PRECEPTOR TO THE PRINCE.
Louis XIV, being bent upon the subjection of the Huguenots, and knowing
full well that violence alone could accomplish the matter only in part,
cast about in his mind for a suitable person to undertake the milder
rôle of persuasion. Fénelon had already attracted notice both by his
good work at the community of New Catholics and also by the treatise
which he had written in defense of the Apostolic Succession. So when
Bossuet suggested him as a suitable commissioner for the districts of
Poitou and Saintonge, in the West, not far from the Protestant
stronghold of La Rochelle, districts where great confusion and
irritation prevailed, and where only a tender, judicious hand could hope
to guide matters, the king very gladly made the appointment. Fénelon,
before accepting it, made two stipulations. One was that he should be
allowed to choose his fellow-workers. He selected the Abbé de Langeron,
his lifelong friend, the Abbé Fleury, the well-known historian, the Abbé
Bertier, and the Abbé Milon, who later on became respectively Bishops of
Blois and of Condom. The other stipulation was that the troops, together
with all that savored of military terrorism, should be withdrawn before
he entered on what should be solely a work of peace and mercy. There had
been terrible doings and violent outrages with which Fénelon could have
no sympathy. There is no doubt whatever upon this point. His own words
are abundantly on record. Although the country was so disturbed, he
positively refused a military escort; and when the king represented the
danger he might be exposed to, he answered: "Sire, ought a missionary to
fear danger? If you hope for an apostolical harvest, we must go in the
true character of apostles. I would rather perish by the hands of my
mistaken brethren than see one of them exposed to the inevitable
violence of the military." In a letter to a duke he says, "The work of
God is not effected in the heart by force; that is not the true spirit
of the Gospel."
He had the extremely difficult task of showing to Protestants whose
property had been pillaged, whose families had been scattered, whose
blood had been shed like water, the truth and excellence of the religion
of their persecutors. That this could be done to any very extensive
degree might well be questioned. But the missionaries were characterized
by ability, mildness, prudence, benevolence, and sound judgment, and
they did all that any reasonable persons could expect. The people of
these provinces were amazed to see men of high birth and position
leaving the court and capital to come among them. They supposed that, at
all events, such men would be luxurious and haughty, as they had been
told; but when, on the contrary, they saw the missionaries nothing but
lowly, self-denying, simple-mannered priests, whose real aims seemed to
be the temporal as well as spiritual advantage of those among whom they
lived, prejudice began to melt away. In February, 1686--the mission
began in December, 1685, and lasted till July, 1686, being renewed for a
few months in the next year, May to July, 1687--Fénelon wrote to the
Marquis de Seignelai, Secretary of State, and brother to the Duchess de
Beauvilliers: "In the present condition of men's minds we could easily
bring them all to confession and communion if we chose to use a little
pressure and so glorify our mission. But what is the good of bringing
men to confession who do not yet recognize the Church? How can we give
Jesus Christ to those who do not believe they are receiving Him? We
should expect to bring a terrible curse upon us if we were satisfied
with hasty, superficial work, all meant for show. We can but multiply
our instructions, invite the people to come heartily to sacraments, but
give them only to those who come of their own accord to seek them in
unreserved submission. I must not forget to add that we want a great
quantity of books, especially New Testaments." Again he writes later:
"The corn you have sent so cheaply proves to the people that our charity
is practical. It is the most persuasive kind of controversy. It amazes
them, for they see the exact reverse of all their ministers have taught
them as incontrovertibly true. We need preachers to explain the Gospel
every Sunday with a loving, winning authority; people brought up in
dissent are only to be won by the words spoken to them. We must give New
Testaments profusely everywhere, but they must be in large type; the
people can not read small print. We can not expect them to buy Catholic
books. It is a great thing if they will read what costs them nothing;
indeed the greater proportion can not afford to buy." He wrote also to
Bossuet in March, 1686, "Our converts get on, but very slowly; it is no
trifling matter to change the opinions of a whole people." It is very
evident that Fénelon had the most sincere desire for the conversion of
the Protestants, believing, of course, as he did, from the bottom of his
heart, that they were destined to eternal woe. Brought up in the
atmosphere in which he was, he could not possibly sympathize with their
position, could not regard their heroism as other than obstinacy. But
such was the natural mildness of his disposition and his acquaintance
with the demands of genuine religion, that he could in no way be content
with a merely nominal acquiescence or consent, and with the use of that
force by which such acquiescence was obtained.
