Life of Fénelon

OP

FENELON,

ARCHBISHOP OF CAMBRAY.

O M WiJI X OOXW***!^

Francis de Salionac de la Motte Fenblon, Archbishop of Cambray, was bom in the Castle of Fenelon, in Perigord, on the 6th of August, 1651. His ancestors were equally distinguished for their bravery and their learning; insomuch that his own name was said to be the ninth which had reflected literary honour on the house of Salignac. He had the good fortune to be taken in his childhood under tiie especial care of his unde, the Marquis de Fe» nelon, a nobleman who iviited in himself the virtues of all his race, and who was pronounced by the great Cond^ to be " equally fitted for the field, for conversation, and for the Cabinet." Brought up under the direction of such a character, and sheltered, in the bosom of retirement, from all society or discourse that could corrupt his tender mind,

Fenelon, from hLs earliest years, gave promise of all the useM talents and mild graces which throughout life distinguished him, and rendered him as respected as he was beloved. Having resolved to devote himself to the service of the church, he was sent, at twelve years of age, to the University of Cahors to commence his studies, which he went to Paris to finish, and preached in that city, when he was only nineteen years of age, with the greatest success. His imde, however, thoi^h delighted with his youthful eloquence, was too prudent, and too truly religious, not to tremble at the possibility of his being led away by the applause of men, and tempted to make his discourses, like some in the present day, the vehicles of mere declamation and inflated sentiment. He therefore advised him to observe silence in pubUc, and devote his private hours to study and meditation, untH his knowledge ^ould be matured, and he might feel himself qualified to instruct conscientiously in his sacred vocation. Fenelon willingly followed advice of which his own modesty and piety showed him the propriety, and devoted himself silently and sedulously to the improrement of his moral and intellectual powers.

The two great parties that divided religious opinions at that tima in France, were the Jestuts and llie Jansenists. To the institulion of the Jesuits, no other that has yet appeared in civilized society eaa bear any comparison in point of foresight, depth of design, and energy of action. Never was Lord Bacon's maxim, that ** knowledge is power," more fully exemplified than in the history of these men. Versed in every species of hwnan leamiag, l^ey deilred from it all the consideration which superior information in?ariaUy commands: devoting them«> selTes in all countries more espedally to the education of youth, they gained over the minds of their pupUs, whilst yet pliant, an influence.which con* tiaued, almost without an exception, to the latest hour of their lives* Careless of themselves individually, there were no hardships, no privations they were not willing to undergo, no sacrifices they were not ready to make, in order to advance the cause of science in general, and to aggrandise their own Order in particular. They were dispersed, either openly or in disguise, not only throughout the civilized world, but to the remotest corners of the habitable globe: embracing all orders and classes of society, their address and acquirements rendered them the most formidable political engine that ever existed; and it was only, at last, by grasping at what might be termed absolute power over the human mind, that they lost the influence which in the first instance their talents and learning, and contempt of all considerations merely selfish, had deservedly g^ed. Very difiierent were the habits and doctrines of the Jansenists, so called from their founder, Jansenius, Bishop of Ipres, who, by plunging into a controversy respecting the nature Of grace and freewill, not only

** foand no end, in wandering mazes lost,**

but laid the foundation of a dispute respecting inexplicable terms, which continued, throughout two centuries, convulsing, at intervals, l)oth the Church and Stale of France to theu- very centres. Among the Jansenists the house of Arnaad stood couspiCU0U8. One of that family was Abbess of Port-Royal, a convent situated in a solitary uncultivated tract of land in the neighbourhood of Paris, more resembling a desert than any thing could have been expected to appear so immediately in the vicinity of one of the gayest capitals in Europe. Several of this lady's relations were also members of this com-> munity. The celebrated Anthony d'Amaud, the twoLeMattres, Le Sacy, and several other persons of rank and talent, retired to the same spot, and spent their whole time in prayer and study. The writings of many of the illustrious Solitaries of Port-Royal are to be reckoned among the ablest compositions in the French language; but unfortunately they devoted their contemplations too exclusively to themes of a merely speculative nature,

" Of Providence, foreknowledge, will and fate; Fix'd fale, freewill, and knowledge absolute;*' and their sentiments too often betrayed the gloom into which unsatisfied inquiry always plunges the mind.

