FENELON AS DIRECTOR.--HIS QUIETISM.--MAXIMS OF SAINTS, 1697.--FENELON
AND MADAME DE LA MAISONPORT.
Madame Guyon was not apparently the extravagant and chimerical person
that her enemies pretend, since, on her arrival at Paris from Savoy,
she managed to captivate and secure, at her first onset, the man, of
all others, the most capable of giving a relish to her doctrines--a man
of genius, who, moreover, had an infinite fund of sagacity and address,
and who, independently of all these merits, possessed what had
dispensed, if necessary, with every other qualification, being, at that
time, the director the most in vogue.
This new Chantal required a St. Francois de Sales; she found one in
Fenelon, who was less serene and innocent, it is true, and less
refulgent with boyhood and seraphic grace, but eminently noble and
shrewd, subtle, eloquent, close, very devout, and very intriguing.
She laid her hands upon him, seized and carried him by an easy assault.
This great genius, whose mind was stored with every variety and every
contradiction, would probably have continued to waver, had it not been
for this powerful impulse that forced him all on one side. Till then
he had wandered between different opinions, and opposite parties and
communities, so that every one claimed him as his own, and thought to
possess him. Though assiduous in courting Bossuet, whose disciple he
said he was, never leaving his side in his retirement at Meaux, he was
not less friendly to the Jesuits, and, between the two, he still held
fast to Saint-Sulpice. In his theology, at one time inclining towards
Grace, at another towards Free-will, imbued with the oldest mystics,
and full of the presentiments of the eighteenth century, he seems to
have had, beneath his faith, some obscure corners of scepticism which
he was unwilling to fathom. All these divers elements, without being
able to combine, were harmonised in his outward actions, under the
graceful influence of the most elegant genius that was ever met with.
Being both a Grecian and a Christian, he reminds us at the same time of
the fathers, philosophers, and romancers of the Alexandrian period; and
sometimes our sophist turns prophet, and, in his sermon, soars on the
wings of Isaiah.
Everything inclines us to believe, for all that, that the astonishing
writer was the least part of Fenelon--he was superlatively the
_Director_. Who can say by what enchantment he bewitched souls, and
filled them with transport? We perceive traces of it in the infinite
charms of his correspondence, disfigured and adulterated as it is;[1]
no other has been more cruelly pruned, purged, and designedly obscured.
Yet in these fragments and scattered remains, seduction is still
omnipotent: besides a nobleness of manner, and an animated and refined
turn of thought, in which the man of power is very perceptible under
the robe of the apostle, there is also what is particularly his own, a
feminine delicacy that by no means excludes strength, and even in his
subtilty an indescribable tenderness that touches the heart. When a
youth, and before he was tutor to the Duke of Burgundy, he had, for a
long time, directed the _newly converted_. There he had the
opportunity of well studying woman's character, and of acquiring that
perfect knowledge of the female heart, in which he was unrivalled.
The impassioned interest they took in his fortune, the tears of his
little flock, the Duchesses of Chevreuse, Beauvilliers, and others,
when he missed the archbishopric of Paris, their constant fidelity to
this well-beloved guide during his exile at Cambrai, which ended only
with his death--all this fills up the void of the lost letters, and
conveys a strange idea of this all-powerful magician, whose invincible
magic defied every attack.
To introduce spirituality so refined and so exalted, and such a
pretension to supreme perfection into that world of outward propriety
and ceremonial at Versailles, and this, at the end of a reign in which
everything seemed rigidly frozen--was, indeed, a rash undertaking.
There was no question here of abandoning one's self, like Madame Guyon
in her retreat among the Alps, to the torrents of divine love. It was
necessary to have the appearance of common sense, and the forms of
reason even in the madness of love; it was expedient, as the ancient
comic writer says "_to run mad with rule and measure_." This is what
Fenelon attempted to do in the _Maxims of Saints_. The condemnation of
Molinos, and the imprisonment of Madame Guyon at Vincennes, were a
sufficient lesson: he declared himself, but with prudence, and though
perfectly decided, maintained an outward show of weak indecision.
Nevertheless, with all his skill, cunning, and prevarication, if he
differs from the absolute Quietists whom he affects to condemn, it is
less in any fundamental part of doctrine, than the degree in which he
admits that doctrine. He thinks he goes far enough in saying, that the
state of quiet in which the soul loses its activity is not a
_perpetually_, but an _habitually_ passive state. But in acknowledging
inaction to be both superior to action and a state of perfection, does
he not make us wish that the inaction might be perpetual?