His mission to Saintonge has been called a dark page in his life. Yet
the strongly prejudiced writer who so characterizes it says in the same
connection, after referring to Fénelon's firm stand against violence and
the forcing of conscience: "To us this measure of clemency seems bare
and scanty enough; in Fénelon's own time it was both unusual and
effective. His counsels of mercy had weight with the minister, and led
to the suppression of various abuses, civil as well as ecclesiastical.
They manifestly gained for him the affection of his proselytes, and,
stirring up against him the bile of the more rigid Catholics, seem to
have stood in the way of his promotion to the bishopric." It was a
little after this that he was appointed to the See of Poitiers, which
was the chief city of Poitou, but De Harlai, who by this time was
anything but a friend, succeeded in getting it immediately revoked; and
the next year the archbishop was again successful in his unworthy
maneuvers. The Bishop of Rochelle had been greatly impressed by the zeal
and gentle wisdom of the young missioner, and he now came to Paris,
without giving Fénelon any hint of his intention, to ask the king to
appoint him as Coadjutor Bishop of Rochelle. It would have been done but
for the insinuations of De Harlai that the attraction between the two
men was a mutual leaning to Jansenism, and as this was always a sore
point with Louis, he at once refused to make the appointment. Fénelon
might easily have refuted these assertions--for there was not a word of
truth in them, as his close friendship with Bossuet, Tronson, and
others, showed--but he did not take the trouble so to do. He was not
ambitious of dignities.
Was his mission to Saintonge and Poitou a dark page in his history? We
can hardly look upon it in this light. It seems to us that he comes out
of it with considerable credit. Can we take it amiss in him that he was
a stanch adherent of the Roman Catholic Church, not only at this time,
but throughout all his life? Not if we are reasonable, and do not demand
miracles where there is no occasion for expecting them. Shall we
withhold our admiration from those who do not rise entirely superior to
all their surroundings, and see things as we, in totally different
conditions, see them? In that case, dealt with after so harsh a
judgment, we ourselves might come off badly, and we should most
certainly have to bar out from our favor a very large proportion of the
men who have done the most for the world's advancement.
It was about this same time that Sir Matthew Hale in England (he died in
1676)--who was reckoned the best judge of his time, acute, learned,
sensible, setting himself strongly against bribery, one of the serious
vices of his age, a friend of Richard Baxter, an austere scholar,
leaning to the side of the Puritans--sentenced women to be executed for
witchcraft, and sent John Bunyan to jail for frequenting conventicles,
politely dismissing, without redress, his wife, who pleaded for his
discharge. And in our own time we have seen the Earl of Shaftesbury, who
did such wonderful things for the oppressed in some directions, most
bitter against the reformers in all other lines except his own, the
stanchest of Tories, and the most rigid of Churchmen, denouncing the
democratic principle as anti-Christian, and upholding the infamous
Conventicle Act, which forbade worship in a private house by more than
twenty persons. Similar inconsistencies can be pointed out in the record
of nearly all good men. What does it prove? Simply that it is given to
very few to rise much above the age in which they live, or to be at all
points independent of the impress placed upon them in their early years.
We see no reason to believe that Fénelon's attitude toward the
Protestants of his day was other than an entirely sincere and
conscientious one, such as might be fairly looked for in a person of his
surroundings.