The mildness of Fenelon's disposition, and the sweetness of his views respecting the nature and attributes of the eternal Creator of all things, rendered the discouraging doctrines and immoderate severity of the Jansenists particularly disagreeable to him. With the Jesuits, on the contrary, he was much pleased, and remained attached to them throughout life, won by their courtesy, their learning, and their active benevolence. Nevertheless he joined himself to the Solpiciens, a comimiiiity of

•ecular priests, wfae« iar inferior in renown either to theiesuitsoriaasenists, yet commanded universal respect by the unassunuag piety with which they devoted their exertions to the service of the Church, in her most obscure and humble functions; within which modest and useful line of duty they uniformly confined dieir efforts.

After continuing his studies for some time under the Abbe Tron^on, Prior of the Convent of St. Sulploe, Fenelon was ordained priest in that seminary, in his 24tfa year, and passed the three following years in complete retirement. He then, at the de<- Bre of the Curate of the parish of St. Sulpice, began to deliver a course of fomiliar esrplanatiouai of the Old and New Testaments, on Sundays and Festivals; and these first made him known to the public. He was shortly afterwards appointed Confessor and Spkitual Director to a community of females, who had been gained over from the Protestant to the Catholic faith; and about the same time he formed an iniimacy with the celebrated Bossnet, the most dioquent of French, or perhaps of any onitor of modem times, and with the Abb^ de Floury, a man as distinguished for the endowments of his mind as the purity of his manners. In the unreserved society of these persons, Fenelon passed, at this juncture, many of his happiest hours, strengthening his piety by ^eir precepts, and his Tiitnes by their example.

Fenelon had entertained thoughts, in the beginning of his religious career, of transptM'ting himself to Canada, and devoting his life to the conversion of -^ sttBagcB; but the delicate state of his health b3 n LIFE OF FF.NBLON.

rendering H improbable that be would be able to bear the rigour of so severe a climate^ be changed his determination, and resolved to dedicate himself to the missions of the East. Soon, however, a field was opened to him at home for his utmost labours, by the shortsighted bigotry of Louis XIV. That monarch, on the 23d of August, 1685, absolutely and entirely revoked the edict of Nantes, by which Henry IV. granted to the Hugonots or Protestants the free exercise of their religion, and placed them nearly on a level io equality of civil rights with his other subjects. These unfortunate persons, now seeing themselves exposed to every species of persecution and insult, quitted France by thousands, and dispersing themselves in the different Protestant States, enriched them with their arts and industry, whilst they at the same time taught them to execrate the tyranny by which they were eventually to be benefited.

The success with which Fenelon had acquitted himself of the duties of his office as a Catholic priest, in all matters where Protestants or newly-made converts were concerned, made Louis desirous of securing his services towards gaining over such Hugonots as still remained in the Itingdom. The province of Poitou was appointed for the scene of his labours. Before he entered upon them he was presented to Louis. The King desired him to state any wishes that he might entertain connected with his mission. The only request he made was, that the troops, and every species of military paorade, might be removed far from the province of which he was to have the direction. Violence and perse-cation of any description whatsoever were not only odious, but sinful, in the eyes of Fenelon. Sincerity and love were his weapons, and with these arms alone he won to his way of thinking many whom no dangers could have terrified from their original faith; whilst, on the contrary, other hapless provinces were desolated with fire and sword, without being able in a single instance to shake the firmness of the wretched suflerers, who nobly sacrificed both property and life, rather than assent with their lips to doctrines whidi they could not believe in their hearts.

The principles on which Fenelon acted himself, he laboured to impart more especially to those who were likely one day to have dominion over others. To Prince Charles, the son of James II., better known by the name of the Pretender, he earnestly reconunended toleration in religious matters, should he ever be restored to the throne of his ancestors. ** No human power," ssdd he, " can force the impenetrable intrenchments of the freedom of the mind: compulsion never persuades, it only makes hypocrites. When Kings interfere in matters of religion, they enslave, instead of protecting it. Give civil liberty to all: not by approving all religions as indifferent; but by patiently permitting what God permits, and by endeavouring to teach persons a right mode of thinking by mildness and persuasion."

Soon after the return of Fenelon from his successful mission into Poitou, he was appointed preceptor to the Duke of Burgundy, the Duke of Anjou, and the Duke of Berry, —the three sons of the Dauphin.

B' hnV. OF rENELOV.

