/t^^^^-(!^.^- f^3'S i? A. THE LIFE OF FENELON, ARCPBISHOP OF CAMBRAY; THE THIRD EDITION. rO WEICB. ARE ADDED, THE LIVES OF ST. VINCENT OF PAUL, AND HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON: A LETTIIR ON ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC: AND HISTORICAL MINUTES OF THE SOCIETY OF JESUS. By CHARLES BUTLER, Esq. Vv LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 1819. ^v^^rON GOLLE lo2B Luke Hansard & Sons, near Lincoln's-Inn Fields, Loudyn. TO THOMAS STONOR, ESQ. OF STONOR PARK, IN THE COUNTY OF OXFORD; THIS COMPILATION IS INSCRIBED; WITH THE HIGHEST SENTIMENTS OF ESTEEM AND GRATITUDE, BY HIS MOST OBLIGED, AND MOST HUMBLE SERVANT, CHARLES BUTLER. Liuculii's Inn, ") 15 August 1819. / THE LIFE OF FENELON, CHAP. I. PRINCIPAL WRITERS OF THE LIFE OF FENELON. T/TTITH the name of Fenelon, the most pleasing ideas are associated. To singular elevation, both of genius and sentiment, he united extreme modesty and simplicity ; unconquerably firm in every thing which he considered a duty,he displayed, both on great and ordinary occasions, a meekness, which nothing could discompose. In tlie midst of a voluptuous court, he practised the virtues of an anchorite ; equally humble and elegant, severe to himself and indulgent to others, a mysterious holiness hangs on his character and attracts our veneration, while his misfortunes shed over him a tinge of distress, which excites our tenderest sympathy. Not long after his decease, a short account of his hfe was pubhshed by the chevalier Ramsay, who had been the preceptor of prince Charles, the grandson of our James the second. The chevalier passed several years in the strictest intimacy with Fenelon, and, after Fenelon's decease, was entrusted by his family, with his papers. In 1734, a great nephew of Fenelon published memoirs of him, which are short, but contain some curious details. A third account of the life of Fenelon was published in 2 LIFE OF FENELON. 1 787, by father Querbeuf, an ex-jesuit. A life of Feneloji lias been published in four volumes octavo, by the car- dinal de Bausset, bishop of Alais at the beginning of the French revolution, and afterwards member of the im- perial chapter of the church of St. Denis at Paris. He seems to have had access to all the papers in the pos- session of the family of Fenelon, which could be of use to him, in the composition of his work. From the work of his eminence, the following account of the life of Fenelon is principally extracted. CHAP. n. FAMILY OF FENELON. The village of Salignac, from which the family of Fenelon took its title, lies at the distance of about two leagues from Sarl^t : in 1460, it was raised to a barony. On the decease of Anthony de Salignac, governor of Peregord and Limousin under John d'Albret, king of Navarre, it descended to his eldest son, and, on the decease of that son without issue male, it descended to his daughter and heiress. She married into the house of Birlo, and on her marriage it was stipulated that the descendants of it should use the surname and arms of Salignac, with their family surname and arms. The surname of Salignac was also used by the younger son of Anthony de Sahgnac. From him, Fenelon, the sub- ject of these pages, lineally descended. Bernard, his great grandfather, was sent ambassador by the court of France to queen Elizabeth ; and history mentions to his honour, that, when he was desired by his court to justify to her the massacre at Paris on St, Bartholomew's day, he refused the unwarrantable commission. LIFE OF FENELON. 3 Francis de Salignac de la Mothe Fenelon, whose life is now presented to the reader, was a son, by a second marriage, of Pons de Salignac, count of La Mothe Fenelon. The marquis de Fenelon, bis uncle, took on himself the charge of his education. The marquis's character appears to have been truly respectable. The grand Conde used to say of him, that " he was equally qualified for conversation, for the field, and for the cabinet." An idea maybe formed of the openness of his disposition, and the austerity of his principles, by what he said to M. de Harlai, on his nomination to the arch- bishoprick of Paris ; — " there is a wide difference, my right reverend lord, between the day, when the nomina- tion to such an office brings to the party the compliments of the whole kingdom, and the day, on which he appears before God, to render him an account of its administra- tion." M. Olier, the founder of the congregation of St. Sulpice, engaged the marquis in an extraordinary project. The law of duelling, was once, in France, as it was once in most other kingdoms of Europe, a part of the civil jurisprudence of the country. In 1547? a duel was fought by the count Guy Chabot and the count of Chaterguerai, in the presence of Henry the second and his court. The count of Chaterguerai was mortally wounded; his death affected the monarch so much, that he solemnly vowed not to permit another duel. Cardinal Richelieu repressed duelling by some extraordinary ex- amples of severity ; after his death, it burst out with great fury. M. Olier conceived a plan of supplying the insuflficiency of the law, by putting honour in opposition to