He was turned from this project by objects of infinite importance in his native country.

M. de Harlay, archbishop of Paris, heard of his merits, and named him Superior to the convent of new converts in Paris. The spirit of proselytism was abroad in France, as the only excuse for the persecution of the Huguenots; and missions were sent into various provinces. It was important to select for missionaries men suited to the task, well versed in controversy, benevolent, patient, and persuasive. Louis XIV. was informed of the peculiar fitness of Fénélon to the office through his sweetness and sincerity, and appointed him to the province of Poitou. Fénélon accepted the office, making the sole request, that the military should be removed from the scene of his mission. With a heart penetrated by a love of God, and reverence for the church, he devoted himself to his task with zeal and ability, treating his proselytes with a gentleness and charity that gained their hearts. He listened to their doubts and their objections, and answered all; consoling and encouraging, and adopting, for their conversion, a vigilance, an address, and a simplicity that charmed and persuaded. Do we not find in this occupation the foundation for his toleration for all religious sects? While hearing the ingenuous and sinless objections to Catholicism raised by his young and artless converts, he must have felt that God would not severely condemn a faith to which no blame could be justly attached, except (as he believed) that it was a heresy.

During the exercise of this office, he became acquainted with the celebrated Bossuet. This great man began his career by an engagement of marriage with mademoiselle des Vieux, a lady of great merit, who afterwards, impressed with a sense of the career which his eloquence would procure him in the church, consented to give up the engagement. As a priest, he became celebrated for his sermons, till his pupil Bourdaloue surpassing him, he yielded his place to him. His reputation as an orator rests on his funeral orations: these bear the impress of a lofty and strong mind, and are full of those awful truths which great men ought to hear and mark.[104] Louis XIV. named him governor of the dauphin, on which he resigned his bishopric of Condom, that he might apply himself more entirely to so arduous a task as the education of the heir to the throne of France. He wrote his Discourse on Universal History, which Voltaire and D'Alembert both pronounce to be a sketch bearing the stamp of a vast and profound genius. He describes the manners and government, the growth and fall of empires, with majestic force, with a rapid pen, and an energetic conception of truth. When the education of the dauphin was completed, the king made him bishop of Meaux; and he employed himself in writing controversial works against the protestants.

Fénélon became at once the friend and pupil of this great man. He listened to him with docility: he admired his erudition and his eloquence; he revered his character, his age, his labours. He visited him at Germany, his country residence; where they had stated hours of prayer, meditation, and conversation; and passed their days in holy and instructive intercourse. Fénélon lived also in society with the most distinguished and excellent men of the age. The duke de Beauvilliers, governor of the duke of Burgundy, had begged him to write a treatise on the education of girls; of which task Fénélon acquitted himself admirably. His first chapters, which relate equally to both sexes, are the foundation of much of Rousseau's theory on the subject of education. He insists on the importance of the female character in society, and the urgent reasons there are for cultivating their good sense, and giving them habits of employment. "Women," he says, "were designed by their native elegance and grace to endear domestic life to man; to make virtue lovely to children, to spread around them order and grace, and give to society its highest polish. No attainment can be above beings whose aim it is to accomplish purposes at once so useful and salutary; and every means should be used to invigorate, by principle and culture, their native elegance." In addition to this treatise, he wrote one on the ministry of pastors, the object of which was to prove the superiority of the Roman catholic institution of pastors over the ministers of the reformed religion.

The duke de Beauvilliers was fully aware of the greatness of his merit. He was the governor of the sons of the dauphin; the elder, and apparent heir to the crown, the duke of Burgundy, was a child of ardent temperament and great talents; but impetuous, haughty, capricious, and violent. The duke was a man of virtue; he added simplicity of mind to a love of justice, a gentle temper, and persuasive manners; he felt the importance of his task, and was earnest to procure the best assistance; at his recommendation, 1689.
Ætat.
38. Fénélon was named preceptor to the princes.[105] Men of the first talent were associated in the task of education; the duke de Beauvilliers was governor; the abbé de Langeron reader; he was a man of lively and amiable disposition, friendly and kind, with a mind enlightened by study. The abbé de Fleury, under-preceptor, is celebrated by his works. These men, and others, all united in a system which had the merit of success, and was founded on a knowledge of the human heart, joined to that of the peculiar disposition of their pupil: pupil we say, because, though there were three princes, the eldest, who was just seven years of age, was the chief object of their labours. They excited his curiosity in conversation, and awakened a desire to become acquainted with some portion of history, which led also to a geographical knowledge of various countries. He was taught the principal facts of ancient and modern history by dialogues; the knowledge of morals was inculcated by fables. As at first the vehemence of his temper frequently led him to deserve punishment, they contrived that the privation of a walk, an amusement, or even of his accustomed tasks, should take that form; added to these, when he transgressed flagrantly, was the silence of his attendants; no one spoke to him; till at last this state of mute loneliness became intolerable, and he confessed his fault, that he might again hear the sound of voices. Candour, and readiness to ask forgiveness, were the only conditions of pardon; and to bind his haughty will more readily, all those who presided over his education frankly acknowledged any faults which they might commit towards him; so that the very imperfections of his masters served as correctives of his own. This system was admirably adapted to the generous and fervent nature of the young prince. He became gentle, conscientious, and just. His love for his preceptor, under his wise fosterage, was extended to a love for his fellow-creatures. Fénélon had a deep sense of his responsibility to God and man in educating the future sovereign of France. He studied his pupil's character; he adapted himself to it. Nature had clone even more in fitting him: his enthusiasm, joined to his angelic goodness, excited at once the love and reverence of the prince, at the same time that he was the friend and companion of his hours of pastime. He conquered his pride by gentleness, by raillery, or by a dignified wisdom, which convinced while it awed. When the boy insolently asserted his superiority, Fénélon was silent; he appeared sad and reserved, till the child, annoyed by his change of manner, was brought to a temper to listen docilely to his remonstrances. His disinterestedness and truth gave him absolute power, and the boy eagerly acknowledged his error. He spared no labour or pains. We owe his fables, many of his dialogues, and his great work, Telemachus, to his plan of forming the mind and character of his pupil.[106] Religion, of course, formed a principal portion of his system. He often said that kings needed religion more than their subjects; that it might suffice to the people to love God, but that the sovereign ought to fear him. The duke of Burgundy grew devout, and the charity that formed the essence of his preceptor's soul passed into his. It is impossible to say what France would have become if this prince had reigned. The energy of his character gave hope that he would not have been spoilt by power, which, in the course of nature, he would not have inherited till he was more than thirty; when his views would have been enlightened by experience, and his virtues confirmed by habit. He had none of the ordinary kingly prejudices in favour of war and tyranny. He was high-minded, yet humble; full of talent, of energy, and respect for virtue. His early death destroyed the hope of France; and hence ensued the misrule which the revolution could alone correct.