It is possible to impute sinister and selfish motives to any, if one is
so disposed, but we see no benefit from this policy. It is not the way
we would wish to be treated ourselves. Almost every act of a man's life
is susceptible of an evil construction, if sufficient pains is taken and
sufficient force applied. But we can not join with those who appear to
delight in pulling down from their pedestals all that have been lifted
above their fellows in goodness by the general suffrage of mankind.
Truth, of course, is to be sought at all costs. But it makes a vast
difference from what standpoint the facts are approached, whether with
suspicion and aversion, or cordial appreciation and comprehension. There
is often an underlying dislike to a certain type of character or to
certain sentiments and opinions, because of the wide difference between
them and those which the writer himself holds and practices, which makes
it impossible that he should see them in an unbiased light. We can not
escape the conclusion that Fénelon has been treated by some recent
writers in this manner, and we protest against its unfairness.
It may be truthfully said that Fénelon, while doing faithfully what
appeared to him the duty of the hour on this mission, did not
particularly enjoy it. He had no love for life in the country or for the
work in which he was engaged. He longed for the quiet of his former
post, with its larger opportunities for study and reflection, and for
the time when he should be free to return to Paris. In a letter to
Bossuet he playfully threatens to bring suspicion of heresy upon himself
or "incur a lucky disgrace" that might give him excuse for his recall.
He was permitted, shortly after this, to go back to his place at the New
Catholics, where for some two years more he occupied himself in a quiet,
inconspicuous manner. Summing up the results of his controversial work
among the Huguenots, we are disposed to conclude, with one of his
biographers, that "if his moderation and humanity in an age in which
such qualities were not esteemed, were remembered against him when other
clouds were gathering, and contributed to his ultimate ruin, they add no
less grace to the record of his life, and must have deepened his
influence with those whose eyes were undimmed by prejudice and bigotry."
The most important period in the life of Fénelon was now to begin; that
for which the earlier years were but a preparation; that which would
color and dominate all his succeeding days. The time had come when the
little grandson of the king, the Duke of Burgundy, the hope of France
(for his father, the dauphin, was a failure, wholly incompetent to fill
any large place), should pass from the hands of nurses to masculine
rule. What could be of greater importance, considering how much was at
stake for the kingdom, than the proper selection of those who should
take this weighty charge? When the dauphin had been at a similar stage
of his education he was committed to the care of the Duke de Montausier
and Bossuet as the greatest and most celebrated men of their day. But
though they did their best, the course they took was not in all respects
well advised, and the results, at least, had not been satisfactory. This
would make the utmost care now all the more imperative. Happily the king
was fully alive to his responsibility, and, in addition to his own
penetration, had the benefit of good counsel in the matter. Madame de
Maintenon was now a power at court, and was using her influence in the
best directions. She was a warm friend of the Duke de Beauvilliers, who
also stood high in the good graces of Louis; for the monarch, in spite
of his own serious lapses from virtue, admired it in others, and knew
its importance with the young. The duke was accordingly made governor of
the royal grandchildren, Burgundy and his two younger brothers, with
unlimited power of nominating all the other officers about them and all
the inferior attendants. He had no hesitation as to the best preceptor
France could produce for the little prince, and immediately named
Fénelon, a choice which was loudly applauded by the public throughout
the kingdom. The people said that Louis the Great had once more outshone
all earlier monarchs, and shown himself wiser than Phillip of Macedon
when he appointed Aristotle tutor to his son. Bossuet was overjoyed at
the good fortune of Church and State, and regretted only that the
Marquis de Fénelon had not lived to see an elevation of the merit which
hid itself with so much care. It was a great surprise to the recipient,
who was leading his ordinary retired life, neither seeking nor expecting
court favor. It was a great gratification to his friends, who poured in
lavish congratulations. But M. Tronson, the wise old tutor from St.