itself. With this view, he formed an association of gentlemen of tried valour, who, by a writing signed with their hands, to which the solemnity of an oath was to be added, were to oblige themselves never to give or accept a challenge, and never to serve as seconds in a duel. B 2 4 LIFE OF FENELON. The marquis of Fenelon was placed at the head of the association ; and no one was admitted into it, who had not eminently distinguished himself in the service. On the Sunday of Pentecost, in the year 1651, in the midst of an immense concourse, they assembled in the church of St. Sulpice, and put into the hands of M. Olier, a solemn instrument, expressing their firm and unalterable resolution, never to be principals or seconds in a duel, and to discourage duelling to the utmost of their power. The grand Conde was struck with the proceeding; " A person," he said to the marquis of Fenelon, " must have the opinion which I have of your valour, not to be alarmed at seeing you the first to break the ice on such an occasion." Lewis the fourteenth seconded the views of the re- spectable pastor : he took a solemn oath not to pardon a duel ; and, in the course of his reign, published several severe laws against duelling. By the last of them he established a court, composed of the mareschalls of France, to hear and determine all cases of honour : they were invested with ample powders ; and the severest penalties were inflicted on those, who should give or accept a challenge, or otherwise disobey their decrees. Still duelling continued ; and the ordinance was eluded, by the distinction between duel and rencontre: the latter was supposed to be unpremeditated, and was therefore held not to fall within the laws against duelling, which was supposed to be premeditated. To prevent this evasion, Lewis the fifteenth published his ordinance of 1723, which, after confirming the laws of his prede- cessors against duels, provided, that though the rencontre were quite sudden and unpremeditated, the aggressor should be punished with death : but this ordinance had little effect. At length, good sense came to the aid of law; so that towards the end of that monarches reign, LIFE OF FENELON. 5 a duel was no longer essential to a character for personal honour and bravery. The law of duel c^ce also made a part of the Enghsh jurisprudence. In 1651, a duel was awarded by the court of chivalry between Donald Lord Rea, and Mr. David Ramsay, and all the preliminaries of place, time, and weapons were adjusted by his majesty's letters patent ; but, a few days before the combat was to have taken place, his majesty, by a letter, addressed to the^ lord constable and lord mareschall, revoked his letters patent, and enjoined the parties not to proceed to combat. Duelling was never so common in England as on the continent. It v/as a common observation of foreigners, . that many circumstances and expressions pass as matters of course in England, which would be considered heinous offences among them. They attribute it to the roughness of our political discussions in the house of commons, which influence, more than we ourselves are aware of, our manners in private life. The only instance, which occurs in the jurisprudence of England, of a person condemned capitally for a duel, is the case of major Oneby, reported by sir John Strange *, and that case was attended with circumstances of particular aggra- vation. The major prevented his execution by laying violent hands on himself, in the night which was to precede it. * (In his Reports, p. 766.) » 3 LIFE OF FENELOX, CHAP. III. THE YOUTH OF FENELON. — STATE OFTHE FREJSCH CHURCH AT THIS PERIOD. A. D. 1651. ^T. 1. Francis deSalignac dela Mothe Fenelon, archbishop of Cambray, was born in the castle of Fenelon, in Peregord, on the sixth daj^ of August, 1651. M. de Bausset informs us, that the early years of Fenelon were distinguished by many traits, both of courage and moderation, which were surprising in a child, and which w^e should read with pleasure, even in the life of a person less eminent. We wish he had communicated some of these to his readers, as every trait, indicating a future Fenelon, must be interesting. The same author informs us that Fenelon acquired, at a very early age, that charm of style, which so particularly marks his writings. As soon as his years permitted, he embraced the ecclesi- astical state. At this important part of the life of Fenelon, M. de Bausset stops to give a general view of the church of France at that period : we shall select from it the most striking parts of his account of the great rival bodies, the Jesuits and jansenists. ** The institute of the Jesuits," says M. de Bausset, " to which no other institution ever was or ever could be compared, for the energy, foresight, and depth of design, with which it was planned and conducted, was calculated to embrace in its vast functions, all the orders and classes of society, and all the elements, that make a part of its civil or religious powers. Versed in every species of knowledge, its members derived from it, that consideration, which superior talents and knowledge LIFE OF FENELON. 