 
 really disinterested, he will never make 
 any use of his authority for his private ad- 
 vantage ; he will always be ready to resign 
 it, when he cannot preserve it without dis- 
 simulation or flattery. To persuade the 
 people, an orator should be incorruptible : 
 his eloquence and talents will otherwise ruin 
 the state. Where a man has his fortune 
 in view, he must please every one, and 
 manage every one ; how is such a man to 
 obtain an ascendant over his countrymen ? 
 Does he seek riches ? let him embrace 
 some of the professions by which riches 
 are required: but, let him not make 
 his speeches in the public cause, the means 
 of acquiring them." 
 
 Fenelon observes of Cicero, " that the 
 speeches which he made, while he was 
 young, rather amuse the mind than move 
 the heart;'* that, he seems rather occupied
 
 176 
 
 by a wish of exciting admiration, than bj 
 his dient's cause ; yet that even in the most 
 flowery of these harangues, he shows great 
 talents of persuasion and of moving the 
 passions. But it is in the harangues which 
 he made in the cause of the repubhc, when 
 he was advanced in Hfe, that he appears to 
 advantage. Then experience in affairs of 
 magnitude, the love of liberty, and the view 
 of the dangers which surrounded him, raised 
 him to efforts worthy of a great orator. When 
 he is to support the cause of dying liberty, 
 to animate the republic against Anthony, 
 you have no longer a play of words, no 
 longer an antithesis ; then, he is negligent; 
 he finds in nature, all that is wanting to 
 seize, to animate, to carry off his hearers. 
 
 Of antithesis, the bane of modern wri- 
 tings, Fenelon says : — " I do not absolutely 
 proscribe antithesis j when the things to be 
 expressed are naturally opposed to each 
 other, it is proper to mark their opposition. 
 There, antithesis is the natural and simple
 
 177 
 
 form of expression ; but to go out of tlie 
 way to form batteries of words is child- 
 ish." 
 
 In the same work, Fenelon observes, 
 that, " to a perfect intelligence of the sacred 
 writings, some previous acquaintance with 
 the works of Homer, Plato, Xcnophon, and 
 other celebrated writers of antiquity, is ab- 
 solutely necessary. After this, the scrip- 
 ture," he says, " will no longer surprise." 
 The same customs, the same mode of 
 narrative, the same splendid imagery, the 
 same pathetic touches are found in each. 
 Where they ditier, the advantage is wholly 
 on the side of the scripture ; it infinitely 
 surpasses all the writers of antiquity in sim- 
 plicity, in spirit, in grandeur. Homer him- 
 self never approaches the sublimity of the 
 canticles of Moses ; of that canticle in 
 particular, which all the children of Israel 
 were obliged to learn by heart. No greek 
 9r latin poetry is comparable to the psalms. 
 That, which begins, " The God of Gods, 
 the Lord hath spoken, and hath called up 
 
 N
 
 178 
 
 the earth/' exceeds uhatever human ima- 
 gination has produced. Neither Homer, 
 nor any other poet, equals Isaiah, in des- 
 cribing the majesty of God, in whose pre- 
 sence empires are as a grain of sand, the 
 whole universe as a tent, which, to day is 
 set up, and removed to morrow^ Some- 
 times, as when he paints the charms of 
 peace, Isaiah has the softness and sweet- 
 ness of an eclogue ; at others, he soars 
 above mortal conception. But, what is 
 there in profane antiquity, comparable to 
 the wailings of Jeremy when be mourns 
 over the calamities of his people ? or to 
 Nahum, when he foresees, in spirit, the 
 downfal of Nineveh, under the assault of 
 an innumerable army ? We almost behold 
 the formidable host, and iiear the arms and 
 the chariots. — Read Daniel, denouncing to 
 Balthazar, the vengeance of God, ready to 
 fall upon him j compare it with the most 
 sublime passages of pagan antiquity ; you- 
 find nothing comparable to it. It must be 
 added that, in the scriptures, every thing
 
 179 
 
 sustains itself; whether we consider the 
 the liistorical, the iei^al, or the poetical part 
 of it, the proper character appears in all. 
 
 On the writings of the antient fathers, lie 
 hds the following judicious observations. 
 " Some well informed persons have not al- 
 ways done to the fathers the justice due to 
 them. They seem to have formed their 
 opinion of them by a harsh metaphor of 
 TertuUian, a swollen period of St. Cyprian, 
 an obscure passage of St Ambrose, a subtle 
 jingling antithesis of St. Augustin, or a 
 quibble of St. Peter Chrysologus. But we 
 ought to consider how much the fathers 
 were necessarily influenced by the generally 
 depraved taste of the times in which they 
 lived. Good taste began to decay at 
 Rome, soon after the Augustan asra. Juve- 
 nal possesses less delicacy than Horace; 
 both Seneca the tragic writer, and Lucan, 
 have a disagreeable and turgid style. In 
 Greece, attic literature had fallen into ne- 
 glect, before St. Paul or St. Gregory Na- 
 7.ianzen wrote. A kind of minute scholas- 
 X 2
 
 180 
 
 tic subtlety had taken j)lace of sound taste 
 and judgment. The fathers were generally 
 educated by the wrangling ihetoricians of 
 their times, and naturally fell into the gene- 
 ral manner : yet they seem continually to 
 struggle against it. To speak in a simple 
 and natural manner was then generally es- 
 teemed a fault : declamation, not elo- 
 quence, was the leading object. But if 
 we bestow on the writings of the fathers 
 a patient and impartial perusal, we shall 
 discover in them pearls of inestimable^ 
 value. St. Cyprian possesses a greatness 
 of spirit, and a vehemence, resembling 
 those of Demosthenes. We find in St; 
 Chrysostom an exquisite judgment, noble 
 images, a feeling and amiable morality. 
 St. Augustin is at once sublime and popu- 
 lar; he rises into dignit}', by the most sim- 
 ple expressions. He converses, he inter- 
 rogates, he answers. It is a conversation 
 between him aiid his hearers ; his similesj 
 generally introduced very opportunely, 
 throw liiiht on his subject. He sometimes
 
 161 
 
 descends to the coarseness of the populace, 
 but it is to reform them, and he leads them 
 by it to what is right. St. Bernard was a 
 prodigy, in a barbarous age. We find in 
 him delicacy, elevation, sentiment, tender- 
 ness, and vehemence. We shall be asto- 
 nished at the beauty and grandeur which 
 we nieet in the fathers, if wc take into con- 
 sideration the times in which they wrote. 
 We readily pardon the pompous diction of 
 Montaigne, the obsolete diction of Marot ; 
 why not shew the same indulgence to the 
 fathers ? Why not ascribe their defects to 
 the defects of the times in w hich they 
 lived?" 
 
 The letters of Fenelon have been gene- 
 rally admired ; they appear to have been 
 chiefly written on the impulse of the 
 moment, witiiout study, and without the 
 least view to publication. The greater 
 part of them are on subjects of piety : but 
 many of them are addressed to persons in 
 public situations, or engaged in the ordina- 
 ry affairs of life, and abound with profound
 
 182 
 
 and delicate observations. " What you 
 have most to fear," he writes to a young 
 nobleman, *' is idleness and dissipation. 
 Idleness is as prejudicial in the world, as 
 it is criminal before God. A soft and 
 indolent man, must always be a poor crea- 
 ture. If he is placed in any considerable 
 situation, he is sure to diso-race it. If he 
 has the most brilliant talents, idleness pre- 
 vents his making any use of them. He 
 cannot cultivate them, or acquire the infor- 
 n^ation wanted for the proper discharge of 
 his duties, or make necessary exertions, or 
 accommodate himself, for any length of 
 time, to those, whom it is his duty or his 
 interest to conciliate. What can be done 
 for such a man .? Business vvearies him, 
 serious reading fatigues him, military duty 
 interrupts his pleasures, attendance at 
 court is irksome to him. — Pride alone 
 should make such a being insupportable 
 to himself. 
 