Fénélon continued long unrecompensed. The king bestowed a small benefice on him; but he was passed over when other preferment presented itself. On the death of Harlay, it was expected that he would be named archbishop of Paris; but it was bestowed, on the contrary, on Noailles, whose nephew had married madame Maintenons niece. Soon after, however, he was named archbishop of Cambray. Madame de Coulanges, writing to madame Sévigné, says that Fénélon appeared surprised at his nomination; and, on thanking the king, represented to him that he could not regard that gift as a reward, whose operation was to separate him from his pupil; as the council of Trent had decided that no bishop could be absent more than three months in the year from his diocese, and that only from affairs important to the church. The king replied, by saying that the education of the prince was of the greatest importance to the church, and gave him leave to reside nine months of the year at Cambray, and three at court. Fénélon, at the same time, gave up his two abbeys, having a scruple of conscience with regard to pluralities.[107] We have now arrived at the period when Fénélon's career was marked by persecution instead of reward; and he himself became immersed in controversies and defence, which, though admirable in themselves, absorbed a talent and a time that might have been far more usefully employed. We must go back a short time, to trace the progress of circumstances that led to his disgrace and exile.

The characteristic of the French church during the reign of Louis XIV. was its spirit of controversy and persecution. We do not speak of the Huguenots; they were out of the pale of the church. But first came jansenism, which declared that faith and salvation depended on the immediate operation of the grace of God. This doctrine was supported by the sublime genius of Pascal by the logic and virtues of Arnaud; and boasted of the first men of the kingdom, Racine, Boileau, Rochefoucauld, &c., as its disciples. The king was taught by the jesuits to believe that the sect was dangerous, its supporters intriguers, and the whole system subversive of true piety. Fénélon declared himself the opposer of jansenism. He looked upon the free will of man as the foundation of religion, and considered the elective grace of the jansenists as contradictory of the first principles of Christianity. In his opinion, love of God was the foundation of piety; and he found in the writings and doctrines of madame Guyon the development and support of his ideas. Madame Guyon, a lady of irreproachable life, who from the period of an early widowhood had devoted herself to a life of piety, was an enthusiast. Her soul was penetrated with a fervent love of God, and so far she merited the applause of Christians; but by considering that this heavenly love was to absorb all earthly affection, she impregnated the language, if not the sentiment of divine love, with expressions of ecstasy and transport that might well shock the simple-minded. In exposing this objectionable part of her writings, Bossuet apostrophises the seraphs, and entreats them to bring burning coals from the altar of heaven to purify his lips, lest they should have been defiled by the impurities he is obliged to mention. The language of love is fascinating; and Fénélon, who believed the love of God to be the beginning and end of wisdom and virtue, might well use expressions denoting the dedication of his whole being to the delightful contemplation of divine perfection; but that he should approve expressions that diverge into bombast and rhapsody, is inexplicable, except as a proof that the wisest and best are liable to error. It is true that the catholic religion is open to such sentiment and phraseology. Nuns, who are declared the spouses of Jesus, are taught to devote the softer feelings of their hearts to their celestial husband; but certainly a well-regulated mind will rather avoid mingling questionable emotions and their expression with piety, even in their own persons; and, above all, they ought to be on their guard against misleading others, by inciting them to replace a reasonable sense of devotion and gratitude to the supreme Being by ecstatic transports, which defeat the chief aim of religion, which is to regulate the mind. Madame Guyon thought far otherwise; at least, as regarded herself. Living in solitude, and in distant provinces, she indulged her enthusiastic turn, and wrote down effusions dictated by emotions she believed to be praiseworthy. She wrote simply, and without art; but her works were full of ardour. She allowed others to read them, and a portion was copied and published. Some of her readers were edified; others naturally recoiled from a style of sentiment and expression which, however we may love God, is certainly not adapted to any spiritual state of feeling. Her faith was, that we ought to love God so entirely for himself alone, that our salvation or damnation becomes indifferent to us, since we should be willing gladly to endure eternal misery, if such were the will of God. A notion of this kind confounds at once all true religion, since we ought to love God for his perfection; and the infliction of pain on the just, cannot be the work of a perfect Being. However, by reasoning on our imperfect state of ignorance and error, madame Guyon was able to make some show of argument, while her expressions are in many parts incomprehensible. She says, that "the soul that completely abandons itself to the divine will, retains no fear or hope respecting any thing either temporal or eternal,"—a doctrine subversive of the Christian principle of repentance. She asserts that man is so utterly worthless, that it scarcely deserves his own inquiry whether he is to be everlastingly saved or not; that the soul must live for God alone, insensible to the turpitude and debasement of its own state. Added to this heresy, was her notion of prayer, which she made consist, not in the preferment of our requests to God, such as Jesus Christ taught, but in a state of mind embued with the sense of God's presence, and an assimilation of the soul with God's perfection.

Her health suffered from the constant excitement of her mind. It was considered that the climate of the province where she resided was injurious, and she visited Paris to recover. She became acquainted with the dukes de Beauvilliers and Chevreuse; her doctrines became known and discussed in Paris; madame de Maintenon was struck and attracted; Fénélon, his own heart full of love, became almost a convert; madame Guyon herself was full of talent, enthusiasm, and goodness; Fénélon became her friend, and denied the odious conclusions which her enemies drew from her doctrines.

As the doctrine gained ground, it met opposition. Des Marais, the bishop of Chartres, in whose diocese was Saint Cyr, the scene of these impassioned mysteries, became alarmed at its progress; and, with the deceit which a priest sometimes thinks he is justified in using in what he deems a righteous cause, he made use of two ladies of great repute for piety, as spies, and from their accounts of what passed in the society of Quietists, found sufficient cause of objection to the sect. Madame de Maintenon listened to his censures, and withdrew her favour. Fénélon saw the danger that threatened madame Guyon, and, steady in his attachment to one whom he considered worthy his friendship, he assisted her by his counsel. Following his advice, and secure in her own virtue, she applied to Bossuet. His manly and serious mind, strengthened by age, rejected at once her mysticism, while her personal merits won his esteem and condescension. It is a singular circumstance, and shows her candour, that she confided her thoughts and her writings far more unreservedly to Bossuet than to Fénélon. Bossuet saw her, explained his objections; and she acquiescing in every thing he suggested, he administered the sacrament to her; a token at once of her submission and his good opinion.

Bossuet penetrated the real piety of the lady, and was unwilling to distress her by opposition, as long as her tenets were confined to her own mind. For what would be highly injurious if spread abroad, was innocuous while it related solely to herself. He therefore recommended retirement and quiet, to which she for a time adhered; but as she had the spirit of proselytism awake in her, she soon grew weary of obscurity, and applied to madame de Maintenon to prevail on the king to appoint commissioners to inquire into her doctrines and morals. The bishops of Meaux and Chartres, and M. Tronson, were accordingly named. For six months they held conferences, and discussed the subject. Bossuet admitted that he was little conversant with the writings of the mystical saints, whose doctrines and expressions were the model of those of madame Guyon; and Fénélon made a variety of extracts, at his request, which were to serve as authorities for the lady's writings. At the conclusion of the conferences, thirty articles were drawn up, to which Fénélon added four; in which, without direct allusion to madame Guyon, the commissioners expressed the doctrines of the church of Rome on the disputed points. In these they name salvation as the proper subject of a Christian's desire and prayer; and assert, that prayer does not consist in a state of mind, but in an active sense of resignation: they do not reprobate passive prayer; but they regard it as unnecessary; while they agree in the propriety of direct addresses to the Deity, and frequent meditation on the sufferings of the Saviour. Although these articles subverted her favourite doctrine of the holy state of mind being the life in God necessary to a Christian, Madame Guyon, as a dutiful daughter of the church, signed the articles without hesitation.