7 seldom fail to confer. The confidence, which roman catholic governments placed in the Jesuits, and the suc- cess of their general scheme of education, threw the instruction of youth almost exclusively into their hands. The severity of their manners, their temperance, their personal decency and disinterestedness, did them honour as religious men and citizens. These were never con- tested by their enemies; and they were a complete refutation of the charges of loose morality, so often imputed to them. The organization of the body was so perfect, that it neither had youth nor age. Immediately on its appearance, it formed establishments in every cathohc state, attacked the descendants of Lulher in all their subdivisions, and founded missions in the east, in the wilds of America, in the Indies, in China, and in Japan. At the end of two centuries, the order was in full vigour of maturity.'* *' By what spirit of frenzy," exclaims M. de Bausset, " did it happen, that the roman catholic governments, whom they served so well, deprived themselves of such useful defenders ? The silly and laughable charges against the Jesuits, which v/ere made a pretence for their disso- lution, are now scarcely remembered : but it is recol- lected, that their accusers dealt in general charges ; and that, while the heaviest accusations were brought against the whole body, nothing was proved against individuals. In every part of catholic Europe, public instruction ceased on the banishment of the Jesuits; this is equally acknowledged by their enemies and their friends." Such is M. de Bausset's account of the Jesuits, and such, to this hour, is the general language of roman catholics in their regard. He then presents his readers with a view of the jan- senists, confining it chiefly to these, who, from their residence in the convent of Port-royal or its neighbour- B 4 8 LIFE OF FENELON. hood, or from connections with them, obtained the ap- pellation of Port-royalists. — In every aera of the christian religion, the learned and the idle have attempted to sound the abyss of grace and predestination, and consumed their time in vain efforts to reconcile, with the infinite wisdom and goodness of the deity, the moral and natural evils which he foresees, and decrees, or permits. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, Michael Baius, the parent of Jansenism, a theologian of Louvain, was en- gaged in these abstruse speculations, and published a treatise on grace, which was condemned at Rome, and retracted by its author. He was supposed to allow too much to grace, and too little to free will. Molina, a Spanish Jesuit, entered the lists against him, and was accused of the opposite error. The cause was carried to Rome ; a congregation of cardinals was appointed to hear it : in the space of ten years, it was argued before them two hundred times ; it will surprise, or rather, will not surprise the reader, to be informed, that, after its two hundredth sitting, the congregation broke up with- out coming to a resolution on any of the points submitted to them. Undismayed by its want of success, Jansenius, bishop oi Ipres, after twenty-two years study, composed a large volume on the subject, in which, if he did not adopt the system of Baius, he adopted a system directly opposite to that of Molina. The Jesuits and their adherents at- tacked his work : five propositions were extracted from it, not as existing in it literally, but as containing the essence or ultimate tendency of its doctrines. They were formally condemned by the Pope, and the univer- sal church acquiesced in their condemnation. But the advocates of Jansenius rallied : they admitted that the propositions were erroneous, but denied that any of them were contained in the writings of Jansenius, or LIFE OF FENELON. g were fairly inferrible from his principles. This most important point, whether an jll-written book, of an ob- scure flemish prelate, contained five propositions on aa unintelligible subject, was the origin of a dispute, which continued for two centuries, and, at different limes, convulsed both the church and state of France to their centres. At the time, of which we are speaking, the partisans of Jansenius were numerous, active, and able. Among them, the family of Arnaud held a distin- guished rank. One of that family was abbess of Port- royal, a convent in a solitary uncultivated tract of land in the neighbourhood of Paris ; and several of her re- lations were members of the community. Tlie cele- brated Anthony d'Arnaud, the two Le M^itres, and Le Sa^y retired to the same spot, and were followed by several persons of rank and talent. They spent their wliole time in prayer and study; and their writings are amongst the ablest compositions in the french language. Their enemies admitted that they carried it to its per- fection, and fixed its standard. The reign of Lewis the fourteenth, so famous for its literary glory, produced no greater writers than those, who inhabited the solitude of Port-royal. Unfortunately for religion, literature, and science, too much of their time was consumed in advo- cating the cause of Jansenism. M. de Bausset then proceeds to give an account of the Sulpiciens, a community