 ** Do you beware of this wretched exist- 
 ence. At court, with the king, in the
 
 183 
 
 army, among the generals, wherever you 
 may be, exert yourself to behave with 
 civility. Endeavour to acquire that polite- 
 ness, which shev\s a respectful defcrenqe to 
 every one. No airs of dignity, no affecta- 
 tion, no bustle ; learn to behave to every 
 one according to his rank, his reputation, 
 his merit, and his creriit. Give to merit, 
 esteem j to talents, when virtue and confi- 
 dence accompany them, confidence and 
 attachn^entj to rank, civility, and cere- 
 mony. On days of general representation, 
 speak to every one, but enter into particular 
 conversation with none. Bad company is 
 always disgraceful ; it is ruinous to a young 
 man, who has not yet an established cha- 
 racter. It is excusable to see few persons, 
 but nothing excuses your seeing a single 
 person of a blasted reputation. Shew such 
 persons no indignity, but keep them at a 
 great distance. 
 
 ** A seclusion from the world to induce 
 iq idleness is dishonorable; but a retire-
 
 184 
 
 ment, employed in acts of duty or profes- 
 sional exertions, acquires general esteem. 
 
 *' As to general acquaintance, consider 
 them as a kind of imperfect friends, upon 
 whom YOU should not rely ; and whom, 
 except from urgent necessity, you should 
 never trust ; but you should serve them, as 
 opportunity offers, and endeavour to lay 
 them under obligations to you. Among 
 these persons, you are not to look for per- 
 fect characters; be most connected with 
 such among them, as arc most worthy. 
 
 *' As to true friends, chusc them with 
 great care; but their number must be 
 small. Have no friend, who does not 
 fear God, who is not wholly governed by 
 the truths of religion. They should be a 
 little older than yourself. To friends like 
 those, open your heart without reserve; 
 and keep nothiug secret from them, except 
 the secrets of others." 
 
 Soon after Fenelon was appointed pre 
 ceptor of the royal [)rinces, he was elected
 
 185 
 
 a member of the frencli academy. Con- 
 formably to an cstablisticd rule of that in- 
 stitution, he pronounced a discourse before 
 the academy on iiis reception. Few of the 
 discourses pronounced on these occasions, 
 have survived the day on which they were 
 dehvered. Fenelon's was generally ad- 
 mired ; the authors of the Bibhotheque 
 Britannique, (vol. IQ. p. 54,) spoke of it, 
 jn terms of great commendation. In one 
 part of it, Fenelon illustrates, by an inge- 
 nious comparison, what should be a great 
 object of every writer in the general ordo- 
 nance of his work ; " the beauties of a 
 literary composition," he says, " should 
 resemble those of architecture •, the boldest 
 works are not always the best. .No part 
 of an edifice should be constructed with a 
 view to its own particular beauty; each 
 should be constructed with a view to the 
 strength and beauty of the whole.'' 
 
 When the academy projected their Dic- 
 tionary, they directed M. Uacier, their 
 secretary, to communicate the plan of it to
 
 186 
 
 Fenelon, and to request his thoughts on 
 the design, and the best mode of carrying 
 it into execution. Fenelon replied by a 
 letter, published after his decease, with 
 the title, Lettre a rAcademie Francaise, 
 He does not confine himself to the parti- 
 cnlar point to which his attention was cal- 
 led by the academy, but throws out many 
 general observations, replete with judgment 
 and taste, on the actual state of literature in 
 France. His remarks on french poetry 
 are interesting, and shew, that in a very 
 advanced age, for they were not written till 
 a very late period of his life, his soul was 
 still wedded to immortal verse. He ad- 
 mits the imperfection of the heroic poetry 
 of his countrymen. 
 
 " Our versification,'* he says in this 
 letter, " loses, if I not deceived, much 
 more than it gains by rhyme. It loses by 
 it, much of its vivacity, its ease, and its 
 harmonyx It frequently happens, that the 
 rhyme, which has cost the poet so much 
 labour, reduces him to ihe necessity of ex-
 
 187 
 
 tending and weakening iiis period. He is 
 often forced to enij^loy tv\o or tlirec super- 
 fluous verses for the sake of one whicli he 
 particularly wishes to introduce. We are 
 scrupulous in the choice of rhytnes, and 
 anxiously seek for those, which are thought 
 to be rich ; but we are not as scrupulous as 
 we should be about solidity of thought and 
 sentiment, clearness of expression, natural 
 arrangement, and real dignity of language. 
 By rhyme, we gain little except an irksome 
 uniformity of cadence, which is so far from 
 being grateful to the ear, that we carefully 
 avoid it in prose. The repetition of final 
 syllables fatigues us in heroic verses. 
 There is more harmony in those odes and 
 stanzas, in w hich the rhymes are irregularly 
 arranged ; but our grand heroic strains, 
 which require the most harmonious, the 
 most varied, and the most majestic sound, 
 frequently consist of verses which have no 
 pretence to perfection." 
 
 Fenelon's other works principally relate 
 to religious subjects ; a considerable por-
 
 188 
 
 tion of them are of a polemic nature, on 
 the subject of the jansenistical controversy, 
 in Avhich, in his latter years, he took an 
 active part. His Treatise on the Exist- 
 ence of God, was addressed, in a course of 
 letters, to the duke of Orleans, the cele- 
 brated regent. M. de Bausset shews, that 
 a work, intitled. Lives of the PliilosopherSy 
 often published with his name, is unjustly 
 ascribed to Fenelon. 
 
 I
 
 189 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 FENELOK IN HIS DIOCKSE. 
 
 When Feiielon was nominated to the see 
 of Cambra}^, every motive of interest and 
 ambitioH must have prompted him, (in op- 
 position to the canons whicli called him to 
 his diocese,) to make the court his liabitual 
 residence, and must have allured him to it 
 by very specious reasons. In the opinion 
 of the public, and even in his own consci- 
 ence, if it were usually pliable, such a re- 
 solution would require no other apology, 
 than his office of preceptor to the young 
 princes. It would naturally suggest to him, 
 that personal attendance on them was his 
 first obligation.
 
 190 
 
 But Fenelon considered residence in his 
 diocese too sacred a duty to be neglected ; 
 and therefore, before he acquiesced in his 
 nomination, he stipulated, that his office 
 should, on no account, prevent his residing 
 with his flock, during nine months of every 
 year. The royal mandate now made his 
 constant residence among them a matter of 
 necessity ; and probably, except so far as it 
 separated liim from his friends, he found 
 the compliance ^vith it, no great mortifica- 
 tion. 
 