Bossuet's mind, however, was now awakened to the evils of quietism; and perceiving that it gained ground, he wrote his "Instruction sur les États de l'Oraison," which he wished Fénélon to approve. The latter declined, as it denied in too unqualified a manner his belief in the possibility of a pure and disinterested love of God, and denounced madame Guy on in too general and severe a manner. His refusal was not censured by his fellow bishops; but he was required to publish some work that should prove his adhesion to the thirty-four articles before mentioned. For this purpose he wrote his "Explication des Maximes des Saints sur la Vie intérieure." The style of this work is pure, animated, elegant, and winning; the principles were expressed carefully and with address. But this very act occasioned contradictions: he feared at once to be accused of giving too much to charity, too little to hope; of following Molinos, or of abandoning St. Theresa. The bishops approved of his book in manuscript, declaring it, in energetic terms, to be a "book of gold:" but the moment it was printed, the outcry against it was violent. Bossuet had not seen it previous to publication. Looking on false mysticism as injurious to true religion and morals, he thought that nothing should be written on the subject, except to condemn it; and that the true mystic, whose state was peculiar and unattainable by the many, should be left in peace with God.

So far we consider Bossuet to be in the right. Love of God being a duty, all that exalts and extends the sentiment into a passion, is at once fascinating and hurtful. The gentle and tender soul of Fénélon could see no evil in love: he thought to soften and purify the heart by spiritual passion; but Bossuet knew human nature better, and its tendency to turn all good to evil, when not tempered by judgment and moderation. He did well, therefore, to oppose the doctrines of madame Guyon; and, if possible, to enlighten his friend. Yet, even in reasoning, he was uncharitable; so that it has been said, comparing his harshness with Fénélon's benignity, that Bossuet was right most revoltingly, and Fénélon in the wrong with sweetness. This was the more apparent, when his conduct on the publication of the book showed the cloven foot of intolerance and persecution. Henceforward, we love Fénélon, and condemn his opponent. The latter had right on his side, on the question of doctrine; in conduct, he was entirely and deplorably in the wrong. French writers impute to him the base motives of envy and jealousy. These passions exercise so covert an influence when they spring up in conscientious minds, that Bossuet might fancy himself urged by purer feelings. Still he cannot be justified. Either from fear that the king, who abhorred novelties in religion, would blame him severely, or wishing to make a deep impression, he threw himself at Louis's feet, and besought "his pardon for not having sooner informed him of the fanaticism of his brother." Louis did not like Fénélon.[108] His elevation of character appeared to him pretension; and in the principles he instilled into his royal pupil he saw the condemnation of himself. These principles were so moulded by the spirit of Christianity, that he could not object; but he gladly availed himself of the archbishop's error, to destroy, as much as he could, the general esteem in which he was held, and to visit him with heavy penalties. Madame de Maintenon also became unfriendly: in matters of religion, she always adopted the views of Louis. Her good sense made her see the evil of quietism; and now that Fénélon was accused of it, she withdrew her kindness and support. Louis XIV. angrily denounced all the adherents of madame Guyon; he upheld Bossuet in demanding a formal retractation of the doctrines inculcated in the Maxims of the Saints; he refused to permit Fénélon to repair to Rome; his work having been referred to the pope, for a decision on it; but at once exiled him; that is, ordered him to repair immediately to his diocese, and there to remain. Fénélon wrote to madame de Maintenon, to deplore the king's displeasure; and declared his readiness to submit to the decision of the holy see with regard to his book. He then quitted Paris: he stopped before the seminary of St. Sulpice, where the years of his early manhood had been spent in seclusion and peace; but he would not enter the house, lest the king should manifest displeasure towards its inhabitants for receiving him. From Paris he proceeded at once to Cambray.

1697.
Ætat.
46.

Although we may pronounce Fénélon's principles to be erroneous, his conduct was in every respect virtuous and laudable. Circumstances had engaged him in the dispute, and he believed that neither honour nor conscience permitted him to yield. As a bishop, it derogated from his dignity to receive the law from his equals in rank. He esteemed madame Guyon; she was unfortunate and calumniated; and he felt that it would be treacherous to abandon her, and much more so to ally himself to her enemies. He founded his opinion and conduct on the writings and actions of saints and holy men, and believed himself to be in the right. No personal interest could bend him; on the contrary, delicacy of feeling and zeal caused his attachment to his cause to redouble in persecution; while at the same time he was firm in his resolution to abandon it, if condemned by the church, his first principle being obedience to the holy see; looking upon that as the corner stone of the Roman catholic religion. His exile found him firm and resigned. The duke of Burgundy was more to be pitied: he threw himself at the king's feet, offering to justify his preceptor, and answering for the principles of religion which he had inculcated. Louis coldly replied, that M. de Meaux understood the affair better than either he or his grandson; and that therefore he had no power to grant a favour on the subject. To pacify the duke, he allowed Fénélon to retain for a time the title of preceptor. With this barren honour he returned to Cambray. Not long before his palace had been burnt to the ground, together with all his furniture, books, and papers. When he heard the news, he simply remarked, that he was glad this disaster had befallen his palace rather than the cottage of a peasant. On arriving at Cambray, he wrote to his excellent friend the duke de Beauvilliers, expressing his submission to the holy see, and his hope that he was actuated by pious and justifiable motives: "I hold by only two things," he continues, "which compose my entire doctrine. First, that charity is a love of God, for himself, independent of the motive of beatitude which is found in him: secondly, that in the life of the most perfect souls, charity prevails over every other virtue; animating them, and inspiring all their actions; so that the just man, elevated to this state of perfection, usually practises hope and every other virtue with all the disinterestedness that he does charity itself."

There is a mysticism in all this which it is dangerous to admit into a popular religion; but while we read, we feel wonderstruck and saddened to think how a man so heavenly good as Fénélon, and so noble minded as Bossuet, could have drawn matter for hate and pain out of such materials: charity, love of God, the welfare of man,—such were the missiles levelled at each other; and human passion could tip with poison these celestial-seeming weapons. Sir Walter Scott has, with the wisdom of a sage, remarked, that it is matter of sadness to reflect how much easier it is to inflict pain than communicate pleasure.[109] The controversy of Bossuet and Fénélon is a melancholy gloss on so true a text.