of secular priests, far inferior in renown to the Jesuits or jansenists, but not without considerable celebrity in their day. The account, which he gives of them, is most edifying. Avoiding public notice, engaging in no contest, resigning to others those good works, which confer celebrity, it was their object to be actively employed in the service of the church in her most obscure and humble functions ; and within that modest, but useful line of duty, their exertions were uni- 10 LIFE OF FENELON. formly confined. They had numerous establishments in France, and had existed one hundred and fifty years without the slightest abatement of their first fervour, when, at the beginning of the french revolution, they perished in the general wreck of what was most res- pectable or holy in France. M. de Bausset mentions, as a circumstance greatly to their honour, that during the whole term of their existence, their concerns never once became the subject of a suit at law. To the Jesuits, Fenelon was always greatly attached : from the janse- nists he always kept at a great distance ; nothing could be more contrary to his disposition, than their gloomy devotion and immoderate severity. His spiritual di- rector, M. Tronson, was superiour of St. Sulpice. This circumstance attached Fenelon to the sulpiciens, and his attachment to them continued through his life. CHAP. IV. FENELON IS ORDAINED PRIEST. A. D. 1676. ^T. 25. In the seminary of St. Sulpice, Fenelon was ordained priest: he passed the three following years in absolute retirement; after which, by the desire of the curate of the parish of St. Sulpice, he delivered, on Sundays and festivals, in the church of the parish, a course of familiar explanations of the old and new testament : these first made him known to the public. It appears that, in the fervour of his zeal, he once intended to transport himself to Canada, and devote his life to the conversion of the savages; and that afterwards, on finding his constitu- tion would not endure the cold of that climate, he LIFE OF FE^ELON. ] 1 ♦ hanged hisiesolution, and determined to dedicate him- self to the missions of the east. M. de Bausset favoui-s ws with a letter written by him, under this impression, which shows a mind saturated with religious and classical enthusiasm. " Several trifling accidents have delayed, till this moment, my return to Paris ; but now at last, I set off, and f almost fly. With this voyage in my thoughts, I have a greater voyage in contemplation. All Greece opens herself to me; the sultan retires in a fright; the Peloponnesus already begins to breathe in freedom. Again, will the church of Corinth flourish; again, will she bear the voice of her apostle. I feel myself trans- ported into these delightful regions ; and, while I am collecting the precious monuments of antiquity, I seem to inhale her true spirit. I search for the Areiopagus, where St. Paul preached the unknown God to the wise of the w^orld. But, after the sacred, the profane comes for her turn, and I do not disdain to enter the Pyreum, where Socrates unfolded the plan of his republic. 1 ascend the double summit of Parnassus ; I pluck the laurels of Delphos, I breathe the sweets of Tempe. " When shall the blood of the Turks lie mingled with the blood of the Persians, on the plains of Marathon, and leave Greece to religion, to philosophy, and to the €ne arts, which regard her as their natural soil? " Arva beata! " Petamus Arva, divites et insulae ! ** O island ! consecrated by the heavenly visions of the beloved disciple ; never shall I forget thee ! On your soil, I will kiss the footsteps of the evangelist, and fancy I behold the heavens open. Then, shall I be seized with indignation against the false prophet, who attempted to unfold the oracles of the true prophet ; 12 LIFE OF FENKLON. and return thanks to God, who did not destroy his church,, as he destroyed Babylon ; but chained up the dragon and crowned his church with victory. The schism disappears ; — the east and west are re-united ; — and Asia, after a long night, sees the day return to her. The land consecrated by the cross of Christ, and watered by his blood, is delivered from those, who profaned her, and is invested with new glories.— Fmally, the children of Abraham, scattered over the earth, and more nume- rous than the stars of the heavens, are collected from the four winds, and come in crowds to adore the Christ, whose side they pierced on the cross. " This is sufficient: you will rejoice to hear this is the last of my letters ; and the last of my enthusiastick flights, with which you will be importuned. " Fr. de Fenelon.'' While Fenelon lived in this happy state, he contracted an intimate friendship with two persons whose names, like his own, will reach the latest posterity, Bossuet and the Abbe Fleury. To the former, who was greatly his superior in years, and was then in the zenith of his great reputation, he particularly attached himself. Bossuet, denying himself to all others, used to permit Fenelon and Fleury to accompany him to Germigny, the country residence of the bishops of Meaux. They had stated hours of prayer, private study, and relaxation ; and, in these last, under the humble name of conversation, the bishop unfolded to them all his sacred and literary stores of knowledge. Nothing could exceed the bishop's re- gard for Fenelon, or Fenelon's veneration for the bishop. Who does not lament that the union of such men was ever dissolved ? LIFE OF FENELON^. 