Fenehm entered upon h« important office with reiigioiiis solicitade. Regarding the happiness of millions as connected with the dispositions of his pupils, the training them to virtue, and especially forming the character of the eldest, who was destined one day to ascend the throne of France, be-came the subject of his most anxious thoughts-— his noblest ambiHon. The Duke of Burgundy was one of those singular beings who appear equally qualified by nature for the most eiralted virtue or the most degraded vice, and whose bias depends entirely on the hand by which it may be given. At the time that Fenelon undertook the direction of ham, it must be acknowledged that the preponderance turned towards all that was tmpromising. " Tht Duke of Burgundy," says the Duke de St. Simon, in his Memoirs, '' was bom terrible, and during his first years continued to be an object of terror t^ those around him. Hard-hearted, angry to the extreme of passion, even against inanimate objects; impetuous to a degree of fury, incapable of bearing the least opposition to his wishes, even from time or clknate, witliont putting himself into paroxysms of rage that made one tremble for his existence, (a condition in which I have often seen Inm;) stubborn in the highest degree, insatiable in ihe pursuit of every kind of pleasure, addicted to <he gratificataotts of the table and violent hunting; delighted to a degree of ecstasy with music and with deep {^y, in whidi, however, he could not beer to lose, and by fc^ ^dolence made it dangerous to any one to engagetvith him ^ in fine, vbuidotied to all Hkt'psarikfm, and transported by •every Uad ef enjoyment; often ferocious, naturally cruel, barb^ rous in his nailery, seizing the ridiculous with astonishing justness; high as the clouds in his own opinion, considering other men as atoms to which he bore no resembhmce, and regarding even his brothers, though educated on an equality with himself, only as intermediate beings between him and the rest of the human race." Such is the picture of this Prince, by one who was personally acquainted "mth him from his cradle. Happily his talents bore full proportion to his faults; and under the exquisite discernment and Judicious tenderness of Fenelon, who felt an almost parental attachment for his royal pupil, and whose plans were fully entered into and aided by his coiadjutors, the Abb^ de Fleury, the Abb^ de Langeron, and Father le Valois, the Prince gradually became all that could be wished. " From the abyss which I have described,'* says St. Simon, ** there arose a Prince, affable, gentle, moderate, patient, modest, humble; austere only to himself, attentive to his duties, and sensible of their great extent. His only object appeared to be to acquit himself of all that might be expected of him as a son and subject, and to qualify himself for his future obligations."

To relate the means by which Fenelon accomplished so extraordmary and desirable a change in the moral nature of his pupil, at the same time that he stored his mind with every species of information, would be to relate a complete system of education,— one of the most fortunate that ever was attempted; but in the present brief Memou* the detail would be too minute, llie great secret, after all, of Fenelon's suoceBS, was his own worth. His learning, his piety» his sincerity) his disinterestedness, and his independence, joined to perfect con^ sistency of conduct on all occasions, commanded respect; his sweetness, his henevoience, the courtesy of his demeanour, the tenderness of his feelings, the warmth of bis affections, the poetical cast of his imagination, stored with the most delightful images, — ^all inspired love. He corrected the fsnilts of his pupH, and cherished his virtues, hy the same means. He perpetually delineated his portnut, under whatever aspect it might appear, in a series of the most interesting febles. Selif-love taught the Duke to seek for their very inmost meaning; self-love taught him at first to correct the faults, which when written down he could not bear to contemplate, and the powerful bond of habit once broken through, better feelings taught him to preserve that ^ctory over himself, for ** conscience* sake,** which in the first instance he had attempted only for the admiration of those around him. Fenelon now began to reap the harvest, in a worldly point of view, of all his excellencies. His success in the education of his pupils, particularly in that of the Duke of Burgundy, had rendered his name renowned throughout the kiagdom, and his conciliating manners had obtained him the personal regard of all who knew him. Louis XIV. presented him to the Abbey of St. Valery, one of the richest in France, and afterwards named him Archbishop of Cambray. He was consecrated in the Chapel of St. Cyr, in the presence of Madame de Mainteaon and his three royal pupils, and proiented the rare spectacle of merit rewarded, without envy or malice eudeaivoaring to SBbtvact from its deserts.