The cause was now carried to Rome. The tenets of Fénélon objected to by Bossuet were two:—1st, that a person may obtain an habitual state of divine love, in which he loves God purely for his own sake, and without the slightest regard to his own interests, even in respect to his eternal happiness. 2dly, that in such a state it is lawful, and may even be considered an heroic effort of conformity to the divine will, to consent to eternal reprobation, if God should require such a sacrifice. Certainly no general good could arise from men entertaining the belief that God might eternally punish those submissive to his law; and if we add to these fundamental objections the exaggerated point of view in which madame Guyon placed them, and Fénélon in some degree approved, maintaining the possibility of a state of divine love dependent only on faith and a kind of mental absorption in the deity, from which prayer and meditation on divine blessings were absent, and which confounded resignation with indifference to salvation, and conjoin to this unnatural supposition, the high-flown and, we may almost say, desecrating expressions with which it was supposed right to address the Deity, we cannot help siding with Bossuet's opinions, while we blame his conduct, and admire that of Fénélon. The former carried on his cause at Rome through his nephew, the abbé Bossuet, and the abbé de Phillippeaux, both attached to the bishop de Meaux, but both tainted by all the violence of party spirit, which is always most virulent in religious disputes. The abbé de Chanterac, a relation of Fénélon, and his most intimate and confidential friend, a man of probity, gentleness, and learning, and inspired by a sincere affection and veneration for the archbishop, was the agent of the latter at Rome. At first the king and the bishop de Meaux fancied that the pope would at once condemn a book they reprobated: but Innocent XII. appointed a commission. The commissioners stated objections. Bossuet and Fénélon were called upon to deliver answers. These answers were printed; and hence arose a controversy, now forgotten, but to the highest degree exciting at the time, in which Bossuet displayed all his energy and eloquence, and Fénélon poured forth the treasures of his intellect and his heart. His writings on this occasion are considered his best.[110] His heart and soul were in them; yet they are now usually omitted from the editions of his works, as regarding a question which the church has set at rest for ever. The delay of the pope, and the popularity which Fénélon gained by his candour and simplicity, enraged the king. His distaste for his theories, which were founded on a belief in virtue, grew into a positive dislike and even hatred for the man, whom he now looked on as dangerous. With his own hand he erased his name, which had remained on the list of the royal household as preceptor to the princes; he dismissed his friends, the abbés Beaumont and Langeron, from their employments as sub-preceptors; he forbade the court to all his relations and many of his friends; and, added to these mundane inflictions, was the clerical insult of the Sorbonne, when it condemned twelve propositions drawn from his book. Fénélon observed on these indignities,—"Yet, but a little, and the deceitful kingdom of this world will be over. We shall meet in the kingdom of truth, where there is no error, no division, no scandal; we shall breathe the pure love of God; and he will communicate to us his everlasting peace. In the mean time, let us suffer, let us suffer. Let us be trodden underfoot; let us not refuse disgrace: Jesus Christ was disgraced by us; may our disgrace tend to his glory!" Nor would he listen to any advice to turn the tables on Bossuet, by accusing him, in his turn, of error; but earnestly replied, "Moriamur in simplicitate nostra?"

Great indeed were the indignities that were heaped on Fénélon; if the untainted can be said to receive indignity from insult. A miserable maniac, who pretended to an improper intercourse with madame Guyon, was brought forward. She, then imprisoned in the castle of Vincennes, heard the accusation with calm contempt, and the confirmed madness of the poor wretch soon caused it to fall to the ground. Bossuet then published his "Account of Quietism," which brought forward many private letters, papers, and conversations, which tended to throw light on the characters of the partisans, which entertained all Paris, and excited a curiosity which this great man ought to have despised. The work, however, is decisive as to the folly and injurious nature of Quietism. Bossuet said that he had long condemned Fénélon's notions concerning prayer, and was glad when madame Guyon referred to him, as this would afford him an opportunity to express his own opinions. She confided to him all her manuscripts, and a history of her life, which for some reason she kept back from Fénélon. Bossuet saw much in her ecstacies and enthusiasm to disapprove, especially when rendered public, as well as in her pretended spirit of prophecy and of working miracles. He saw still more to condemn in her principles with regard to prayer, when she said that it was contrary to her doctrine to pray for the remission of her sins. Bossuet expressed his disapprobation to Fénélon, who defended her; and the writer remarks, that he was astonished to see a man of so great talent admire a woman of such slender knowledge and small merit, who was deceived also by palpable delusions. Bossuet then goes on to express his opinion of the dangerous tendency of the "Maxims of the Saints," against which the outcry had been spontaneous and general. "Can it be said," he continues, "that we wish to ruin M. de Cambray? God is witness! But without calling so great a testimony, the fact speaks. Before his book appeared, we concealed his errors, even to meriting the reproaches of the king. When his work came out, he had ruined himself. My silence was impenetrable till then. How can we be accused of jealousy? Could we envy him the honour of painting madame Guyon and Molinos in favourable colours? We desire and we hope to see M. de Cambray soon acknowledge at least the inutility of his speculations. It was not worthy of him, nor of the reputation he enjoys, nor of his character, his position, nor understanding, to defend the books of a woman of this kind; and we continually hear his friends lament that he displayed his erudition, and employed his eloquence, on such unsubstantial subjects."

Such an exposition confounded even Fénélon's friends: they drooped till his answer came, whose gentle, unaffected, yet animated eloquence convinced the public, and prevented it from any longer confounding his cause with that of madame Guyon. He called to witness those eyes that enlighten earthly darkness, that he was attached to no person nor book, but to God and the church only, and that he prayed unceasingly for the return of peace and the shortening the period of scandal, and that he was ready to bestow on M. de Meaux as many blessings as he had heaped crosses on him. He declared that he had long ago rejected his book, and been willing to be thrown into the sea to calm the storm, had he thought that his work could foster illusion or occasion scandal; but that he could not allow himself to be disgraced for the sake of his sacred calling. He appealed to Bossuet against himself, and showed with dignity, how injuriously he was treated, on being held up as an impostor by a man who once had called him, "his dear friend for life, whom he carried in his heart." He then proved that he had not supported madame Guyon[111], nor approved her visions, concerning which Bossuet knew much more than he; and asserted that he had excused the intention, not the text, of her works. He proceeds, "Whatever conclusion the holy pontiff may give to this affair, I await it with impatience, desirous only of obeying; not fearing to deceive myself, only seeking peace. I hope that my silence, my unreserved submission, my horror for delusion, my dislike for every suspected book or person, will make manifest that the evil you deprecate is as chimerical as the scandal created is real."

He concludes by throwing himself upon the support of God alone: single and destitute of human help, oppressed by the sovereign of a great nation, and its hierarchy, he declared that he should stand firm till the word should be pronounced by which he promised to abide.

1699.
Ætat.
48.

That word came. The pope condemned his book. With all the childlike simplicity that he so earnestly recommended to others, the learned and wise archbishop yielded instant obedience to a fiat which it was a portion of his faith to deem infallible. He was in the act of ascending his pulpit to preach, when he received a letter from his brother, which conveyed intelligence of the pope's brief. Fénélon paused for a few moments to recollect himself; and then, changing the plan of his sermon, preached on the duty of obedience to the church. His calm and gentle manner, the sentiments it expressed, the knowledge that was abroad of how sorely his adherence to his doctrine was about to be tried, deeply moved his audience, inspiring it at once with respect, regret, and admiration.