 A letter written by him to the duke of 
 Beauvilliers, gives a pleasing view of the 
 situation of his mind, soon after he was 
 settled among his flock. " I work," he 
 says, in it, " softly and gently, and endea- 
 vour, as much as I can, to put myself in the 
 way of being useful to my flock. They 
 begin to love me, I endeavour to make 
 them find me easy of access, uniform in 
 my conduct, and without haughtiness, 
 rigour, interest, or artifice : they appear 
 alreadv to have some confidence in me ;
 
 m 
 
 and let me assure you, that even these good 
 Flemminders, \vith their homely appear- 
 ance, have more finesse than I wish to put 
 into my conduct towards them. They en- 
 quire of one another, M^hether I really am 
 banished; and they question my servants 
 about it ; if they put the question to me, 
 I shall make no mystery of it. It cer- 
 tainly is an aftiiction to me to be separated 
 from you, and the good duchess, and my 
 other friends ; but, from the general scene, 
 I am happy to be at a distance, and sing 
 the canticle of deliverance," 
 
 From the recent occurrences of Fene- 
 lon's life, it might be natural to expect, 
 that, in the administration of his diocese, 
 he would err by excess of zeal; but from 
 that defect no one was ever more free. To 
 do the kind and common thing while consci- 
 ence allowed it, to abstain from unnecessary 
 acts of authority, to avoid every display of 
 talent or virtue, to remove by meekness 
 and moderation what was blameable, to 
 improve, with prudence and sobriety, what 
 was good, and always to kce^) himself and
 
 192 
 
 his own exertions from the public eye, was 
 the uniform tenor of his conduct. Durincr 
 the fifteen years, for which he governed his 
 diocese, his administration of it was uni- 
 formly wise and meek j between him and 
 his flock, his chapter, or his clergy, there 
 never was an appearance of discord : 
 though, by his indefatigable zeal, he soon 
 made the district committed to his charge, 
 the model of a well regulated diocese : his 
 biographers do not record of him, a single 
 instance of what are generally called acts 
 of vigour, or even a single instance of star- 
 ing virtue. The peace of heaven was with 
 him, and was communicated by him to all 
 his flock. 
 
 He allowed himself a short time for 
 sleep, rose at a very early hour, gave some 
 time to prayer and pious meditation, and 
 then arranged with one of his grand-vicars, 
 the employments of the day. Except on 
 Saturdays, or on festivals particularly cele- 
 brated in some church of his diocese, when 
 he ofiiciated there, he said mass every day 
 in liis private chapel ; on Saturdays, he
 
 103 
 
 said it in his metropolitan church, and, 
 durinjy the rest of that morning heard in- 
 discriminately, the confessions of all who 
 presented themselves. Till nine o'clock, 
 he was visible to those only who attended 
 him by appointment; after that hour, till 
 he dined, his doors weic opeti to all per-" 
 sons who professed to have real business 
 ^vith him. At noon, he dined; his table 
 wa3 suitable to his rank, but he himself 
 was extremely aljstemious, eating only the 
 simplest and lightest food, and of that, 
 sparingly. All his chaplains were admitted 
 to his table ; it was his general rule to shew 
 them the greatest respect ; if he sent them 
 into the country, on any business of his 
 diocese, it was always in one of his own 
 carriages, and with one of his own atten- 
 dants, that the respect, which he shewed 
 them, might conciliate to them the general 
 respect of his flock. Both before and after 
 dinner, he himself said grace with serious- 
 ness, but without affectation : the reader 
 ^Vill hear with pleasure that his tried friends 
 o
 
 194 
 
 the virtuous and faithful abbe de Chante- 
 rac, was always placed next him, on his 
 left hand. During dinner, the conversation 
 was general, and strangers were struck 
 equally, with its ease and politeness. After 
 dinner, all the company retired to a large 
 apartment, for about an hour; there, tha 
 same stile of conversation was continuedy 
 but a small table was sometimes placed 
 before Fenelon, on which he signed his 
 name to papers which required immediate 
 dispatch, and he sometimes took that op- 
 portunity of giving directions to his chap- 
 lains, on the affairs of his diocese. An 
 hour was spent in this manner, after 
 which, unless he was prevented by ur- 
 gent business or necessary visits, he lived 
 to himself till nine o'clock, then he supped, 
 and at ten, the whole of his household 
 assembled : one of his chaplains said night- 
 prayers ', at the end of them, the arch- 
 bishop rose, and gave his general blessing 
 to the assembly*. 
 
 * See Appendix, Note III.
 
 195 
 
 The only recreation of Fenelon was to 
 walk in his garden or in tlie open country. 
 His letters, like those of Cicero, often ex- 
 press the satisfaction which he felt in retiring, 
 after the agitation and hurry of business, to 
 the simple and interesting scenes of nature. 
 By their stillness and calm, any ruffle of 
 the day was quickly smoothed, and his 
 mind, wearied by study oi: business, soon 
 recovered its freshness and elasticity. 
 There too, his piety was often invigo- 
 rated. " The country," he says in one 
 of his letters, " delights me. In the 
 midst of it, I find God's holy peacfe. O ! 
 what excellent company is God! with him 
 one never is alone.*' — In his country walks 
 with his friends, his conversation was par- 
 ticularly instructive and pleasing : this cir- 
 cumstance is frequently mentioned by his 
 contemporaries. " No person," says the 
 duke de St. Simon, *' ever possessed in a 
 higher degree than Fenelon, the liappy 
 talent of easy, light, and ever decent con- 
 versation; it was perfectly enchanting; 
 o 9.
 
 196 
 
 his mild uniform piety troubled no onej, 
 and was respected by all. No one felt hi& 
 superiority j every one found him on his 
 own level. If you quitted him for a mo- 
 ment, you instantly ran back to him." 
 He often joined the peasants, set down on 
 the grass with them, talked to them, com- 
 forted them, went into their cottagesy 
 placed liimself at table with their families, 
 and partook of their meals. 
 
 In the midst of the vexations of Fenelon-, 
 during the disputes on quietism, a fire 
 burned to the ground, the archiepiscopal 
 palace at Cambray, and consumed all his 
 books and writino-s. He bore his misfor- 
 tune with great resignation. As soon as 
 the abbe de Langeron was informed of it, 
 he hastened to ap{)rize Fenelon of it, and 
 found him conversing with his friends, 
 so much at ease, that he concluded he was 
 ignorant of it, and began with much prepa- 
 ration, to apprize him of it. Fenelon in- 
 terrupted the abb6 j he told him that he 
 was informed of his loss, and remarked to 
 
 I
 
 197 
 
 hiin, that ** it was better his palace should 
 be burnt to the ground, than the cottage of 
 a peasant." At his own expence, he re- 
 built the palace, and furnished it in a 
 suitable style of magnificence ; but he did 
 not allow the arms of his family to be 
 fixed or painted on any part of it: he 
 probably recollected how severely, in his 
 dialogues, he had censured the cardinal de 
 Richelieu, for almost covering the Sorbonne 
 with his arms. 
 
 An early care of Fenelon, after his set- 
 tlement in his diocese, was to establish 
 a seminary for completing the education 
 of such of his flock as were intended for 
 the church. He always presided at the 
 examination of those who presented them- 
 selves to take orders. These examinations 
 were conducted with such a happy mixture 
 of ease and solemnity, that none ventured 
 to present themselves for ordination, M'ho 
 had not gone through a serious course of 
 previous study, while all were sufficiently 
 at ease to discover, by tlieir behaviour,
 
 198 
 
 their real dispositions and talents. This 
 was so well arranged, that in Fenelon's 
 time, no priest Avas ordained, who, pre- 
 viously to his ordination, had not been five 
 times examined by Fenelon himself. It 
 was Fenelon's wisli to put his seminary 
 under the direction of his beloved sulpi- 
 cienS; and he intimated his wish to M. 
 Tronson their superior; but fearful of in- 
 volving his friends in his own disgrace, he 
 avoided pressing it on him. 
 