The time was, however, rapidly approachiDg, when the very virtaes of Fenelon were to lead him into misfortune. In every age of Christianity there have always existed some individuals among different desomina^ns of Christians, who have aimed at a sal^ime spiritnality above visible objects and natural feelings, and attempted, by assiduous prayer, and abstraction from terrestrial things, to raise themselves to an intellectual contemplation of the Deity, and a sensible communion with him. Among them may particulariy be distinguished the Quietists, as tiiey called tiiemselves, from their considering a state of calm contemplativeness, and jNussive abandonment of themselves to the Divine will, as the highest pitch of vrisdom and virtue. These people increased so rapidly towards the end of the sixteenth century, undei* the influence of Michael de Molinos, a Spanish priest who resided at Rome, that they drew down upon themselves the eensures of the Pope, and suflered much persecution in consequence. Their doctrines were for some time after kept greatiy out of sight, or at least expressed TSL very guarded language. The open revival of them in the reign of Louis XIV. originated wkh Madame de Guyon, a lady descended from a lespectable fiamily, in possession of an ample fortune, and gifted by nature with all that is most lovely and most captivating in the fenuile form and mind. Left a widow very early in life, her morals remained to her dying day without reproach, not-* withstanding the endeavours of her enemies to throw odiam ^poQ them. Having placed herself under the spiritual direction of Father la Comte, who had been a disciple of Molinos, she became tinctured with hi? views; and having composed two works in illustration of them, she traversed great part of France, making every where friends and proselytes with inconceivable rapidity. At length she arrived in Paris, and her graces and her eloquence soon procured her admittance to the pri^'ate parties at the Hotel de Beaunlliers, where Madame de Maintenon used to dine once or twice a week, with the Duke de Beauvilliers, oneofthe most estimable noble-men Frdnce ever knew; his wife, a daughter of the celebrated Colbert, and their own immediate connexions. All ceremony and pomp were banished from these social and intellectual meetings. The Court was excluded from them; Fenelon alone ^^ras admitted, — a constant and a valued guest. In him Madame de Guyon found a willing hearer. She descanted before him on the pure and abstract love of God for his own perfection, and the exquisite bliss of a' soul absorbed in the contemplation of his goodness, and reigned to his will, and removed alike from all considerations of hope or fear. She touched a nerve of exquisite sensibility in her hearer, and it vibrated through his heart, which glowed within him as she spoke. Doctrines, sublime and peaceful in themselves, promulgated by a female of the first endowments, sanctioned by a man so eminent as Fenelon, and received by Madame de Maintenon, in the zenith of her power, all but the acknowledged consort of the King of France, — doctrines widi such advantages, could not fail of becoming popular. The Court itself soon exhibited the singular spectacle of an assemblage of fashionable oontemplatifits w^ting for pious ecstasies and beatific visions. The cletgy became alarmed at the prospect of a religion being diffused, which struck at the root of all forms and ceremonies. They pronounced it a dangerous innovation, chimerical in theory, sttbirersive in practice of the true spirit of religion, and leading indirectly to a frightful laxity of morals, llie bigotry of Madame de Maintenon took the alarm at such a representation, and from that time she openly professed herself the enemy of Quietism, and of Madame de Ouyon. Fenelon, however, remained unshaken in his attachment to both^ and was in consequence involved in a controversy of the most afflicting nature; insomuch as he had in it for his bitterest opponent his venerable friend Bossuet, to whom he had for years looked up with almost filial reverence. It would swell this Memoir too much to enter into a minute examination of the merits of a dispute which, though for eighteen months retaining complete possession of the public mind throughout France and the Papal States, is now never alluded to or thought of, excepting to show to how mudi persecution a good man may be unjustly exposed, and how much his goodness will enable hmi to endure without repining.

In defence of Madame de Guyon, Fenelon had written the " Maxims of the Saints/' consisting chiefly of extracts from the writings of the early Fathers, respecting what is termed among the Mystics ** the hUerior life" This book, though abounding with the sublimest thoughts, drew down upon c iu author the heaviest indignities, llie wish te' place the doctrines of the Quietists in a candid point of view, was confounded with an attempt to vindicate all the errors and ahsnrdities into whidi. too literal an acceptation of them might lead: Fenelon was banished, notmthstanding the tears of the Dttke of Burgundyj who threw himself at the feet of his grandfather the King, entreating him not to send away his beloved preceptor. The royal displeasure was extended to every one who bore the name of Fenelon, or claimed consanguinity or friendship with him. The Pop^ himself, though sitting in judgment at that time' on the theological opinions of Fenelon, was shocked at the severity with which he was treated, and exclaimed to himself, with great emotion, when he heard of it, E»^ puienmt nepotem^ eapnikrwU ootunnguiMos, aepule^ rwU amioosi '* His nephew, his relations, hia friends,-* they have turned them all out of doors 1"' In ecclesiastical language, to be banished, simply means to coufinea Bishop to his diocese— exactly the place where he ought to be, according to honest Martin Luther, who says, ** Bishop means by the sheep, signifying that one in that sacred office ought never to be fur from his flock." It was well for Fenelon that he placed his greatest happiness in being among the people of his pasture. His banishment to Cambray was no banishjnenttohim, excepting as his friends were involved in his disgrace. He had suffered two years to elapse without paying a second visit to Court, after the first, where he bad been received by Louis with the highest marks of ^vour, on his retunf from the provfcnce of Poitou.