He did not delay a formal and public announcement of his obedience. He addressed a pastoral letter to all the faithful of his district, saying in it, "Our holy father has condemned my book, entitled the 'Maxims of the Saints,' and has condemned in a particular manner twenty-three propositions extracted from it. We adhere to his brief; and condemn the book and the twenty-three propositions, simply, absolutely, and without a shadow of reserve."[112] He sent his pastoral letter to the pope, and solemnly assured his holiness, that he could never attempt to elude his sentence, or to raise any objections with regard to it. To render his obedience clear and universal to the unlettered and ignorant of his diocese, he caused to be made for the altar of his cathedral a sun borne by two angels, one of whom was trampling on several heretical books, among which was one inscribed with the title of his own.

There is something deeply touching in this humility and obedience. We examine it carefully to discover its real merits; what the virtues were that dictated it, and whether it were clouded by any human error. We must remember that Fénélon opposed the jansenists, who had sought to elude the papal decrees; that he supported the infallibility of his church, and considered that the pure Catholicism rested chiefly on the succession of pastors who had a right to exact obedience from all Christians; that the language he thought due to the papal authority was, "God forbid that I should ever be spoken of, except to have it said that a shepherd thought it his duty to be more docile than the last sheep of his flock." Supporting these opinions, he had but one course to pursue,—unqualified and instant submission. This his conduct displayed; yet it remains as a question, whether his heart acknowledged the justice of the condemnation of a book which he wrote in a fervent belief in its utility, and had defended with so much zeal. His meaning in his submission was this,—that the book contained nothing heretical, nothing that the saints had not said; and that he might adhere to the principles it enounced: but that the expression and effect of the book was faulty; and that he believed this in his heart ever since the pope's brief had so declared it. His own account of his sentiments, rendered several years after to a friend, gives this explanation:—"My submission," he said, "was not an act of policy, nor a respectful silence; but an internal act of obedience rendered to God alone. According to the catholic principle, I regarded the judgment of my superiors as an echo of the supreme will. I did not consider the passions, the prejudices, the disputes that preceded my condemnation; I heard God speak, as to Job, from the midst of the whirlwind, saying to me, Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? And I answered from the bottom of my heart, What shall I answer thee? I will lay my hand upon my mouth. From that moment I have not entrenched myself in vain subterfuges concerning the question of fact and right; I have accepted my condemnation in its whole extent. It is true that the propositions and expressions I used, and others much stronger, and with much fewer correctives, are to be found in canonised authors, but they were not fit for a dogmatic work. A different style belongs to different subjects and persons. There is a style of the heart, and another of the understanding; a language of sentiment, another of reason. What is a merit in one is an imperfection in another. The church, with infinite wisdom, permits one to its untaught children, another to its teachers. She may, therefore, according to the variation of circumstances, without condemning the doctrine of the saints, reject their fanatic expressions, of which a wrong use is made."[113]

Such was Fénélon's explanation of his feelings several years after. His letters at the time are full of that gentle spirit of peace and resignation which was his strength and support in adversity. In general, however, he avoided the subject. He had struggled earnestly in the cause of his book, while its fate was problematical; but he considered the question decided, and he wished to dismiss the subject from his own thoughts and the minds of others.

There were several accompanying circumstances to mitigate the disgrace of defeat. The expressions used by the pope in his condemnation were very gentle. His propositions and expressions were declared rather as leading to error, than erroneous; they were pronounced to be rash, ill sounding, and pernicious in practice; but not heretical. While condemning the book, the pope had learned to respect the author; and said of him, to his opponents, "Peccavit in excessu amoris divini; sed vos peccastis defectu amoris proximi;" an antithesis that caught the ear, and was speedily in every body's mouth. His enemies were nettled. They endeavoured to find flaws in his pastoral letter; they tried to induce the pope to condemn the various writings which Fénélon had published in defence of his work; but this Innocent XII. peremptorily refused.

The king and the inimical bishops continued inveterate. The brief was received and registered according to form. The metropolitan assemblies applauded Fénélon's piety, virtue, and talents: some of his own suffragans had the indecency and servility to make irrelevant objections to his pastoral letter; but these were overruled. Bossuet drew up a report of the whole affair, to be presented at the next assembly of the clergy. Considerable want of candour is manifest in his account. He does what he can to weaken the effect of Fénélon's submission, while he insinuates excuses for his own vehemence. The report is remarkable with regard to the testimony it gives to the innocence of madame Guyon. "As to the abominations," it said, "which seemed the necessary consequences of her doctrine, they were wholly out of the question; she herself always mentioned them with horror." No reconciliation ever took place between Fénélon and Bossuet, who died in 1714.[114]

Louis XIV. was inexorable. Fénélon continued in exile and his friends in disgrace; such displeasure was shown, that the servile courtiers, among whom we must rank, on this occasion, madame de Maintenon, kept aloof from him. His friends, however, were true and faithful. They took every opportunity of meeting together; it was their delight to talk of him, to regret him, to express their wishes for his return, and to contrive means of seeing him.

The circumstance that confirmed the king's distaste to the virtuous archbishop, was the publication of Telemachus. Fénélon appears to have employed his leisure, while preceptor to the princes, on composing a work which hereafter would serve as a guide and instructor to the duke of Burgundy. The unfortunate affair of quietism led him from such studies; but Telemachus was already finished: he gave it to a valet to copy, who sold it to a bookseller in Paris. The spies, who watched every movement of the archbishop, gave notice of the existence of the book; and when the printing had advanced to the 208th page, the whole was seized, and every exertion to annihilate the work was made. Fortunately, motives of gain sharpened men's wits for its preservation; a manuscript copy was preserved; it was sold to Adrian Moetjens, a bookseller at the Hague, who published it in June, 1699,—incorrectly, indeed, as it remained during the author's life; but still it was printed; editions were multiplied; it was translated into every European language, and universally read and admired. In the work itself there was much to annoy Louis XIV., who, as he grew old and bigoted, lost all the generosity which he had heretofore possessed, and, spoilt by the sort of adoration which all writers paid, grasped at flattery more eagerly than in his earlier and more laudable career. The lessons of wisdom sounded like censure in his ear. The courtiers increased his irritability, by making particular applications of the personages in the tale[115]; but without this frivolous and unfounded interpretation, there was enough to awaken his sense of being covertly attacked. The very virtues fostered in the duke of Burgundy, were, to his haughty mind, proof of the archbishop's guilt. He saw, in the mingled loftiness and humility of his heir, in his high sense of duty and love of peace, a living criticism of his reign. From that moment Fénélon became odious; to visit, to love, to praise him, ensured disgrace at court. Telemachus was never mentioned, though Louis might have been aware that silence on such a subject, was to acknowledge the justice of the lesson which he believed that it conveyed.