The soul _habitually_ passive, according to him, is concentrated above,
leaving beneath her the inferior part, whose acts are those of an
entirely _blind_ and involuntary commotion. _These acts being always
supposed to be voluntary_, he avows that the superior part still
remains responsible for them. Will they then be governed by it? By no
means; it is absorbed in its sublime quietude. What, then, is to
interfere in its place? What is to keep order in this lower sphere,
where the soul no longer descends? He tells us plainly--_it is the
director_.
His modification of Molinos in theory is less important than it seems
to be. The speculative part, with which Bossuet is so much occupied,
is not the most essential in a point where practice is so directly
interested. What is really serious is, that Fenelon, as well as
Molinos, after having traced out a great plan of regulations, has not
enough of these rules; he has to call in, at every moment, the
assistance of the director. He establishes a system; but this system
cannot work alone; it wants the hand of man. This inert theory
continually requires the supplement of an especial consultation, and an
empirical expedient. The director is a sort of supplementary soul for
the soul, who, whilst this last is sleeping in its sublime sphere, is
leading and regulating every thing for it in this miserable world
below, which is, after all, that of reality.
Man, eternally man! this is what you find at the bottom of their
doctrines in sifting and compressing them. This is the _ultima ratio_
of their systems. Such is their theory, and such their life also.
I leave these two illustrious adversaries, Fenelon and Bossuet, to
dispute about ideas. I prefer to observe their practice. There, I see
that the doctrine has but a little, and man a very great part. Whether
Quietists or Anti-quietists, they do not differ much in their method of
enveloping the soul, and lulling the will to sleep.
During this contention of theories, or rather before it began, there
was a personal one, very curious to witness. The stake in this game,
if I may use the expression, the spiritual prize that both sides
disputed, was a woman, a charming soul, full of transport and youth, of
an imprudent vivacity, and ingenuous loyalty. She was a niece of
Madame Guyon, a young lady whom they called Madame de la Maisonfort,
for she was a canoness. This noble, but poor young lady, ill-treated
by her father and stepmother, had fallen into the cold political hands
of Madame de Maintenon. Either for the vanity of founding, or in order
to amuse an old king rather difficult to entertain, she was then
establishing Saint-Cyr, for the daughters of noble families. She knew
the king was ever _sensible_ to women, and consequently let him see
only old ones or children. The boarders of Saint-Cyr, who in the
innocency of their sports gladdened the eyes of the old man, brought to
his mind a former age, and offered him a mild and innocent opportunity
for paternal gallantry.
Madame de Maintenon, who, as is well known, owed her singular fortune
to a certain decent harmony of middling qualities, looked out for an
eminently middling person, if one may use the expression, to
superintend this establishment. She could not do better than to seek
him among the Sulpicians and Lazarists. Godet, the Sulpician, whom she
took as director both of Saint-Cyr and herself; was a man of merit,
though a downright pedant; at least Saint Simon, his admirer, gives us
this sort of definition of him. Madame de Maintenon saw in him the
blunt matter-of-fact priest, who might insure her against every sort of
eccentricity. With such a man as that, one would have nothing to fear:
having to choose between the two men of genius who influenced
Saint-Cyr, Racine the Jansenist, and Fenelon the Quietist, she
preferred Godet.
Those who are ignorant of its history would have only to look at the
mansion of Saint-Cyr, to discern in it at once the real abode of
_ennui_. The soul of the foundress, the domineering spirit of the
governess, is everywhere perceptible. The very look of the place makes
one yawn. It would be something, if this building had but a sorrowful
character; even sadness may entertain the soul. No, it is not sad, yet
it is not the more cheerful on that account; there is nothing to be
said against it, the character and the style being equally null; there
is nothing one can even blame. Of what age is the chapel? Neither
Gothic nor the _renaissance_, nor is it even the Jesuit style.
Perhaps, then, there is something of the Jansenist austerity? It is by
no means austere. What is it then? Nothing. But this nothing causes
an overwhelming _ennui_, such as one would never find elsewhere.
After this first short half-devout and half-worldly period, that of the
representations of Athalie and Esther, which the young ladies had
played too well, the school being reformed, became a sort of convent.
Instead of Racine, it was the Abbe Pellegrin and Madame de Maintenon
who wrote pieces for Saint-Cyr; and the governesses were required to be
nuns. This was a great change; it displeased Louis XIV. himself, and
ran the risk of compromising the new establishment. Madame de
Maintenon seems to have been aware of this, and she looked out for a
_foundation-stone to her edifice_, a living one--alas! a woman full of
grace and life!--It was poor Maisonfort, whom they decided to veil,
immure, and seal up for ever in the foundations of Saint-Cyr.