Sulpice, wrote that his joy was mixed with fear, considering the perils
to which his favorite pupil would now be exposed. He says: "It opens the
door to earthly greatness, but you must fear lest it should close that
of the real greatness of heaven. You are thrown into a region where the
Gospel of Jesus Christ is little known, and where even those who know it
use their knowledge chiefly as a means to win human respect. If ever the
study and meditation of Holy Scripture were necessary to you, now indeed
they have become overwhelmingly indispensable. Above all, it is of
infinite importance that you never lose sight of the final hour of
death, when all this world's glory will fade away like a dream, and
every earthly stay on which you may have leaned must fail." This counsel
was most creditable to both tutor and pupil, showing a love stronger
than ordinary friendship. The post which seemed so dazzling and so
promising did indeed prove one of much danger as well as glory, but not
exactly in the way that the aged teacher anticipated.
The Duke of Burgundy, now seven years old, was, in the most emphatic
sense, an _enfant terrible_. He was very different from his heavy,
stupid father, inheriting some of his qualities, it is said, from his
mother, Mary Anne of Bavaria, a delicate, melancholy, unattractive
princess, passionate, proud, and caustic. Burgundy was a frail,
unhealthy creature, whose body lacked symmetry as well as his mind. One
shoulder very early outgrew the other, defying the most cruel efforts of
the surgeons to set it right, and doing serious mischief to his general
health. His nervous system was much deranged, so that he was subject to
hurricanes of passion. The least contradiction made him furious. He
would fall into ungovernable fits of rage even against inanimate
objects. He had an insatiable appetite for all sorts of pleasure. His
pride and arrogance were indescribable. Mankind he looked upon as atoms
with whom he had nothing in common; his brothers were only intermediate
beings between him and the human race. He had a quick, penetrating mind,
and a marvelous memory. He was stiff against threats, on his guard
against flattery, amenable only to reason; but by no means always to
that. Often when it reasserted itself, after one of his tornadoes, he
was so much ashamed of himself that he fell into a new fit of rage. He
was, however, frank and truthful in the extreme.
Such was the prince who--with his brothers, the Duke of Anjou,
afterwards Philip V of Spain, and the Duke of Berri--was committed
entirely to the care of Fénelon. When he accepted his new appointment he
abandoned all other offices and occupations, permitting himself no
distractions even of friendship, that he might concentrate all his
powers of insight and reflection upon his charges. Now, indeed, his
studies of education would be fully tested, and on the most conspicuous
conceivable field his theories must be reduced to practice. It is said
that "he pursued only one system, which was to have none." In other
words, he devoted his fertile mind to meeting the necessities of the
hour as they arose in his volatile, chameleon-like pupil, instead of
subjecting him to a Procrustean system which could only have had the
worst outcome. His facile pen was employed without stint in the service
of his pupil. Many fables, some in French, some in Latin, full of poetry
and grace, were written to convey special lessons to the little duke.
"Dialogues of the Dead" also were composed for the same purpose,
bringing in the principal personages of antiquity to converse on such
themes as would instruct in regard to history and morals. And all this
was but a preparation for "Telemaque," or Telemachus, composed for the
instruction of the heir to the throne, and endowed with such unfailing
charm by the beauty of its style and the admirable nature of its
sentences, that it has been read ever since in many nations and by many
classes. The same mythology is employed in it that was used by Homer and
Virgil, but refined by the knowledge of the Divine revelation and
adorned by a tincture of Christianity that runs easily through the whole
narrative. The best classical and moral maxims are placed before the
mind of the reader, animated with love and heightened with action. The
author shows that the glory of a prince is to govern men in such a way
as to make them good and happy; that his authority is never so firmly
established as in the love of his people; that the true riches and
prosperity of a State consists in taking away what ministers to general
luxury, and in being content with innocent and simple pleasures.
But, as may well be supposed, it was not the intellectual means
alone--the text-books that were prepared, the treatises that were
written, the pains taken with instruction--which most awaken our
admiration, but rather the good sense shown in the various special
expedients that were employed as from time to time they were found
adapted to the needs of the case. Every effort was made to relieve study
from tedium. Lessons were abandoned whenever the prince wished to begin
a conversation from which he might derive useful information. There were
frequent intervals for exercise. Learning was turned into a pleasure.