 Twice a week during the lent, he preach- 
 ed in some parish church of his diocese ; 
 on solemn festivals, he preached in his 
 metropolitan church -, in his visitations of 
 his diocese, he always made a familiar dis- 
 course, in the church of the parish which 
 he visited j so that, in his large diocese, 
 there was not a single parish church, in 
 which he had not preached more than 
 once. It was his opinion that, in general, 
 sermons were not sufficiently instructive. 
 ** The people," he says, in his dialogues 
 pn the eloquence of tlie pulpit, " hear
 
 199 
 
 continually of the scripture of the church, 
 of the two laws, of the priesthood of Moses, 
 Aaron, Melchisedeck, and of the prophets 
 and apostles ; but little pains are taken to 
 inform them from the pulpit what all this 
 means, or what these persons have done. 
 A preacher should explain to the people 
 regularly and in great detail, the gospels, 
 the mysteries, the origin and institution of 
 the sacraments, the traditions, the disci- 
 pline, the ofEces, and the ceremonies of the 
 church. —Such instructions will strengthen 
 their faith, give them a just notion of reli- 
 gion, and, by degrees, enable them to pro- 
 fit of all they see or hear in their churches. 
 Sermons should be short, but frequent, 
 ?ind the same sermon should be often re 
 peated." 
 
 He disliked the divisions and subdivi- 
 sions of sermons : *' These," he says, 
 " were unknown to the fathers. St. Ber- 
 nard, the last in time of the fathers, often 
 remarks the natural division of his subject, 
 but does not observe it in his sermons.'*
 
 2G0 
 
 Fenelon declares against the practice of 
 committing sermons to writing, and then 
 learning tliem by heart. " Consider,-* he 
 says, " the advantage of speaking without 
 minute preparation. The preacher pos- 
 sesses Ijimself; he expresses himself na- 
 turally, his words flow immediately from 
 his own sources ; his expressions, (if he 
 has a natural talent for eloquence), are 
 lively and moving. The warmth of the 
 moment sugi^ests to him expressions and 
 images, which would not have occurred to 
 him, in his cabinet. His action is natural, 
 and has no appearance of art. — Above all, 
 a preacher, who has learned by experience 
 to discern the effect of his oratory on his 
 audience, observes what fixes their atten- 
 tion, what makes an impression on them, 
 where he fails. He sees where the imagery 
 should be bolder, the principles more fully 
 expressed, the conclusions more distinctly 
 or forcibly pointed. In all these particu- 
 lars, how generally must a {)reacher fail, 
 ■who learns his sermons by heart.'' Such a
 
 201 
 
 preacher dares not say a word more than 
 is in his lesson ; liis style inevitably smells 
 of its labour ; his compositions, as was 
 said of those of Isocrates, are better read 
 than heard. In spite of all his care, there 
 is a monotony, a something forced, in the 
 inflections of his voice. He is not so much 
 a man who speaks, as an orator wlio 
 recites ; his action is confined, his look 
 shews his dependence on his memory, he 
 dares not abandon himself to the feelings of 
 the moment, least the thread of his discourse 
 should slip from him. The Jiearer per- 
 ceives the mechanism of the exhibition, 
 and remains unmoved." In support of his 
 opinion, Fenelon cites St. Augustine, who 
 declares, that *' those preachers, who 
 speak their discourses word for word, as 
 they have written them down, cannot re- 
 peat and enforce a truth till they perceive 
 that it is perfectly understood ; and thus 
 deprive themselves of one of the most 
 powerful means of instruction." Still, Fe- 
 nelon admitted a considerable degree of
 
 202 
 
 preparation : he presupposes, that the 
 preacher has seriously meditated his sub- 
 ject ; and, (what certainly is taking much 
 for granted), that the speaker has a natu- 
 ral gilt of extemporaneous oratory. 
 
 As the subject is interesting, we have given 
 Fenelon's sentiments upon it at length : 
 yet perhaps, it is a mere question of words. 
 If an unprepared and a prepared sermon 
 be equal in other respects, the former, 
 being the most natural, must necessarily 
 have a great advantage over the latter: but 
 it must be taken into consideration, that 
 the gift of unpremeditated eloquence is 
 very rare. On the general question, tliere- 
 fore, as leading to practical inference, we 
 must weigh the advantages of extempore 
 eloquence, against the small number of 
 those on whom the gift of it is generally 
 conferred ; and, viewing it in tliis light, we 
 shall be tempted to conclude, that the 
 number of those to whom extempore pre- 
 dication should be recommended, is verv 
 small.
 
 203 
 
 This leads to the further enquiry, — 
 which is best, that sermons should he read, 
 or, that they should be spoken by heart. 
 On this point, great authorities differ It 
 is remarkable, that Bourdaloue, who had 
 no action, and spoke, though distinctly, 
 very rapidly, with his eyes almost closed, 
 and with little inflection of voice, was a 
 decided advocate for the sermons being 
 prepared with great attention, learned by 
 heart, and exactly spoken as it was com- 
 mitted to paper : while Massillon, whose 
 action was both elegant and vehement, 
 and father de la Rue, more celebrated for 
 action than any other preacher in France, 
 maintained the contrary opinion. Father 
 Segaud, (himself a preacher of eminence), 
 thought Fenelon's sermons were evidently 
 the worse for their want of preparation ; 
 he admitted that they contained splendid 
 and beautiful passages, but thought the 
 effect of them was destroyed by the weak- 
 ness of other passages. Father Segaud, 
 however, listened to Fenelon with the cool
 
 204 
 
 attention of a critic : the flock of Fenelon 
 heard him with other ears : to them, he 
 was the good shepherd, \fho knew his 
 flock; whom his flock knew, and whose 
 voice they loved. 
 
 We have already had occasion to men-- 
 tion the attachment of Fenelon's friends to 
 him ; M. de Bausset relates many facts, 
 and presents us with extracts of many let- 
 ters of Fenelon, which show his attachment 
 to them, the warm interest which he took in 
 their concerns, and his great anxiety that 
 the displeasure of the court, under which 
 he laboured, should not be extended to 
 them. To every part of his own family, he 
 was uniformly kind. The extracts of his 
 letters to them, which M. de Bausset has 
 published, are equally replete with religion 
 and good sense. It was natural that his 
 relations should feel, very strongly, the 
 harsh treatment, which Fenelon received 
 from the court, that it should wound their 
 feelings, and sour them against society in 
 general. Fenelon sooths their resenlments.
 
 205 
 
 and izives them excellent advice. In a 
 letter to the marquis de Fenelon, one of his 
 great nephews, be says, " If you can 
 find a sensible friend, one who really pos- 
 sesses the fear of God, endeavour to alle- 
 viate your mortifications, by opening your- 
 self to him, as far as it is prudent : but be 
 assured, that God is the true friend of the 
 heart, and that there is no comforter like 
 him. — No one so well understands, or so 
 kindly enters into the afflictions of those 
 M'ho have recourse to him ; no one accom- 
 modates himself so much to their wants." 
 