1.IFX OF FSHBLON. IS

•Re iHio could voiantarHy obteire an absence of that diir«tl(m> was not likely to be affected by one much longer, wfaidb was not of Us own welEing. Whilst Fendon was citt{^oyed at Oambrayin the dischai^ ■4ii every duty 6f his sacred office, and the exercise iof erary vittue that could tiirow a hol^radiance over Miz human character, the stiom: stOl raged from without. He was attacked on all sides, chiefly by fiossuet. Opinions were imputed to him which he Jind never entertained; he was compelled to exonerate faimsdf frdin them for the honour of religion ifaelf; he took up his pen reluctantly, but it was iSpped with fire, and wrought conviction in the Murts of his readers. At length his wrongs and mordflcatiohs reached their height. Hie Pope, leiridetttly against Ins will, if not against his judgment, Imt goaded on by the careless importunities of Louis XIV. v^o felt the simplidty of Fenelon's lisith, and the piurlty of his life, a reproof to his own tx>Bduct in both matters, at last pronounced sentence of condemnation agahist the ** Maxims of the Saints," and particularly against twenty-three of Jiie propositions contained in it, as liable to give of» lence to pious ears, erroneous in doctrine, and per- •nidous in practice. It was now that the character of Fenelon appeared in its lovdiest light. '* He who," to use the language of the Chancellor d'Aguesaeau, in a speedi which Prestdent Henault styles an eternal honour to his memory — '* He who had fought like a lion in defence <^ his work, whilst there was a chance of victory, or even of not being conquered, submitted in an instanjt, like the lowliest sheep of his flock." So implidtly did this adnteble Prelate bow before the reproof of htm whom he acknowledged as the head of the Church, reading it himself in his diocese, along with his own recantation, that his enemies would willingly have spread the idea that his acknowledgment of error was too prompt to be sincere; but the general tenor of his character made it far more improbable that it should be otherwise.

The dislike of Louis XIV. towards Fenelon was greatly increased by the publication of The celebrated romance of ** Telemachus," written by the Archbishop expressly for the instruction of the Duke of Burgundy. The pure morality of this work, the beauty of its descriptions, the tenderness of its sentiments, joined to its high tone of feeling, gave it an irresistible charm in the eyes of all impartial judges, and its merits were universally acknowledged by being translated into every language in Europe. But to the Court it presented a very different picture. They saw in it only a satire on their royal master and themselves. Calypso was supposed to be the Marchioness de Montespan; Eucharis, Mademoiselle de Fontanges; Telemachus, the Duke of Burgundy; Mentor, the Duke of Beauvilliers; Antiop^, the Duchess of Burgundy; Protesilaus, iLouvois; Idomeneus, our King James II.; and Sesostris, Louis XIV. Hence fresh indignities wei'e shown to Fenelon, and stabs were aimed at him in every part where he was thought most vulnerable. But with respect to injuries that affected himself alone, he might indeed be said to

" Bf ar 9. chiinned life;"

mod long after he bad felt the AiH measure of

** The faaogbty Boaib«a*s unreleDting hate/ he pot an apology for ike faults of kings into the mouth of Mentor, which appeared in a subsequent edition of *< Telemadius."

To fbUow Fendon hxto what the world might tern rethrment, and deem synonimous with disgvaoe, IS to foHow hhn into the lield of his most saeied duties, and the scene of his purest happiness. When he acquiesced in his nomination to the ArchtvlshopHc of Cambray, it was on the express conditfayii ^ait he should be allowed to reside nine months oat of tW€Sve in his diocese. Ilie permission, therelltt«, toremidn there constantly, however ungracious the form in which ft might be conveyed, was not hi itsdif l&ely to be unpleasing to him. '' How ntachmore fortunate would have been our lot,' he hafliflldd'to Bossuet, in one of his replies to his ve tterabteand powerful antagonist, '' if, instead of thus eonsuming our time ih itttamin^le disputes, we had btsen employed in our dioceses, in teaching the Cflt&* «faism,'8nd ^instruieting the villager to fear Ood and bless his holy name!" Fully ^d he prove the sineerity with which this was expressed, Uy the teal wMi Which he acted up to it; for fifteen years he Hved in Us diocese-^Hie blessing of an who came Wltfaln fans influents. He rose ei^y, sp^t the first pUrt of the mor^ng in devotion, and the remaindet* of it he gave to the spiHtual hxstructlon of those Who <came before him. At noon, he dined: his isMe'Was spread wFth an elegance and plenty sulti(Me to hiB 'rank, btit 4ifo own diet was spare tod shii|(te. He said j^ratse hhnself both 'before and c3 after dinner, with seriousness, but without affecta^ tion; his tried friend, the virtuous and faithful Abb^ de Chanteral, a relation with whom, he had long lived in the closest habits of friendship, and to whom he had entrusted the advocating of his cause at home, was invariably seated at his right hand. He admitted all his Chaplains to his table, and on all occasions treated them with that respect himself which he wished to see them receive from others.