The real struggle was with his fiery temperament, which had been
hitherto so badly mismanaged, and which could only be met by patience
and gentleness with firmness. When one of the evil moods seized him, it
was an understood thing in the household that every one should relapse
into an unwonted silence. Nobody spoke to him if they could help it; his
attendants waited upon him with averted eyes as though reluctant to
witness his degradation through passion. He was treated with the sort of
humiliating compassion which might be shown to a madman; his books and
appliances for study were put aside as useless to one in such a state,
and he was left to his own reflections. Such a course was the
destruction of self-complacency; he ceased to find relief in swearing
when his hearers ceased to be disconcerted by his abuse, and, being left
to consider the situation in solitude, he saw himself for the first time
as others saw him. Gradually this treatment would bring the passionate
but generous child to a better mind, and then, full of remorse and
penitence, he would come to throw himself with the fullest affection and
trust upon the never-failing patience and goodness of the preceptor,
whom he almost worshiped to his dying day.
Fénelon had studied childhood, and knew how deeply rooted is the child's
fear of ridicule; in the prince it was exaggerated by his abnormal
vanity, and a system which showed him how he degraded himself, and lost
all shadow of dignity when he lost his self-control, was the surest to
produce a radical reform. There are still in existence two pledges of
his childish repentance, testifying to the difficulty with which his
faults were conquered. "I promise, on my word as a prince to M. l'Abbé
de Fénelon, that I will do at once whatever he bids me, and will obey
him instantly in what he forbids; and if I break my word I will accept
any kind of punishment and disgrace. Given at Versailles, November 29,
1689. Louis." This promise, in spite of the word of a prince, was
probably broken; for many months later he enters on another engagement
pathetic in its brevity: "Louis, who promises afresh to keep his promise
better. This 20th of September, I beseech M. de Fénelon to take it
again." He was at this time but eight years old. The child loved his
teacher passionately, and it was seldom that he did not yield speedily
to Fénelon's wise and loving discipline.
Once, however, there was a serious scene between them which appears to
have had a lasting influence upon the prince. Fénelon had been obliged
to reprove him with more than usual severity, and the boy, in his angry
pride, had resisted, exclaiming, "No, no, sir; I remember who I am, and
who you are." It was impossible to pass over such a speech and maintain
authority; but acting upon his own maxim, never to administer reproof
while either actor concerned is excited, Fénelon made no reply, and for
the remainder of the day preserved a total silence toward his pupil, who
could not fail to perceive by his manner that the usually indulgent
master was much displeased. Night came with no explanation. But the next
morning, as soon as the prince was awake, the abbé came into his room,
and, addressing him in a grave, ceremonious manner, very unlike the
usual easy tone of their intercourse, said: "I do not know, Monsieur,
whether you remember what you said to me yesterday, that you knew what
you are and what I am; but it is my duty to teach you your ignorance
alike of both. You fancy yourself a greater personage than I--some of
your servants may have told you so; but since you oblige me to do it I
must tell you without hesitation that I am greater than you. You must
see at once that there can be no question of birth in the matter. It is
one of personal merit. You can have no doubt that I am your superior in
understanding and knowledge; you know nothing but what I have taught
you, and that is a mere shadow compared with what you have yet to learn.
As to authority, you have none over me, whereas I, on the other hand,
have full and entire authority over you, as the king has often told you.
Perhaps you imagine that I think myself fortunate in holding the office
I fill about yourself; but there again you are mistaken. I undertook it
only to obey the king, and in no way for the irksome privilege of being
your preceptor. And to convince you of this truth I am now going to take
you to His Majesty and beg of him to appoint some one else whose care of
you will, I hope, be more successful than mine." This was no idle
threat; for Fénelon had always been determined to resign the tutorship
as soon as he felt himself to be failing in it; and the prince was
obliged to weigh his pride against his love. His love proved the
greater; for life had been very different with him since Fénelon came
into it, and no sacrifice of his vanity was too galling if he might
cancel his offense and keep his friend. Moreover, he was sensitive to
the last degree to public opinion and the faintest shadow of disgrace.