Meanwhile Fénélon looked upon his residence in his diocese as his natural and proper position. To cultivate internal calm, and to spread the blessings of peace around, were the labour of his day. On his first arrival, he had been received with transport. "Here I am," he cried, "among my children, and therefore in my true place." And to the duke de Beauvilliers he wrote: "I work softly and gently, and endeavour, 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, selfishness, or deceit: they already appear to have some confidence in me; and let me assure you, that even these good Fleminders, with their homely appearance, have more finesse than I wish to put into my conduct towards them. They inquire of one another, whether I am really banished; and they question my servants about it: if they put the question to me, I shall make no mystery. It is certainly an affliction to be separated from you, and the good duchess and my other friends; but I am happy to be at a distance from the great scene, and sing the canticle of deliverance." In accordance with this view, from this hour he devoted himself to his diocesans. Rich and poor alike had easy access to him. Disappointment and meditation had softened every priestly asperity. His manner was the mirror of his benevolent expansive heart. A curate wishing to put an end to the festive assemblies of the peasants on Sundays and other festivals, Fénélon observed, "We will not dance ourselves, M. le Curé, but we will suffer these poor people to enjoy themselves." That he might keep watch over his inferior clergy, he visited every portion of his diocese; twice a week, during lent, he preached in some parish church of his diocese. On solemn festivals he preached in his metropolitan church; visited the sick, assisted the needy, and reformed abuses. He was particularly solicitous in forming worthy ecclesiastics for the churches under his care. He removed his seminary from Valenciennes to Cambray, that it might be more immediately under his eye. His sermons were plain, instructive, simple; yet burning with faith and charity. He lived like a brother with his under-clergy, receiving advice; and never used authority except when absolutely necessary.

He slept little, and was abstemious at table. His walks were his only pleasure. During these, he conversed with his friends, or entered into conversation with the peasants he might chance to meet; sitting on the grass, or entering their cottages, as he listened to their complaints. Long after his death, old men showed, with tears in their eyes, the wooden chair which, in their boyhood, they had seen occupied by their beloved and revered archbishop. His admirable benevolence, his unbounded sympathy and calm sense of justice, won the hearts of all. One man of high birth, who had been introduced into his palace, ostensibly as high vicar, but really as a spy, was so touched by the unblemished virtue he witnessed, that he threw himself at Fénélon's feet, confessed his crime, and then, unable to meet his eye, banished himself from his presence, and lived ever after in exile and obscurity.

The duke of Burgundy had been commanded to hold no intercourse with his beloved and unforgotten preceptor; and the spies set over both were on the alert to discover any letters. When the duke of Anjou was raised to the throne of Spain, his elder brother conducted him to the frontier. Soon after his return, he came to a resolution to break through the king's restriction, and wrote to his revered teacher through his governor, the duke de Beauvilliers. His letter is unaffected and sincere; it laments the silence to which he had been condemned, and assures the archbishop that his friendship had been augmented, not chilled, by his misfortunes. It speaks of his own struggles to keep in the paths of virtue; and relates that he loved study better than ever, and was desirous of sending several of his writings to be corrected by his preceptor, as he had formerly corrected his themes. Fénélon's answer marks his delight in finding that his pupil adhered to the lessons he had taught him. He confirms him in his piety: "In the name of God," he writes, "let prayer nourish your soul, as food nourishes your body. Do not make long prayers; let them spring more from the heart than the understanding; little from reasoning—much from simple affection; few ideas in consecutive order, but many acts of faith and love. Be humble and little. I only speak to you of God and yourself. There need be no question of me: my heart is in peace. My greatest misfortune has been, not to see you; but I carry you unceasingly with me before God, into a presence more intimate than that of the senses. I would give a thousand lives like a drop of water, to see you such as God would wish you to be!"

In all Fénélon's letters there is not a querulous word concerning his exile, although we perceive traces in the view he takes of the position of others, and in the advice he gives, of the pleasure he must have derived from the cultivated society then collected in Paris; but he could cheerfully bear absence from the busy scene. His simple and affectionate heart found food for happiness among his flock. To instruct his seminarists with the patience and gentleness that adorned his character; to watch over the affairs of his diocese; to teach by sermons, which flowed from the abundance of his heart; and in writing letters of instruction to various of the laity, who placed themselves under his direction,—were his occupations; and his time employed by these duties and by writing, was fully and worthily employed. He regretted his absence from some of his friends, with whom he corresponded; but he never complained. The peace of heaven was in his heart; and he breathed an air purged of all human disquietude. It was his religion not to make himself unhappy about even his own errors. He taught that we ought to deliver our souls into the hands of God, and submit, as to his pleasure, to the shame and annoyance brought on us by our imperfections; not only to feel as nothing before him, but not even to wish to feel any thing. "I adore you, infant Jesus," he wrote, "naked, and weeping, and stretched upon the cross. I love your infancy and poverty: O! that I were as childlike and poor as you. O Eternal wisdom, reduced to infancy, take away my vain and presumptuous wisdom; make me a child like yourself. Be silent, ye wise men of the earth! I desire to be nothing, to know nothing; to believe all, to suffer all, and to love all. The Word, made flesh, lisps, weeps, and gives forth infantine cries;—and shall I take pride in wisdom; shall I take pleasure in the efforts of my understanding, and fear that the world should not entertain a sufficiently high idea of my ability. No, no; all my delight will be to grow little; to crush myself; to become obscure; to be silent; to join to the shame of Jesus crucified, the impotence and lisping of the infant Jesus."

When we reflect that this was written by a man who sedulously adorned his mind by the study of the ancients, and who added to his own language, books written with elegance and learning, and which display a comprehensive understanding and delicate taste, we feel the extent of that humility which could disregard all these human acquirements compared with the omniscience of God; and that as Socrates acknowledged that he knew nothing, and was therefore pronounced to be the wisest of men, so did the sense which Fénélon entertained of the nothingness of human wisdom, stamp him as far advanced in that higher knowledge which can look down on all human efforts as the working of emmets on an ant-hill.

Fénélon believed that man had no power to seek heavenly good without the grace of the Saviour. When man does right, he alleged that he only assented to the impulse of God, who disposed him through his grace so to assent. When he did ill, he only resisted the action of God, which produces no good in him without the co-operation of his assent, thus preserving his free will. He considered true charity, or love of God, to which he gave this name, as an intimate sense of and delight in God's perfections, without any aspiration to salvation. He supposed that there was a love of the beautiful, the perfect, and the orderly, beyond all taste and sentiment, which may influence us when we lose the pleasurable sense of the action of the grace of God, and which is a sufficing reason to move the will in all the pains and privations which abound on the holy paths of virtue. He would have carried this notion further, but was obliged to mould his particular notion by the faith of the church, which enforces what it calls a "chaste hope of salvation," in contradiction to the quietists, who banish every idea of beatification, and profess to be willing to encounter perdition, if such were the Almighty's will. He was more opposed to jansenism, which makes salvation all in all, while it confines it to the elect of God. Jansenism, indeed, he considered as peculiarly injurious, and destructive to the true love of God. But as bigotry made no part of his nature, he tolerated the jansenists, though he would gladly have converted them; he invited their chief, father Quesnell, to his palace, promising not to introduce any controversy unless he wished; but testifying his desire, at the same time, to prove that he mistook the meaning of St. Augustin, on whom Jansenius founded his doctrine. Of Pascal's Provincial Letters, he wrote to the duke de Beauvilliers, that he recommended that his royal pupil should read them, as the great reputation they enjoyed, would cause him certainly to desire to see them; and sent a memorial at the same time, which he considered as a refutation of the mistakes into which he believed Pascal had fallen. He was equally tolerant of protestants; and when M. Brunier, minister of the protestants dispersed on the frontiers of France, came to Mons to see him, Fénélon received him with his accustomed cordial hospitality, and begged him often to repeat his visit.