The discourse during dinner was general, and strangers were struck with its ease and politeness. " No person," says the Duke de St. Simon, " ever possessed in a higher degree than Fenelon the happy talent of easy, light, and ever-decent conversation: it was perfectly enchanting. His mild uniform piety troubled no one, and was respected by all. No one felt his superiority: he placed every one on the same level with himself. Those who left him for a moment were impatient to return to him." After dinner, the company retired to a lai^ge apartment, where they continued the conversation for about an hour, whilst Fenelon occasionally signed papers that required dispatch, or gave directions to his Chaplains on the affairs of his diocese. He then retired to himself until nine o'clock, when he sup-ped. At ten, the whole of his houMhold assembled. One of his Chaplains said prayers for the night: when they were concluded, the Archbishop rose and gave his general blessing to the assembly, and this solemn rite closed a day of vutuous occupation and rational enjoyment. The only recreation Fenelon ever aUowed himself was walking in his garden, or in the country. Amidst the beauties of nature he found his mind refreshed, after the toils of business or of study, and his piety invigorated. '* The country," says he in one of his letters, " delights me. In the midst of it I find the holy peace of God. O what excellent company is God! with him one is never alone!" In these walks he often joined the peasants, sat down on the grass with them, talked to them, comforted them, went into their cottages, placed hunsdf at table with their families, and partook of their meals. The labouring peasantry were at all times the objects of his tenderest r^ard. His palace at Cambray, with all his books and writings, bemg consumed by fire, he bore the misfortune with unrui&ed calmness, and said it was better that his palace should be burnt to the ground than the cottage of a poor peasant. A Curate complained once to him diat his parishioners, notwithstanding his remonstrances, would dance on Sunday evenings, after the service was over, as is the custom in Catholic countries. *' My dear friend," replied Fenelon, ** neither you nor I should dance; but let us leave these poor people to dance as they please: thdr hours of happiness are not too niunerous." At the time that Qunbray was often ravaged by advancing and retreating armies, during the contest for the Spanish succession, he one evening met a young man in great afDiction on account of the loss of a favourite cow, which was moreover the sole support of his numerous family. Fenelon gave him money to purchase another; but the poor fellow could not cease weeping for the cow which his wife had millced, and his children loved, so LIVE OF FBMfit.«N.

«ad Which iie feai«d had Mien into the hands of (he enemy. Fenelon spok^ comfort to hhn, -mtd purstted his iway: but soon after paring widi Idm ife saw a cow^ which, from the descriptioii ^e had vecdved tyf it, he knew 'to be the same that was m^ bitterly lahiesfied; «nd thinking only of the )oy thttt the s%ht of il a^in would giv6 to the discontt^alie llttie cii^le to which it belonged, he dnnre it bade MmscJif, In a dark n^sht, to Hm young Oman's cot** t«|^. ** ThiB/' says the Cardinal de Maury, '' is peirha^s the ^est trait in Fenelon's life. Woe tp tiiose who rfead it Without being affected!" No Wmder that, "wi^ such feelhigs and such actions, Fenelon shouid have been beloved as WeU as re*- ter6d by the poor:; and that long alfter his dectth they should show the wooden chair on which he used to fflt when he visited them, and weep to tibink that thdy should '< see his fack no mote." It W«0 not onl^ 'by bis own people^ and his own eoimtiymen, that 'Fenelon was thus esteemed; the EngHshmen, Giermans and Dutch, whilst their troops 'OocnpiM Canibray, aH iivi^ed the Inhabit*- aats in tokenis of rener&tion for him. He visits every part of his diocese in as much security as if it had been at perfect rest. ** AH dis^nctions of rt^ Ugiontand sect," says M. de-Baussel), ' all feeHogs of fattSred or jeldousy^^^h divide nations, diSap- pealed in has ipresenoe. (He was^ften obliged to have!i«coarse to artifice to woiA the honours y^idk the amdes oi the enemy iiitendedlikn: he iefosed the military escorts w^oh were ofhreA him for his personal 'security In libe eaeercise>of his functions, and ^idthout any other attendantii-thah a few ecclesiastics, he traverse thecountries desolated by war. His way was marked by his alms and benefactions, and by the suspension of the calamities which armies bring. In these short visits the people breathed in peace; so that his pastoral visits might be termed the truce of God." The aisiictions inseparable from war called forth the exercise of all Fenelon's noblest qualities. ** Charity," says the Duke de St. Simon, *' was among his most striking virtues. It embraced equally the rich and the poor, his friends and his enemies. He found frequent call for the exertion of it in the crowds of sick and wounded, who, during the wars in Flanders, were carried in great numbers to Cambray. He regularly visited the hospitals, paid the utmost attention to the subaltern officers, and lodged a considerable number of the principal officers, when they were ill, in his own palace. Like a true shepherd of Christ, he watched continually over their spiritual welfare. The polished manners which he derived from hishabitsof highlifewon them to him, and they never had reason to repent of the confidence they reposed in him. In sickness or in health, they always found him willing to listen to their humble confessions, and anxious to replace them in the path of virtue. If the lowest person in the hospital requested his attendance, Fenelon never refused to go to him. The corporeal necessities of the soldiers were equally an object of his compassionate zeal. Broths, meat, medicines, comfortable food of every description, and always of the best kind, were sent them in well-regulated plenty from his palace; and he presided at the consultations of the physicians with the tender i9 Umft 01P t-flMSlOH.