What would the world think of a prince who was so hopelessly naughty
that a man so universally admired and respected was forced to give him
up, and what would become of the poor little boy to whom his nearest
relatives were, after all, only "His Majesty" and "Monseigneur," if the
dear, kind preceptor, who loved him and devoted himself so entirely to
him, were to go away? Poor Louis! The storm broke out anew; but this
time it was of penitence and shame and regret, while with passionate
sobs and tears he cried out: "O Monsieur, I am so sorry for what I did
yesterday. If you tell the king he will not care for me any more; and
what will people think if you leave me? I promise, O I promise ever so
much, that you shall not have to complain of me if only you will promise
not to go." But Fénelon would promise nothing--the lesson would be lost
if it were not sharp--and for a whole day he allowed the duke to undergo
the pangs of anxiety and uncertainty. But at last, when his repentance
seemed unlikely to be soon forgotten, Madame de Maintenon's intercession
was admitted, and the preceptor consented to remain.
At a much later date Fénelon, writing about these days to a friend, said
of the prince: "He was sincere and ingenuous to a degree that one only
needed to question him in order to know whatever he had done wrong. One
day, when he was very much out of temper, he tried to conceal some act
of disobedience, and I urged him to tell the truth, remembering that we
were in God's sight. Then he threw himself into a great passion, and
said, 'Why do you put it in that way? Well, then, since you ask it so, I
can not deny that I did that,' whatever it was. He was beside himself
with anger, but still his sense of religious duty was so strong that it
drew forth the most humiliating acknowledgments. I never corrected him
save where it was really necessary, and then with great caution. The
moment his passion was over he would come back to me, and confess
himself to blame, so that we had to console him; and he was really
grateful to those who corrected him. He used sometimes to say to me,
'Now I shall leave the Duke of Burgundy behind the door, and be only
little Louis with you.' This was when he was nine years old. Directly he
saw me doing any work for him he wanted to do the same, and would set to
on his own account. Except in his moments of passion I never knew him
influenced save by the most straightforward principles and most strictly
in accordance with the teachings of the Gospel. He was kind and gracious
to all who had a claim upon him; but he reserved his confidence wholly
for such as he believed to be religious people, and they could tell him
nothing about his faults which he did not acknowledge with gratitude. I
never saw any one whom I should less have feared to displease by telling
him the harshest truths concerning himself. I have proved that by some
wonderful experiences."
It will be somewhat seen, we trust, from all this, how great was the
care and skill expended by Fénelon on his most responsible and difficult
task, and how near an approach he made to imparting a model education to
his pupil. To his religious training, of course, as well as to that
which was more intellectual, the greatest attention was given. It had a
large place in the many conversations held and the many books put into
his hands, chief among which were the Sacred Scriptures. The law of
self-denial and self-restraint was continually inculcated, that one must
learn to imitate the Divine Master if one would fulfill the purpose for
which life was given. The early religious impressions thus imparted were
so deeply wrought that they influenced his whole after life. He was
prepared with greatest care for his first communion, taking it earnestly
and devoutly, and for the rest of his life he was a regular and faithful
communicant, receiving the sacrament with a recollection and humility of
bearing which struck all beholders. A total transformation was wrought
in the royal pupil under the training given, a transformation which
amazed all who were conversant with it. The Duke de Saint-Simon,
speaking of what a prodigy was wrought in a marvelously short space of
time, how the most terrible qualities were changed into all the opposite
virtues, says: "From the beast which I have described there arose a
prince affable, gentle, moderate, patient, modest, humble, austere but
only to himself, attentive to his duties and sensible of their great
extent. His only object appeared to be to perform all his actual duties
as son and subject, and to qualify himself for his future obligations."