During the war for the Spanish succession, Fénélon's admirable character shone forth in all its glory. Living on a frontier exposed to the incursions of the enemy, he was active in alleviating the sufferings of the people. The nobles and officers of the French armies, who passed through Cambray, pointedly avoided him, out of compliment to their mistaken sovereign; while a contrary sentiment, a wish to annoy Louis XIV., joined to sincere admiration of his genius and virtue, caused the enemy to act very differently. The English, Germans, and Dutch, were eager to display their veneration of the archbishop. They afforded him every facility for visiting the various parts of his diocese. They sent detachments to guard his fields, and to escort his harvest into the city. He was often obliged to have recourse to artifice to avoid the honours which the generals of the armies of the enemy were desirous of paying. He declined the visits of the duke of Marlborough and prince Eugene, who were desirous of rendering homage to his excellence. He refused the military escorts offered to ensure his safety; and, with the attendance only of a few ecclesiastics, he traversed countries devastated by war, carrying peace and succour in his train, so that his pastoral visits might be termed the truce of God. The French biographers delight in recording one trait of his benevolence. During one of his journeys, he met a peasant in the utmost affliction. The archbishop asked the cause of his grief; and was told that the enemy had driven away his cow, on which his family depended for support, and that his life was in danger if he went to seek it. Fénélon, on this, set off in pursuit, found the cow, and drove it home himself to the peasant's cottage.

Deserted and neglected by his countrymen, he took pleasure in receiving foreigners, and learning from them the manners, customs, and laws of their various countries. His philanthropy was of the most extensive kind: "I love my family," he said, "better than myself; I love my country better than my family; but I love the human race more than my country." A German prince visited him, desirous of receiving lessons of wisdom. Him he taught toleration; satisfaction in a constitutional government; and a desire for the progress of knowledge among his subjects. The duke of Orleans, afterwards the libertine regent of France, consulted him with regard to many sceptical doubts. He asked him how the existence of God was proved; what worship the Deity approved, and whether he was offended by a false one. Fénélon replied by a treatise on the existence of God, which is characterised, as his theology always is, by a fervent spirit of charity.

In 1702 the duke of Burgundy headed the army in Flanders. He with difficulty obtained leave to see the archbishop, when he visited Cambray; his interview, when permitted, was restricted to being a public one. Fénélon, fearing to raise a painful struggle in his beloved pupil's mind, had left Cambray, when the letter came to apprise him that they were allowed to meet. They met at a public dinner at the town-house of Cambray. It passed in cold ceremony and painful reserve: it was only at the close, when Fénélon presented the napkin to the prince, that the latter marked his internal feeling, when, on returning it, he said aloud, "I am aware, my lord archbishop, of what I owe you, and you know what I am." They corresponded after this, and Fénélon's letters are remarkable for the care he takes to check all bigotry, intolerance, and petty religious observances in his pupil; telling him that a prince cannot serve God as a hermit or an obscure individual. He informed him that the public regarded him as virtuous, but as stern, timid, and scrupulous. He endeavoured to raise him above these poorer thoughts, to the lofty height he himself had reached. He taught him to regard his rank in its proper light, as a motive for goodness and benevolence, and to desire to be the father, not the master of his people. His opinions with regard to the duke are given in great detail in a letter of advice addressed to the duke Beauvilliers, in which we see that the priest has no sinister influence over the man; and that while Fénélon practised privation in his own person, he could recommend an opposite course to an individual differently placed. This intercourse was again renewed in 1708, when the duke again made a campaign in Flanders. The letters of his ancient preceptor on this occasion, are frank and manly: he tells him the public opinion; he advises him how best to gain general confidence; and to sacrifice all his narrow and peculiar opinions to an elevated, unprejudiced view of humanity. The reply of the prince, thanking him for his counsels, and assuring him of his resolution to act upon them, is highly worthy of a man of honour and virtue.

1709.
Ætat.
58.

The effect of the war was to spread famine and misery throughout France: 1709 was a year marked by suffering and want; the army in Flanders was destitute of dépôts for food. Fénélon set the example of furnishing the soldiery with bread. Some narrow-minded men around him remonstrated, saying that the king had treated him so ill, that he did not deserve that he should come forward to assist his subjects. Fénélon, animated by that simple sense of justice that characterised him, replied, "The king owes me nothing; and in the evils that overwhelm the people, I ought, as a Frenchman and a bishop, to give back to the state what I have received from it." His palace was open to the officers who needed assistance and shelter; and after the battle of Malplaquet, that, as well as his neighbouring seminary, was filled with the wounded. His generosity went so far as to hire houses to receive others, when his own apartments were full. His prudence and order afforded him the means of meeting these calls on his liberality, which he did not confine to the upper classes. Whole villages were emptied by the approach of the armies, and the inhabitants took refuge in the fortified towns: to watch over these sufferers—to console them, and prevent the disorders usually incident to such an addition to the population, was another task, which he cheerfully fulfilled, going about among them, and soothing them with his gentleness and kindness.

1711.
Ætat.
60.

When the dauphin, father of the duke of Burgundy, died,—men, supple in their servility, began to consider that, on the event of his pupil's accession to the throne, Fénélon would become powerful; and the nobles and officers began to pay him court, when passing through Cambray: Fénélon received them with the same simplicity with which he regarded their absence. He was far above all human grandeur; he only made use of the respect rendered him, for the benefit of those who paid it. It was a miserable reverse to his hopes for France when his royal pupil died. 1712.
Ætat.
61. Fénélon received the intelligence of his death with that mingled grief and resignation that belonged to his character. He declared, that though all his ties were broken, and that nothing hereafter would attach him to earth, yet that he would not move a finger to recall the prince to life, against the will of God. His last years were marked by the deaths of several of his dearest friends. The abbé de Langeron, banished from court for his sake, and who resided with him at Cambray, had died 1710, and with his death began the series of losses afterwards destined to afflict Fénélon deeply. In 1713 the dukes de Bouvilliers and de Chevreuse, both died. He felt his losses deeply; knowing that they came from the hand of God, he resigned himself, but grew entirely detached from the affections and interests of this world.

Louis at last learnt to appreciate the merits of the most virtuous and wisest man in his kingdom. His misfortunes, and the deaths, one after the other, of all his posterity, softened his heart; added to this, the death of Fénélon's pupil took away the sting of envy; he no longer feared that he should be surpassed in glory and good by his successor; and he could love the teacher of those virtues, which existed no longer in the person of his grandson to eclipse his own. That such unworthy motives might actuate him, is proved by his act of burning all the papers and letters of Fénélon which were found among the effects of the duke of Burgundy after his death. Fénélon requested the duke de Beauvilliers to claim them, who made the request to madame de Maintenon. She replied: "I was desirous of sending you back all the papers belonging to you and M. de Cambray; but the king chose to burn them himself. I confess that I am truly sorry; nothing so beautiful or so good was ever written. If the prince whom we lament had some faults, it was not because the counsels given him were feeble, or because he was too much flattered. We may say, that those who act uprightly are never put to confusion." But though the king indulged a mean spirit in destroying these invaluable papers, the reading them led him to esteem the writer. Accordingly, he often sent to consult him, and was about to recall him to court, when the fatal event arrived, which robbed the world of him. We are told also that the pope, Clement XI., had destined for him a cardinal's hat.