 In another letter, he says, *'you must be 
 })ersuaded of the pleasure it would give me to 
 have you constantly about me, but your 
 duty calls you to Versailles : you should 
 become acquainted with its inhabitants, 
 and they with you. While even my sha- 
 dow continues on earth, I wish it to be 
 useful to you ; but I am old and at a dis- 
 tance, and our family has now no other 
 help or hope, than what it can derive from 
 vour success in the world. — God forbid
 
 206 
 
 that I should make you an ambitious man ! 
 But without being indiscreet or obtrusive, 
 you should put yourself in the way of per- 
 sons in power, and cultivate all fair oppor- 
 tunities of attracting their good will. Some- 
 times idleness, sometimes timidity, some- 
 times a love of ease, assumes an appear- 
 ance of modesty, and makes a person retire 
 from commerce with the great, when in 
 fact it is mere idleness, or timidity, or a re- 
 fined self love, which induces him to prefer 
 the company of a few persons with whom 
 he is at ease, and whom he sees pleased 
 with his society. But this is wrong ; — it is 
 proper to despise the world ; but it is 
 also proper to make it subservient to one's 
 laudable views : it is proper to be detached 
 from it from motives of religion, but there 
 is no merit in abandoning it from sloth and 
 caprice. Attend to it, so far as it is your 
 duty, but do not love it from motives of 
 ambition ; neither neglect it from idleness, 
 nor follow it from vanity." The marquis 
 de Fenelon, to whom this letter was written,- 
 
 (
 
 207 
 
 -Jlppears to have profited by the advice it 
 contained ; he served with distinction in 
 the ariny, and was appointed ambassador 
 to Holland, in which situation his conduct 
 gave great satisfaction. Many of Fenelon's 
 other relations were happy imitators of 
 his virtues. The abb6 de Fenelon, may be 
 particularly mentioned. After a length of 
 years, uniformly devoted to religion and 
 virtue, he retired to Paris, and spent the 
 remainder of his life in endeavouring to 
 procure a religious and moral education 
 for the poor Savoyard boys, with whom, 
 under the antient goverment, Paris abound- 
 ed. Allowing himself no more than was 
 necessary for his mere subsistence, he con- 
 trived, with the remaining part of his in- 
 come, and, with the contributions which he 
 raised upon his friends, to accomplish this 
 edifying work. — The horrors of the revolu- 
 tion forced him from it, and he retired to 
 the delightful solitude of the Mont St. Va- 
 lerian. He was pursued to his retreat, and 
 conveyed to the prison of the Luxembourg;
 
 208 
 
 hfe was then in his eightieth year, — Wheri 
 this became pubHc, all the little Savoyard 
 boys assembled, and went in a body to the 
 National assembly : they loudly petitioned 
 tlie assembly for his liberty : and offered, 
 that any number of them should be con- 
 stituted prisoners in his stead, as hostages 
 for his good conduct. This, for a time, 
 delayed his fate : but a day was at length 
 fixed for his execution. One of the poor 
 Savoyards, whom the abbe had instructed 
 and assisted, was, at that time, turnkey of 
 the prison of the Luxembourg. Perceiving- 
 his benefactor among the victims led out 
 to execution, he sprang forward, and in a 
 state of distraction, strained him in his em- 
 brace, and cried aloud, *' My father I my 
 father ! are you then going to die ! You, 
 whose life has been an uniform act of good- 
 ness !'* *' Be comforted," the abbe said 
 to him, " death is not an evil to him, who 
 can no longer do good. My dear child,r 
 your sensibility at this moment, comfort? 
 my heart. Farewell, my friend ! farewell/
 
 S09 
 
 Josepii ! think sometiuies upon me.'* — 
 ** Alas !" answered the poor Savoyard, " I 
 shall never forget you." Tlieabb6 ascended 
 the fatal cart, with sixty-eight other victims. 
 He exhorted them, during the whole way, to 
 sorrow for their sins, to confide in God, 
 and to offer up to liim, with resignation, the 
 sacrifice of their lives. Having arrived at 
 the guillotine, he once more addressed 
 them : he exhorted them to form, with all 
 their hearts, in an act of repentance for 
 their sins : all of them humbly inclined 
 their heads j he pronounced over them the 
 words of absolution ; and continued to 
 suggest to them sentiments of religion, till 
 it was his turn to submit to the instrument 
 of death. 
 
 Notwithstanding the disgrace of Fenelon 
 at court, his virtues attracted the friendship 
 of many respectable persons ; among them, 
 his first biographer, the chevalier Ramsay, 
 deserves particular notice. It has been 
 mentioned, that he was preceptor of the 
 children of our James the second, and that 
 p
 
 210 
 
 he spent several years in the family of Fe- 
 nelon. He afterwards obtained leave to 
 return to England, and presented himself 
 to receive an honorary degree of doctor of 
 laws, at the university of Oxford. On 
 the day of his installation, two nicmbers of 
 the university opposed his election, on the 
 ground of his former connection with the 
 princes of the Stuart family, and his religious 
 principles. The celebrated doctor King, 
 advocated his cause. Artfully passing over 
 his connections and religion, he mentioned, 
 with due praise, his writings, and observed 
 that they breathed the purest principles of 
 religion and virtue : then addr sssing himself 
 to the audience, be told them, he had the 
 honour to present to them the disciple of 
 the great Fenelon ; and that title, he said, 
 answered for every thing. This address 
 almost entirely disarmed the opposition ; 
 upon a division, the chevalier was elected 
 , by a majority of eighty-five voices to seven- 
 teen. 
 
 In the disputes on the subject of jansen-
 
 211 
 
 ism, Fenelon appeared several times in 
 print, against the disciples of Jansenius : 
 but, though he combated their errors, he 
 left them in quiet. The duke de St. Simon 
 observes, that throughout the whole diocese 
 of Cambray, the jansenists were unmolested 
 by the arclibishop, and gave him no trou- 
 ble. At that time the head of the jan- 
 senists was father Quesnell, an oratorian. 
 In answer to a letter, which he received 
 from the father, Fenelon writes to him as 
 follows : '* I thank you from the bottom of 
 my heart, for all your civilities. Thougli I 
 have never had an opportunity of seeing 
 you, or had any correspondence with you, 
 I recollect with pleasure, tiie desire you 
 expressed, some years since, of paying me 
 a visit at Cambray. I wish you would now 
 put this design in execution. I sliould re- 
 ceive such a mark of your confidence with 
 the most religious fidelity, and the most 
 sincere attention. I should make it a point 
 never to introduce into our conversation, 
 those subjects on which we differ, except 
 p 2
 
 212 
 
 jt should be perfectly agreeable to yourself 
 Yet with your permission to rr.ention them, 
 I should hope to shew you, with the book 
 in hand, how much they, who profess them- 
 selves the disciples of St. Augu^tin, are op- 
 posed to his real doctrine. If we could not 
 bring ourselves to agree upon the points in 
 question, we might, however, give anexample 
 of a dispute, carried on without any breach 
 of charity^" This appears to be the true 
 languasesof religion. These amiable over^ 
 tures of peace to fatlier Quesnell, were the 
 more worthy of praise, as Fenelon consi- 
 dered the jansenists as dangerous enemies 
 of the church. In a letter to the duke de 
 Beauvilliers, he says, *' As to the provincial 
 letters of Pascal, I think the prince should 
 read them : in fact, sooner or later he will 
 read them. His curiosity, his taste for 
 entertaining books, and the great reputation 
 of the letters, will not suffer him to remain 
 long in ignorance of them. But I wish all 
 possible precautions should be taken, that 
 he should know what measure of truth they
 
 213 
 
 contain, and not be seduced by the appear- 
 ance of truth, vvliich these letters wear. 
 Part of the memorial, which I send you 
 furnishes an antidote against the two first 
 letters of Pascal. It is more than suffi- 
 cient to shew the hidden poison of the letters, 
 and to prove that, in her censures of jan- 
 senisu), the church does not combat a 
 phantom." 
 