Madame de Maintenon, in one of her letters, gives the same testimony:
"We saw all those defects which alarmed us so much in the youth of the
Duke of Burgundy gradually disappear. Every year produced in him a
visible increase of virtue. So much had his piety changed him that, from
being the most passionate of men, he became mild, gentle, and complying;
persons would have thought that mildness was his natural disposition,
and that he was innately good." So great was the alteration in his
character and conduct that, had he lived to ascend the throne, the whole
world, as well as France in particular, would have been immensely the
gainer. Hence the limitless devotion with which Fénelon gave five or six
years of his life at the height of his powers entirely to the royal
children and the routine of their schoolroom duties, was by no means a
poor use of his great gifts and attainments. These years are extremely
important, both in his own history and the history of his country.
One other point deserves mention before we pass from this interesting
period of Fénelon's life. In entering on his office he laid down to
himself a rule, to which he rigidly adhered, never to ask of the court a
favor for himself, his friends, or his family. The virtue of this stands
out the more when we consider how very rare in those days was
disinterestedness, and that men were none the less esteemed because they
strove to profit themselves and their families to the utmost in whatever
position they filled. It is, then, not a little remarkable and
creditable that Fénelon actually continued in a state closely
approaching destitution; his means were extremely straitened for more
than five years after entering upon his honorable and responsible
position at court. His private revenue was very small, nothing at all
coming to him at this time from Carenac, which he describes as
"hopelessly ruined." No pecuniary income, one writer says, was attached
to his office; but this is hardly credible, and there are indications
that there was a salary, although, strangely enough, not an adequate
one. He kept a very small establishment, and it was with great
difficulty that he found means to meet his current expenses. Letters to
Madame de Laval, a daughter of his uncle, the marquis, and hence a
sister to him, who was his guide and counselor in money matters, show
this. He wrote to her, October, 1689, concerning the various economies
to which he was subjected, and the sale of his carriage and ponies.
Again, in March, 1691, he mentions having repaid one thousand francs out
of a debt of twelve hundred due Madame de Laval, and other sums to other
people. "I have made retrenchments," he says, "which are very unusual in
my position; but justice comes before all other considerations. I still
owe a considerable sum to my bookseller, and I must buy some plate to
repay you for the things you have loaned me which are worn out." He
speaks of getting his accounts into order that he may see his way in his
small economies and calculate how to go on. Again, in January, 1694, he
writes concerning a needy person whom he commends to Madame de Laval,
saying: "Although my necessities have never been so pressing as at
present, I beg you to take what is wanted for this man. I am tolerably
well, though very busy; but my purse is at the lowest ebb, through
delays in the payment of my salary, and the exceeding dearness of
everything this year. If I do not receive something shortly, I must
dismiss nearly all my servants. But I will not have you try to help me.
I would rather bear on. All the same, see that any money that can be
sent [from Carenac] reaches me after the more urgent alms have been
disbursed; for indeed I would rather live on dry bread than let any of
the poor of my benefice want."
This cousin became Fénelon's sister actually, as well as in name, by her
second marriage with his eldest brother, the Compte de Fénelon; and
probably it never cost him more to refuse anything than when he refused
her request that he would obtain a valuable military post for her son, a
child four years old. But, while eager to do anything he deemed right to
please her, he steadily refused to make the application she desired. He
writes: "I can not relax the strict rule to which I feel it right in my
position to adhere. I would do anything on earth for you or your son
that I can, but not to save my life would I ask for anything from the
king." Other letters that might be quoted speak the same language. It
was not till 1694 that the king seems to have remembered or discovered
how badly his grandsons' preceptor was provided for. In that year, at
last, he gave Fénelon the Abbey of St. Valery, which sufficiently filled
his purse. The king informed him of this in person, and apologized for
so tardy an acknowledgment of his gratitude. And the year before, 1693,
he was chosen a member of the French Academy, a high distinction; his
reception speech was made March 31st of that year. It was at this time,
also, that he became a considerable factor in the management of the
celebrated community at St. Cyr, known as the ladies of St. Louis, who
were pledged to a devout and holy life. Madame de Maintenon had
originated the idea of this foundation, with the special object of
educating and training five hundred girls, daughters of the poorer
nobility. It occupied a large share of her thoughts. Fénelon was
associated with Bourdaloue, the Abbé Godet des Marais, subsequently
Bishop of Chartres, and other eminent ecclesiastics in its government.