But she whose will was law in everything, was unable to do this.
Lively and independent as was La Maisonfort, all the kings and queens
in the world would have been unsuccessful. The heart alone, skilfully
touched, was able to induce her to take the desired step. Madame de
Maintenon, who desired it extremely, made such vigorous efforts, that
they surprise us when we read her letters. That very reserved person
throws her character aside in this business: she becomes confiding, in
order to be confided in, and does not fear to avow to the young girl,
whom she wishes to make disgusted with this life, that she herself, in
the highest station in the world, "is dying of sadness and _ennui_."
What proved to be much more efficacious, was their employing against
her a new director, the seducing, charming, irresistible Abbe de
Fenelon. He was then on very good terms with Madame de Maintenon;
dining every Sunday with her in the apartments of the Duchesses de
Beauvilliers and de Chevreuse, where, all alone, without servants, they
served themselves, that they might not be overheard. The inclination
La Maisonfort felt for this singular man was great, and authority
ordered her to follow this inclination: "See the Abbe de Fenelon,"
Madame de Maintenon would write to her, "and accustom yourself to live
with him."
Kind order! she followed it but too well:--sweet custom!--With such a
man, who animated everything by his personal charm, who simplified and
facilitated the most arduous things, she did not walk, but fly, between
heaven and earth, into the tepid regions of divine love. So much
seduction, sanctity, and liberty at once--it was too much for her poor
heart!
St. Simon tells us by what method of espionage and treason Godet proved
the presence of Quietism in Saint-Cyr. There was no need of so much
cunning. La Maisonfort was so pure as to be imprudent. In the
happiness of this new spirituality, into which she entered with her
whole soul, she said much more than was required of her.
Fenelon, suspected as he had then become, was still left with her, till
she had made the important step. They waited till, under his
influence, and in spite of her own protestations and tears, she had
taken the veil, and heard the fatal grate shut behind her.
Two meetings were held at Saint-Cyr, to decide on the destiny of the
victim. Godet, supported by the Lazarists, Thiberge, and Brisacier,
decided she should be a nun, and Fenelon, who was a member of this fine
council, made no opposition. She herself has informed us, that, during
the deliberation, "she retired before the holy sacrament in a strange
agony; that she thought she should have died of grief, and that she
passed the whole of the night in a flood of tears."
The deliberation was merely a matter of form; Madame de Maintenon was
resolved; and obey they must. Nobody at that time was more at her
command than Fenelon. It was then the decisive crisis of Quietism.
The question was no less than to know whether its doctor, writer, and
prophet, unpalatable as he was to the king, who, however, did not yet
thoroughly know him, would be able to acquire, before his doctrine
burst forth, that position of a great prelate in the church, to which
all his supporters were hurrying him. Hence sprung his unlimited
devotedness to Madame de Maintenon, and the sacrifice of poor
Maisonfort to her omnipotent will. Fenelon, who knew perfectly well
how little she was inclined to this vocation, sacrificed her, certainly
not to his personal interests, but for the advancement of his doctrines
and the aggrandizement of his own party.
As soon as she had taken the veil, and was immured for ever, he became
more and more distant; for she was frankness itself, and by her
imprudence did harm to his doctrine, which was already sharply
attacked. He did not need so compromising an alliance, but what he
wanted was political support. In his last extremity he addressed
himself to the Jesuits, and took one of them for his confessor; for
they had taken the precaution to have some on both sides.
To fall back from Fenelon to Godet, and undergo his blunt and harsh
direction, was more than the new nun could support. One day, when he
came to her with the little decrees and petty regulations which he had
composed with Madame de Maintenon, La Maisonfort could contain herself
no longer, but spoke out, before him and the all-powerful foundress,
all the contempt she felt for them. A short time after, a letter with
the king's seal expelled her unfeelingly from Saint-Cyr.
She had defended herself too successfully against such persons as
Godet, Brisacier, and others of the hostile party. Though abandoned by
Fenelon, she endeavoured to remain faithful to his doctrines, and was
determined to keep his books. They were obliged to invoke the most
powerful man of the time, Bossuet, in order to bring the rebel to
reason. But she would not receive even his advice, till after she had
asked Fenelon whether she might do so. He replies to this last mark of
confidence, I regret to say, by a dull, disagreeable letter, in which
are shown but too plainly his jealousy, and the regret he feels in
seeing one, whom he had abandoned, pass under the control of another.
[1] A bishop, at that time an inspector of the University, boasted
before me (and several other persons, who will be witnesses if
necessary) that he had burned some of Fenelon's letters.