 Still it is among his flock, that Fenelon 
 appears to most advantage ; in every sense 
 of the word he was their father. His esta» 
 blishment and stile of living, were suitable 
 to his public situation ; but far beneath the 
 scale ofexpence and shew, which even good 
 men would have thought justifiable. This 
 left him an ample income, but it sunk under 
 his acts of beneficence. His principal at- 
 tention was directed towards the labouring 
 peasantry ; he appears to have felt strongly 
 the hardship of their lot. A curate com- 
 plained to him, that, after the evening ser- 
 vice of Sunday, his parishioners, in spite of 
 his remonstrances, would dance 5 '* My
 
 214 
 
 dear friend," replied Fenelon, " neither 
 you nor I should dance ; but let us leave 
 these poor people to dance as they please i 
 their hours of happiness are not too nume- 
 rous/' 
 
 During the contest for the Spanish suc- 
 cession, the diocese of Cambray was often 
 the theatre of war, and of course experi- 
 enced the cruel ravages of advancing and 
 retreating armies. Under these circum- 
 stances, Fenelon frequently made visitations 
 of every part of his diocese : and all the wri- 
 ters of his life mention a singular mark of 
 homage, which was shewn, on those occa- 
 sions, to his eminent virtue. *' From their 
 high respect for his character," says M. de 
 Bausset, " from their general admiration of 
 Telemachus, and possibly from a secret 
 wish of revenging the archbishop of Cam- 
 bray, against the injustice of Lewis the 
 fourteenth, the hostile armies permitted 
 Fenelon to visit every part of his diocese. 
 The English, Germans, and Dutch, ri- 
 valled the inhabitants of Cambray in vene-
 
 215 
 
 ration for the archbishop. All distinctions 
 of rehgiou and sect, all fGclings of hatred 
 or jealousy, which divide nations, disap- 
 peareil in his presence. IJe was often 
 obliged to have recourse to artifice to avoid 
 the honours, which the armies of the enemy 
 intended him. He refused tlie military 
 escorts which were offered him, for his per- 
 sonal security in the exercise of his func- 
 tions J and, without any other attendant, 
 than a few ecclesiastics, he traversed the 
 countries desolated by war. His way was 
 marked by his alms and benefactions, and 
 by the suspence of the calamities which 
 armies bring. In these short intervals, the 
 people breathed in peace, so that his pasto- 
 ral visits might be termed the truce of 
 God." 
 
 In one of those visits he met a peasant, 
 still young, but plunged in the deepest 
 affliction. He had recently lost a cow, 
 the only support of his indigent family. 
 Fenelon attempted to comfort him, and by 
 giving him money to buy another, allevi-
 
 216 
 
 ated his sorrow ; still, he had lost his own 
 cow, and the tear continued to fall. Pur- 
 suing his journey, Fenelon found the very 
 cow which was the object of so much af- 
 fliction; and like the good shepherd, he 1 
 himself drove it back before him, in a dark 
 night, to the young man's cottage. " This," 
 says the cardinal de Maury, *'is perhaps 
 the finest trait in Fenelon's life. Woe to 
 those who read it without being affected ! " 
 '' The virtues of Fenelon," continues the 
 cardinal, " give his history something of the 
 air of romance : but his name will never 
 die. To this moment ; the Flemminders 
 bless his memory, and call him the good 
 archbishop.'*
 
 217 
 
 GHAP. XVI. 
 
 THE LATTER YEARS OF TUE LIFE OF FE\ELON : 
 BIS DEATH I2f 1715. 
 
 Year after year, Fenelon continued in 
 this noiseless tenor of well-regulated, and 
 edifying virtue, beloved and revered by his 
 whole diocese, and by every person, to 
 whom his wise and exemplary conduct 
 was known. Still the indignation of his 
 royal master against him continued una- 
 bated : tiie court was shut against his 
 relations ; his friends, with the exception of 
 the duke of Beauvilliers, and the duke of 
 Chevreuse, were discountenanced, and it 
 was generally understood that the name of
 
 218 
 
 Fenelon was never to be pronounced at 
 Versailles. But nothing could weaken the 
 duke of Burgundy's attachment to him. 
 The preceptor and the ro\al pupil corres- 
 ponded frequently, and when, in 1702, 
 Lewis the fourteenth gave the duke of 
 Burgundy the command of tiie army in 
 Flanders, the duke petitioned him, with 
 great earnestness, that he might be allowed, 
 in his passage to the army, to see Fenelon ; 
 the monarch consented, with an express 
 condition, that their interview should be 
 public. The duke apprized Fenelon of 
 the circumstance by an affectionate letter. 
 Wiien the courier who carried the letter 
 to him arrived at Cambray, Fenelon had 
 left it, from a motive of delicacy, not to put 
 himself, unasked, in the way of the duke. 
 Tlvey met at a public dinner, at the town- 
 house of Cambray j it is evident that 
 they were observed, and every thing pas- 
 sed in great ceremony. Once or twicC; 
 Fenelon said something to enliven the 
 conversation, but it did not succeed.
 
 219 
 
 According to etiquette, lie presented the 
 duke, at the end of dinner, vvitli a 
 napkin to wipe liis hands : the duke 
 received it, returned it to him ; tiien 
 raising his voice, loud enough to be heard 
 by all persons present, said to him, " 1 am 
 sensible, my lord archbishop, what I owe 
 to you, and you know what I am." They 
 met once more ; but letters passed fre- 
 quently between them. Nothing can be 
 more affectionate than the letters which 
 the duke wrote to Fenelon. " My love of 
 virtue," he writes in one of them, " conti- 
 nues, and I think, gains strength ; but I 
 have many faults. Do you assist me with 
 your advice, and prayers ; in mine, you 
 come every day ; but you will easily sup. 
 pose I don't pray for you in a very loud 
 voice. I say nothing of my dispositions in 
 your regard : they are always the same. If 
 the abbe de Langeron is at Cambray, say 
 to him a little kind word from me, but re- 
 commend silence to him.'* Fenelon's let- 
 ters to the duke abound with good advice.
 
 220 
 
 •' Religion," he writes him, *' does not 
 consist in a scrupulous observance of little 
 forms, but in the steady observance of the 
 duties proper for one's state ; a great prince 
 is not to serve God in the same manner as 
 a hermit, or an obscure individual. I 
 must tell you the truth ; the public esteems 
 you, respects you, forms great hopes of you, 
 and wishes to see you without fault : but 
 the public thinks you stern, timid, and 
 scrupulous, and that you have not the ta- 
 lent of uniting moderation and firmness in 
 your decisions. Shew them they are mis- 
 taken : if you wish that religion should be 
 honoured, let your's be simple, accommo- 
 dating, sensible, noble, enlightened, proper 
 for your rank. You cannot regulate the 
 court or the army, as you might a religious 
 community. I am glad you see, by your 
 own experience, what war really is ; how 
 much it is to be dreaded ; how the greatest 
 armies often prove unserviceable i how easi- 
 ly the most splendid monarchies are shak- 
 en ; how rigorously princes, in the midst qf
 
 221 
 
 the incense of their flatterers, are censured 
 by tlie pubhc. VV'hilc despotism abounds 
 with ways and means, it acts with more 
 proptitude and energy than a hmited mo- 
 narchy ; but, as soon as the ways and 
 means begin to fail; it sinks for ever. 
 AVlicn despotism becomes bankrupt, how 
 are you to expect that tlie venal herd, wlio 
 have fattened so long on the spoils of their 
 country, will, by their exertion in her sup- 
 port, expose themselves to ruin. Should 
 you ever come to the throne, you should 
 wish to be the father, not the master of 
 your people. You should know that all were 
 not made for one i that the one was made 
 for all,- and to work for the happiness of all." 
 
 One is at a loss, whom most to admire, 
 the preceptor, who so eloquently taught, 
 or the royal youth, who so willingly listened 
 to these excellent lessons. 
 