At the beginning of 1715 Fénélon fell ill of an inflammation of the chest, which caused a continual fever. It lasted for six days and a half, with extreme pain. During this period he gave every mark of patience, gentleness, and firmness. There were no unmanly fears, nor unchristian negligence. On the fifth day of his illness he dictated a letter to the confessor of the king, declaratory of his inviolable attachment to his sovereign, and his entire acquiescence in the condemnation of his book. He made two requests, both relating to his diocese: the one, that a worthy successor, opposed to jansenism, should be given him; the other regarded the establishment of his seminary. From this time he appeared insensible to what he quitted, and occupied only by the thought of what he was going to meet. He passed his last hours surrounded by his friends, and particularly by his beloved nephew, the marquis de Fénélon[116]; and breathed his last without a pang.

Louis XIV. outlived him but a few months. The duke of Orleans became regent. France flourished in peace under his regency; while its aristocracy was corrupted by a state of libertinism and profligacy, unequalled except in the pages of Suetonius. Had Fénélon lived, would he not have influenced the regent, whose perverted mind was yet adorned by talents, and regulated by a sense of political justice?—Would he not have fostered the child of his pupil, and engrafted virtue in the soul of Louis XV.? This is but conjecture; futile, except as it may teach us to make use of the example and precepts of the good and wise, while they are spared to us. Soon all but their memory is lost in the obscurity and nothingness of the tomb.

In person, Fénélon was tall and well made; a paleness of countenance testified his studious and abstemious habits; while his expressive eyes diffused softness and gentle gaiety over his features. His manners displayed the grace and dignity, the delicacy and propriety, which belong to the well-born, when their understandings are cultivated by learning, and their hearts enlarged by the practices of virtue. Eloquent, witty, judicious, and pleasing, he adapted himself to the time and person with whom he conversed, and was admired and beloved by all.

His character is sufficiently detailed in these pages;—his benevolence, generosity, and sublime elevation above all petty and self-interested views. It may be said, that his piety was too softening and ideal; yet in practice it was not so. His nephew, brought up under his care, and embued with his principles of religion, was a gallant soldier, and believed that it was the duty of a subject to die for his king; and, acting on this belief, fell at the battle of Raucoux. A religion that teaches toleration, active charity, and resignation, inculcates the lessons to which human nature inclines with most difficulty, and which, practised in a generous, unprejudiced manner, raise man to a high pitch of excellence. "I know not," says a celebrated writer, "whether God ought to be loved for himself, but I am sure that this is how we must love Fénélon." An infidel must have found piety amiable, when it assumed his shape. The artless simplicity of his character prevented his taking pride in his own virtues[117]: he felt his weaknesses; he scarcely deplored them; he laid them meekly at the feet of God; and, praying only that he might learn to love him better, believed that in the perfection of love he should find the perfection of his own nature.

The chevalier Ramsay, a Scotch baronet, gives us, in his life, a delightful account of his intimate intercourse. Ramsay was troubled by scepticism on religious subjects, and applied to the archbishop of Cambray for enlightenment, which he afforded with a zeal, patience, and knowledge, both of his subject and human nature, which speedily brought his disciple over to Catholicism. Ramsay delights to expatiate on the virtues and genius of his admirable friend. He penetrated to the depths of his heart, and read those internal sentiments which Fénélon never expressed in writing. "Had he been born in a free country," Ramsay afterwards wrote to Voltaire, "he would have displayed his whole genius, and given a full career to his own principles, never known." That, of all men, Fénélon must have entertained feelings too sublime, in their abnegation of self, to please a despotism, both of church and state, we can readily believe.[118]

Kind and gentle to all, lending himself with facility to every call made on him; polite, from the pure source of politeness, benevolence of heart;—every one was welcomed, every one satisfied. A friend one day made excuses for interrupting him in a work he was desirous of finishing: "Do not distress yourself," he replied: "you do more good to me by interrupting me, than I should have done to others by working." Though of a sensitive and vivacious temperament, he was never betrayed into any show of temper. During the first years of his exile, when he severely felt his estrangement from the refined and enlightened society of the capital, and from friends dear to his heart, he was still equable and cheerful; always alive to the interests of others, never self-engrossed. He had the art of adapting himself to the capacities and habits of every one:—"I have seen him," says Ramsay, "in a single day, mount, and descend all ranks; converse with the noble in their own language, preserving throughout his episcopal dignity; and then talk with the lowly, as a good father with his children, and this without effort or affectation."

If he were thus to his acquaintance, to the friends whom he loved, he was far more. From the divine love which he cherished, as the source of every virtue, sprung a spirit of attachment pure, tender, and generous. His own sentiments with regard to friendship, when he expatiates on it, in a letter to the duke of Burgundy, are conceived in the noblest and most disinterested sense. In practice, he was forbearing and delicate; he bore the faults of those around him, yet seized the happy moment to instruct and amend. He felt that self-love rendered us alive to the imperfections of another; and that want of sympathy arose from being too self-engrossed. He knew it was the duty of a friend to correct faults; but he could wait patiently for years to give one salutary lesson. In the same spirit, he begged his friends not to be sparing in their instructions to him. His great principle was, that all was in common with friends. "How delightful it would be," he sometimes said, "if every possession was a common one; if each man would no longer regard his knowledge, his virtues, his enjoyments, and his wealth, as his own merely. It is thus, that in heaven, that the saints have all things in God, and nothing in themselves. It is a general and infinite beatitude, whose flux and reflux causes their fulness of bliss. If our friends below would submit to the same poverty, and the same community of all things, temporal and spiritual, we should no longer hear those chilling words thine and mine; we should all be rich and poor in unity." The death of one he loved could move him to profound grief; and he could say—"Our true friends are at once our greatest delight and greatest sorrow. One is tempted to wish that all attached friends should agree to die together on the same day: those who love not, are willing to bury all their fellow-creatures, with dry eyes and satisfied hearts; they are not worthy to live. It costs much to be susceptible to friendship; but those who are, would be ashamed if they were not; they prefer suffering to heartlessness." Religion alone could bring consolation:—"Let us unite ourselves in heart," he wrote, "to those whom we regret; he is not far from us, though invisible; he tells us, in mute speech, to hasten to rejoin him. Pure spirits see, hear, and love their friends in the common centre." Such are the soothing expressions of Fénélon; and such as these caused d'Alembert to remark, "that the touching charm of his works, is the sense of quiescence and peace which he imparts to his reader; it is a friend who draws near, and whose soul overflows into yours: he suspends, at least for a time, your regrets and sufferings. We may pardon many men who force us to hate humanity, in favour of Fénélon who makes us love it."