ftdidtttde of a warm and generous friebd. It is Uapossible to concelre how greatly he became the id0| of the military) and how Vei^illeB, in spite of her stern maist^, resoubded ^th his name: HDthap-' pened that the commissariat was in extreme want of eom for tine troops: the ArchbL^op empttc$d iito granaries for theh* subsistence, and feftised aiiiy re« mmieration. Even Louis himself on thdt occasion became his panegyHst^ His diarity and pdUte attetttions extended equally to (iie pHsoners of war M to his cotrntrymeft. In eSL he did there was an indeseribable propriety; ifhe true episcopal character appeared in it, and Virtue lierscif became more beautiM^ from Fetielon's manner of beimg tlr-^ tooas."

To the war Fencion was indditied for the great gratifictttidn of seeing once more his beloved pupil, Afe l)uke of Burgundy^

Louis XIV. gave, in 1702, the command of the' troops in Flanders to diat Prince, Who petitioned lilm with so much earnestness to 1>e allowed, on his way to the army, to see Fenelon, thatt tii^ moftardi, ashamed perhaps 6f refusing a request so laudaible in itself, consented on the express condition that their intervfew ^lould be in pMk. The Didce apprised his beloved preceptor of the petmis^n. In a letter that breathed the Uteliest sentiments of gratis tude and esteetai. The meeting took place at a puUic cHnner at the toWn-house of Oitmli^ay; b«it tlte nuinl)er Of eyes "^t were toed upote them, the eonsciottsnerfs they (tSt that every wordlSiey lAlteftred wte liable to be nepeated, atad f^erhapls #nsrepresmited, and the wearisome reslnin^i to whidf

UKi OP FBtlELtW. S3 t)^ e^iqm^tte of Ik formi^ assembly suliile^ted them, i^der^ l4ua interview of lUtle effect, ^xc^tlitg a* 6\jr df thie eloquence of looks^ and the saored syml^a^ ihaX exists between souls of kindred excels We, drc^ them together. The Duke took oane, «e?eitheles8, to testify to aU present; the eiteem in vi^ich he held the Archbishop, who, when dinnev "was <^er^ pi;esented him with a napkin to wipe his ^d8> rn>^. Duke received it, and then returned Ij^ to hjn^, saying, in, a voice sufficiently elevated to W heaind throughouti the whole room« '* I am senSibley my Lord. Archbishop, wh^t I owe to you, and yQ)|i,k9aw what I am/' This preceptor, so valuable, so hi4^ndeat-*r-this pupil, so grateful and so docile,-— aewr mpt again, excepting once for a short time; bnt their oprrespondwce was a treasure of profound adi^ on one side, and of willingness and aptness to profit by it on the other. The April after thia mteivi^w had taken place between Fenelon and the Puk§ of i3urgun.dy, the death of the D9iu>hin brought the Duke forw^ as the immediate heir to the throne of France; and the important situar tipn in. which he stood obliging him to. make an effort, and throw otf the rcaerve in which he had befiore veiled his virtues and his acquirements, ^e 4fiil^ted nation saw, in the graceful and engaging young man who was one day to rule over them, the complete model of every thing that could be desired in a sovereign. It may easily be imagined that Fenelon, the acknowle<^sed ^vourite of a Prince so bek>ved, soon experienced the different light in which he was now viewed at Court. He reiq^^ed in his beloved retirement as usual; but tho