 It appears, that, fop the duke's informa- 
 tion, Fenelon committed to paper the heads 
 of a project for remedying the abuses of the 
 french government. He evidcntlv saw
 
 222 
 
 that the time was come, when public opini- 
 on called loudly for an intermediate body 
 between the monarch and the people, to 
 iattach them more to each other, and to 
 increase the general interest of the public 
 in the welfare of their country. With this 
 view, Fenelon suggested an assembly of 
 the notables ; and for this suggestion M. 
 de Bausset thinks Fenelon requires an apo- 
 logy; and he accordingly makes an elabo- 
 rate apology for him. 
 
 The humanity and attentions which Fe- 
 nelon shewed to the sufferers in the war 
 in Flanders, endeared him to the whole 
 nation. *' Charity," says the duke de St. 
 Simon, *' was among Fenelon's most strik- 
 ing virtues : it embraced equally, the rich, 
 the poor, his friends, and his enemies. He 
 found frequent occasions for the exertion 
 of it in the crowds of the w^ounded and 
 sick, who, in the wars in Flanders, were 
 carried, in great numbers, to Carabfay. 
 He was regular in his visitations of the 
 hospitals, shewed constant attention to the
 
 223 
 
 lowest officers, and generally, during tlieir 
 illness, lodged a considerable number of 
 the principal officers in his palace. Like a 
 true shepherd of Christ, he watched conti- 
 nually over their spiritual welfare. The 
 fine manners which his habits of hidi life 
 gave him, attached them to him, and none 
 of them ever had occasion to re[)ent of the 
 contidence which he reposed in Fenelon. In 
 sickness, and in health, they always found 
 him willing to listen to their humble con- 
 fessions, and anxious to replace them in the 
 path of virtue. If the lowest person in the 
 hospital requested his attendance, Fenelon 
 never refused his request. Their corporeal 
 necessities were equally an object of his 
 compassionate zeal. Broths, meat, physic, 
 comfortable food of every description, and 
 always of the best kind, were sent them in 
 well regulated plenty, from his palace. 
 Fenelon presided at the consultations of 
 'the physicians, with the tender concern of 
 a warm and kind friend. It is impossible 
 to conceive how greatly he became the idol
 
 224 
 
 of the military^ and how Versailles, in spite 
 of her stern master, resounded with his 
 name. It happened that the commissariat 
 was in extreme want of corn for the troops : 
 the archbishop emptied his granaries for 
 their subsistence, and refused to be paid. 
 On that occasion, Lewis the fourteenth 
 himself became his panegyrist. His charity 
 and polite attentions extended equally to 
 the prisoners of war, as to his countrymen. 
 In all he did, there was an indescribable 
 propriety ; the true episcopal character 
 appeared in it ; and virtue herself became 
 more beautiful, from Fenelon's manner of 
 being virtuous. 
 
 The death of the dauphin^ advanced 
 his royal pupil to the rank next the throne ; 
 and the good effects of the education he 
 had received from Fenelon, were then per- 
 ceived by all. From that moment the 
 duke appeared to be every thing which the 
 nation wished. He threw off his reserve, 
 (lid the honours of the court with majesty 
 and gracefulness. His easy, instructive^
 
 ^25 
 
 and well adapted conversation, cliarmed 
 tile better kind of courtiers, pleased every 
 ear, gained every heart, shewed his talents, 
 and the use wliich it was to be expected he 
 would make of them. He was never want- 
 ing in attention to birth, to age, to natural 
 or acquired endowments ; it is wonderful,^ 
 with what rapidity he gained universal es- 
 teem, admiration, and love. The joy of 
 the public made it the theme of every con- 
 versation. Is this the man, they asked, till 
 lately so reserved, and unacconiodating? — 
 The dukes of Beauvilliers and Chevreuse 
 answered, He is the man ; he is the very 
 man we always knew him to be ; but the 
 time is now arrived, when it is proper for 
 him to unfold his real character; and, 
 such as you now see him, such you will 
 ever find him. 
 
 It will easily be supposed, that, from 
 this moment, all the attention of the cour- 
 tiers, veered to the acknowledged friends 
 of the duke of Burgundy. The dauphin 
 died in April, and that very spring revealed
 
 226 
 
 at Cambray, to the happy and delighted 
 flock, the change which had taken place at 
 Versailles, in their pastor's regard.— Cam- 
 bray immediately became the general road 
 to the army of Flanders ; every person of 
 rank, who served in it, found some reason 
 for passing through Cambray, and prolong- 
 ing his stay there, as long as he could find 
 a real or pretended cause. 
 
 But the hopes, which the duke of Bur- 
 gundy raised, he was destined not to re- 
 alize : he died in 1712, and was regretted 
 by the whole kingdom. His eyes vvere 
 scarcely closed, when Lewis the fourteenth 
 ordered that his papers should be brought 
 to him ; he examined them with minute 
 and anxious attention, and burned them 
 with his own hands. Madame de ^Iain- 
 tenon informed the duke de Beauvilliers of 
 this circumstance : she adds, ** I am sorr}^ 
 they are burned -, nothing so beautiful or 
 so good was ever written : if the prince, 
 whose loss we deplore, had some faults, it 
 was not because the councils given him.
 
 227 
 
 were feeble, or because he was too much 
 flattered. Well may we say, that those 
 who keep the strait path shall not be 
 confounded." One important manuscript, 
 the Dh^ections for the Conscience of a 
 King, happened to be in the hands of 
 the duke de Beauvilliers, and thus escaped 
 the flames. Every line of it breathes 
 moderation and virtue ; every line censures 
 ostentation, inordinate love of glory, thirst 
 of conquest, injustice, luxury, yielding to 
 flattery, and the wish of absolute power. 
 It was not printed till several years after 
 Fenelon's decease, when a superb impres- 
 sion of it was printed by the marquis de 
 Fenelon, then ambassador at the Hague. 
 The court of Versailles took the alarm, 
 and peremptorily ordered the marquis to 
 suppress all the copies : he obeyed the 
 order, preserving two copies of it only; one 
 of which found its way to the librarv of 
 M. Gaignat, and is noticed by De Bure. 
 A surreptitious edition of it was published 
 at the Hague in 1747; in 1774, it wa'^ 
 Q 2
 
 22S 
 
 published at Paris, with tlie express jier-' 
 mission of Lewis the sixteenth. 
 
 WE are now arrived at the term of our 
 biography : — and we cannot close it better 
 than in the M^ords of the duke de St. Simon. 
 " Fenelon," says the duke, *' survived 
 his disciple two years. Neither in the life 
 time of the prince, nor after his decease, 
 did a word once escape Fenelon, which 
 shewed regret for what he had lost, or a 
 Avisli concerning the future. Concentrated 
 in his pastoral duties, he died, if the expres- 
 sion may be allowed, in the field of honor. 
 Returning froni an episcopal visit, his coach 
 was overturned ; no one was wounded, 
 and he himself run no particular danger : 
 but the shock was too great for his feeble 
 jrame. When he arrived at Cambray, he 
 \\as feverish, and in a few days, was be- 
 vond the reach of remedy. During his 
 whole iUness, he appeared insensible to 
 what lie quitted, and occupied only with 
 
 the thought of what he was going to find.
 
 229 
 
 Penetrated with the most lively sentiments 
 of religion, he placed his soul in the hands 
 of God, with a resignation full of confi- 
 dence and humility. He wrote a letter to 
 the king, containing no request for himself, 
 but earnestly recommending to him, the 
 wants of his diocese. — Lewis the four- 
 teenth declared, on perusing the letter, 
 that he had never read any thing more 
 affecting, or more worthy of the last mo- 
 ments of a bishop. Fenelon died at the 
 age of 65, in the arms of his friends, and 
 his clergy, mourned by all his diocese, 
 equally lamented by catholics and protest- 
 ants. — To complete his eulogium, he left 
 behind him, neither debt nor money.'* 
 
 THE END.
 