It was on February 4, 1695, that the king announced to Abbé de Fénelon
that he had nominated him Archbishop of Cambrai, one of the richest and
most important sees in the kingdom. He was taken entirely by surprise,
but at once replied, after expressing his thanks, that he could scarcely
rejoice in an appointment that would remove him from the preceptorship
to the princes. Whereupon Louis graciously answered that the abbé was
much too useful to be spared, and that his intention was that he should
retain both offices. Fénelon represented that the laws of the Church and
his own conscience made this impossible, as both required residence in
the diocese. But the king bore witness to his appreciation of Fénelon's
services by overruling this difficulty, and replying, "No, no; the
canons only require nine months' residence; you will spend three months
with my grandsons, and during the rest of the year you must superintend
their education from Cambrai just as you would at Versailles." This
point settled, Fénelon went on to say that if he was indeed to accept
the archbishopric he must resign the Abbey of St. Valery, an act of
disinterestedness which Louis altogether refused to allow. But Fénelon
quietly persisted, pointing out to the king that the revenues of Cambrai
were such as to make it an infringement of canonical law to hold any
other preferment with it. Such conscientious indifference to his own
interest excited a great deal of astonishment and gossip at court. The
Bishop of Rheims remarked that it was all very well for M. de Fénelon,
thinking as he did, to act thus, but that thinking as _he_ did, it was
better for him to keep his revenues. The age was thoroughly accustomed
to this plurality of benefices. In the previous century John of Lorraine
was at one and the same time Archbishop of Lyons, Rheims, and Narbonne,
Bishop of Metz, Toul, Verdun, Theroneune, Lucon, Alby, and Valence, and
Abbot of Gortz, Fecamp, Clugny, and Marmontier. He was also made a
cardinal a year or two before attaining his majority. This was doubtless
an extreme case, but there were plenty somewhat similar. So that
Fénelon's self-denying course meant a good deal more than it would at
the present day.
He was consecrated archbishop June 10, 1695, in the chapel of St. Cyr,
in the presence of a distinguished throng, among whom were Madame de
Maintenon and his three royal pupils. Bossuet was chief consecrator, the
Bishop of Chalons being first assistant, and the Bishop of Amiens
second. Fénelon's friends were delighted at this great advancement for
him; yet it was felt by many of them that he should have had the
Archbishopric of Paris, for already the popular voice had widely and
loudly nominated him. Some thought that he was sent to Cambrai by the
king for the express purpose of forestalling this clamor, and avoiding
any necessity for putting him in the more conspicuous and influential
place; for it was known that the post at Paris would soon be vacant,
and, if, at its vacancy, Fénelon had been still unplaced, the pressure
for his appointment there would have been very strong. As it was, M. de
Harlai died August 6, 1695, less than two months after Fénelon's
consecration. M. de Noailles, Bishop of Chalons, through the influence
of Madame de Maintenon, was given the position.
We have reached now what was, in a worldly point of view, the very
summit of Fénelon's prosperity and glory. It might seem that, humanly
speaking, he had very little, if anything, left to wish for, although,
of course, the cardinalate might fairly have been expected in a few
years. But the clouds were already beginning to gather which were soon
to break over his head in a storm never to clear away, so far as court
favor and the good things of this world were concerned. So a new chapter
must be devoted to these new experiences which had so very much to do
both with his temporal and spiritual affairs.