Toice of flattery pierced his retreat on all sides, though it made no impression on his ear; and his levee at Cambray was crowded by the very courtiers who, at Verssdlles, had been the first to abandon his interests. Unfortunately, the Duke of Burgundy was not permitted to realize the lofty hopes his excellencies had inspired. He died in 1712, regretted by the whole kingdom, but above aQ by Fenelon, who lost in him the dearest object of his earthly affections — a loss, however, to which he sub-mitted with such pious resignation, that amidst the tears of anguish which it drew forth from the frailty of afflicted natui'e, he exclaimed, <' Would only moving a straw restore him to life, I would not do it, as it is the Divine pleasure that he should die!" The eyes of this lamented young Prince were scarcely closed, when his grandfather, the King, ordered his papers to be brought him, and having examiued them with great attention, he burned them all with his own hands. Among them perished all the noble and disinterested efiusions of Fenelon to his pupil, excepting one important production, entitled Directions /or the Conscience of a King, which, happening to be in the hands of the Duke deBeauvilliers; escaped the flames. Its merits, however, rendered it criminal in the eyes of the Court of Versailles; and it was not until the reigii of Louis XVI. that leave could be obtained for it to be printed at Paris.

Two years after the death of his beloved pupil, Fenelon himself expired at Cambray, of an inflammation of the chest, in the 65th year of his age. He died, as he had lived, full of humility and love

— lamented by all who had known hlin— and exemplifying the mean he had always observed between prodigality and avarice^ by leaving behind him neither debts nor money. The remembrance of his virtues was all he had to bequeath to his relatives and friends, and the example of them had been so efficacious in his life-time, that all who bore his name, or were admitted into intimacy with him, were eminent for their good and honourable qualities. In person, Fenelon was tall and graceful; his eyes beamed with intense and holy radiance; his countenance exhibited marks of sevei-e study, but was likewise distinguished by a peculiar delicacy of expression, and correspondence of one feature with another; like his manners, it combined the most opposite traits of character, but none of them contradicted the other. He appeared alternately the doctor in divinity, the bishop, and the nobleman. Id conversation he was eloquent, yet always natural; full of wit, with judgment to proportion it exactly in the degree in which it might be pleasing to the parties to whom it was addressed, and possessing a singular talent of expressing intelligibly the most abstruse ideas. As a preacher, ~he was zealous to inform, and patient to amend; as a writer, he charmed by the grandeur and delicacy of his sentiments, the fertility of his genius, the correctness of his taste, and a^ve all by his exquisite sensibility. Next to Telemachus, his principal work is his '* Dialogues on Eloquence in general, and on that of the Pulpit in particular." His Letters are likewise exquisitely touching, and abound with profound and delicate observations. His " Demon-

2fi LIPB OF BENELON.

tiratiQiis. of the £xkfe«noe of a God" ia finuight with piety and doquenoe^ and his ^* Thoughts oa the Kducation of Daughters" is writt^ with all the feeling which was so constituent a feature ia his diapoaition, and all the knowledge of the female character which his siti^ion of Confessor to a community of that sex had particularly enabled him to acquire. His theological works are only partially interesting in the present day; being chiefly his arguments in defence of Quietism, and his controversies with the Jansenists: hut his '< IMalogaes. of the Dead/' and his '' Abridgment of the Lives of the Ancient Philosophers/' written, as well as his ** TelemachuSy" expressly for the instruction of the Duke of Burgundy, will always be regarded as lessons fraught with good sense and instruction in the most delightfiil form. Respecting the '' Lives of the Ancient Philosophers/' as accompanying this Memoir, a few remarks may not he misplaced. When it first made its appeai^ance, though under the modest title of an Abridgment, and m-deed to he considered as a masterly sketch, rather than a finished work, it yet made the public acquainted, in the most agreeable manner, with a body of valuable information before accessible only to tiie learned. In this respect, time has no lyay lessened its worth — ^many more elaborate works on the same subject have appeared, but not one where-m such treasures of wisdom are offered in so concise a form. Every page is fraught with curious fiicts and valuable truths. The Philosophers of modem times can bring scarcely any observation into the field of morality, but what has been made before them by the iUnstrious men whoie li^es are given in the ensning pages; and in seeking for our information at the fount of the ancients, we liave a chance, at least, of drinlcing from a spring unpoUuted by envy or misrepresentation.

In offering, therefore, a new translation of Feoelon's '' Lives of the Andent Philosophers" to the public, we seek only for that meed of approbation which is due to every one ^o, in a reading age like the present, endeavours to render productions which combine instruction and amusement, accessiUe to all ranks of the community, by presenting them in a form cheap, portable, and pleasing.

LIVES

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ANCIENT PHILOSOPHERS.

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ANCIENT PHILOSOPHERS.