 APPENDIX.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 NOTE I. 
 
 On the reunion of chriatians. 
 
 ^ VIEW of the fatal effects which religious ani- 
 rtiosity has produced in the christian world, has often 
 fnade wise and peaceful men endeavour to reunite all 
 denominations of christians in one religion. With 
 this v^ew, at an early period of the reformation, IMe- 
 lancthon formed his celebrated distinction of the 
 points in dispute between the roman catholics and 
 protestants, into the essential, the important, and the 
 indifferent: — in a later period of the reformation, 
 Grotius, the most learned man of his age, employed 
 the last years of his life in projects of religious paci- 
 fication : towards the end of the seventeenth century, 
 a correspondence for the reunion of the roman catho- 
 lic and lutheran churches was carried on between 
 Bossuet on one side, and Leibniz and Molanus on 
 the other: it may be seen in the benedictine edition 
 of the works of Bossuet, and JNIr. Dutens's edition of 
 the works of Leibniz. In the beginning of the last
 
 234 
 
 century, a similar correspondence, for the reunion of 
 the roman catholic and english churches, was carried 
 on under the direction, or at le»st with the connivance 
 of cardinal de Noailles and archbishop Wake: a full 
 account of it is inserted in the last volume of Mos- 
 heim's ecclesiastical history. With a view of facili- 
 tating this reunion, doctor Courayer wrote his dis- 
 course on the validity of english ordinations. A cu- 
 rious history of the controversy, to which that treatise 
 gave rise, is contained in Commentatio historica- 
 theologica de Consecratione Anglorum Episcoporum, 
 ab Olao Kiorningio, 4to, Helmstadii, 1739- 
 
 That such men as Melam thon, Grotius, Bossuet, 
 Leibniz, and Moianus, should engage in the project 
 of reunion, is a strong argument in favour of it's 
 practicability ; that it failed in their hands, may shew 
 that it is more than an herculean labour, but does 
 not prove it utterly impracticable. It is evident, that 
 at one time more than another, the public mind may 
 be moie disposed to peaceful councils, and to feel the 
 advantage of amicable explanation : — 
 
 " The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decayed, 
 Lets in new lights through chinks which time has 
 made." 
 
 Waller. 
 
 Through the flaws and breaches, the yawning 
 chasms, (as they are termed by Mr. Burke,) which
 
 235 
 
 the events of the timos have m;u1e in the civil and 
 ecclesiastical institijtions of almost every country, a 
 flood of light seems to break in. and to point out to 
 all, who invoke the name of Christ, the expediency 
 of a general exertion in defence of their common 
 Christianity. 
 
 In many of the essential articles of the christian 
 religion they are already agreed. All christians be- 
 lieve, 1st. that there is one God; '2d. ibat he is a 
 being of infinite perfection ; 3d. that he directs all 
 things by his providence ; 4th. that it is our duty to 
 love him with all our hearts, and our neighbour as 
 ourselves ; 5th. that it is our duty to repent of the 
 sins we commit; 6th. that God pard(His the truly 
 penitent ; 7th. that there is a future state of rewards 
 and punishments, when all mankind shall be judged 
 according to their works ; 8th. that God sent his son 
 into the world, to be its saviour, the author of eternal 
 salvation to all that obey him ; 9lh. that he is the 
 true Messiah; 10th. that he worked miracles, suffer- 
 ed, died, and rose again, as is related in the four gos- 
 pels ; 1 1th. that he will hereafter make a second ap- 
 pearance on the earth, raise all mankind from the 
 dead, judge the world in righteousness, bestow eter- 
 nal life on the virtuous, and punish the workers of 
 iniquity. 
 
 In the belief of these articles, all christians, romau 
 catholics, lutherans, calvinists, and socinians are
 
 236 
 
 agreed. In addition to these articles, each division 
 and subdivision of christians has its own tenets. 
 Now, let each sett]e among it's own members, what 
 are the articles of belief, peculiar to them, which, in 
 their cool deliberate judgment, theyconsider as ab- 
 solutely necessary that a person should believe, to be 
 a member of the church of Christ ; let these articles 
 be divested of all foreign matter, and expressed in 
 perspicuous, exact, and unequivocal terms ; and above 
 all, let each distinction of christians earnestly wish 
 to find an agreement between themselves and their 
 fellow christians : — the result of a discussion con- 
 ducted on this plan, would most assuredly be to con- 
 vince all christians, that the essential articles of re- 
 ligious credence, in which there is a real difference 
 among christians, are not so numerous, as the ver- 
 bal disputes and extraneous matter in which contro- 
 versy is too often involved, make them generally 
 thought. 
 
 NOTE II. 
 
 This account of quietism is principally taken from 
 Bossuet's Instruction sur les Etats d'Oraison, and 
 from two works of very opposite characters, the Me- 
 moirs Chronologiques et Dogmatiques du Pere d'Av- 
 rigni, and Jurieu's Traite Historiquc, contenant le 
 Jugement d'un Protestant sur la Theologie Mystique,
 
 2S7 
 
 siir le Quietisme, et sur les Demelez de I'Eveque de 
 Meaux, avec I'Archeveque de Catnbray. 
 
 NOTE III. 
 
 For many of these details we are indebted to a' 
 letter, which M. de Bausset has published, from IM. 
 ie Dieu, the secretary of Bossuet, to madame de Mai- 
 sonfort. Some time after Bossuet's decease, M. le 
 Dieu, whose family resided in the neighbourhood ol 
 Cambray, spent a day with Fenelon, by his desire, and 
 appears to have been highly pleased with hi& recep- 
 tion. — He mentions in his letter to madame de Mai- 
 sonfort, that, after supper the conversation turned on 
 the recent death of Bossuet, and that he was asked, 
 whether in his last illness, Bossuet had received the 
 sacraments of the church,— by whom they were ad- 
 ministered to him,— who prepared him for death. " I 
 thought within myself," says the abbe, " that Fenelon, 
 who put the last of these questions to me, recollected 
 at the time, what had passed between them, and sup- 
 posed that Bossuet stood in need of a good confes- 
 sor." 
 
 Without a fuller investigation of the conduct of the 
 Kontending prelate than the writer has been able to 
 bestow on the subject, it would be presumptuous in 
 him to pretend to assign to them their exact de- 
 grees of blame, (for blameable tliey both were), in 
 their uersonal hostilities. It seems evident to the
 
 2S8 
 
 writer, that Bossuet had a just, a kind, and a generou^ 
 mind, and that nauch of what appeared reprehensible 
 in his conduct towards Feneloii, was owing to the 
 violent councils of the cabal of the duke de Maine, who 
 were jealous of the party attached to the duke of 
 Burgundy, and likely to enjoy his exclusive favour 
 if he should come into power. Of that party, Fen- 
 elon was confessedly the head : it was therefore the 
 interest of the cabal to effect his ruin, and unfortun- 
 ately for Bossuet, they made him, unknown to him- 
 self, the Instrument of their designs, and thus drew 
 him by exaggerated representations of the danger of 
 the church from Fenelon's writings, into measures 
 equally repugnant to his natural judgment and feelings. 
 Bossuet left behind him the character of great igno- 
 rance in common affairs. Fenelon was allowed to 
 possess great knowledge of men and manners ; and, 
 notwithstanding his sublime spirituality, Fenelon had 
 probably a much greater knowledge of the affairs of 
 this world, than his serious and severe adversary. — 
 Besides, in extenuation of Bossuct's violence, it should 
 never be forgotten, that, in the main object of the 
 controversy, he v.as perfectly in the right. 
 
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