1 3 CHAP. V. FENELON IS EMPLOYED ON THE MISSIONS AMONG THE NEW CONVERTED PROTESTANTS. A. D. 1685. ^T. 34. It appears that Fenelon first attracted the favour of Lewis the fourteenth by his great success in the religious missions, which, on the revocation of the edict of Nantes, were undertaken, by the direction of that mon- arch, for proselytising the hugonots to the catholic religion, and confirming the faith of the new converts. By the edict of Nantes, Henry the fourth granted to the hugonots, the free exercise of their religion, and placed them nearly on an equality of civil rights with his other subjects. Their pastors were salarised at the expence of the state ; their churches were allowed to choose deputies, who were to hold assemblies for regu- lating their internal concerns ; and they were permitted to retain some fortified towns, and garrison them with troops of their own persuasion, as a security for the ob- servance of the edict. With some jealousy on the side of the catholics, and some discontent on the side of the hugonots, the edict was observed, during the reign of Henry the fourth, without either party's having any just cause of complaint. The edict was confirmed by his successor, immediately after his accession to the throne; but the hugonots were discountenanced, and had a very small share of the favours of government or the smiles of the court. This naturally increased their discontent, and their discontent was fomented by the difi'erent parties, wiio contended for the favour of the court, and who regularly patronized the hugo- nots, while they were in opposition, and regularly neg- lected them, while thev were in adminislration. At 14 LIFE OF FENELON. length, thehugonots broke out into open war ; they were supported by the english, but the war was soon termi- nated by the taking of the city of La Rochelle. The hugonots were then obliged to deliver up their forfeited towns : in other respects, the edict remained in force ; and it was confirmed to them by Lewis the fourteenth, on his accession to the throne. But the extinction of the hugonot religion, in every part of his dominions, was one of that monarch's most favourite projects, and, through the whole of his reign, pursued by him with undeviating attention. By his direction, all means of favour and exclusion were put in practice to make proselytes : the ministers of the hugo- nots were laid under many restraints, in the exercise of their functions ; their consistories and synods were seldom allow^ed to meet; their schools of theology and philosophy were broken up, and seven hundred of their churches were taken from them or demolished : — finally, by an edict of the 23d of October 1685, Lewis the four- teenth absolutely revoked the edict of 1^ antes: and, by a second edict of the same day, interdicted wholly to the hugonots, the exercise of their religion, ordered the ministers to quit the kingdom, employed priests to edu- cate the children of the hugonots in the catholic religion, and commanded all the intendants of provinces and go- vernors of towns to cause the edict to be rigidly enforced. Some of them exceeded their instructions, and, under the pretence of preserving the priests from insult, and compelling the attendance of the children at mass and public instruction, distributed soldiers in the principal places inhabited by hugonots, and connived at their out- ragies. The soldiers were principally taken out of the dragoon companies ; which gave their employment the appellation of the Dragonade. To subtract themselves from this persecution, great numbers of families quitted LIFE OF FENELON. I5 France, and, dispersing themselves in the protestant states, enriched them with their arts and industry, and made them resound with their execrations of their tyran- nical persecutor. It is greatly to the honour both of Fenelon and of Bossuet, that they blamed the use of compulsion in effecting the religious conversion of the hugonots*. ' " Violence and persecution," says M. de B^usset, " were so contrary to the character and principles of Fenelon, that he condemned, without hesitation, the rigour which some agents of persons in power employed against the peaceable and submissive hugonots. He equi^liy condemned the blind zeal, with which some endeavoured to force acts of conformity from those, who were not sincerely convinced, but only intimidated and terrified. He knew that this species of conformity must necessarily be rather an act of hypocrisy, than a real act of religion.*' In a letter to the duke of Beauvilliers, Fenelon men- tions, that he was informed by public report, that the council on the affairs of the hugonots, to which the duke belonged, was determined on rigorous measures. " That," says Fenelon, " is not the true spirit of the gospel. The work of God is not effected, in the heart, by force." The mareschall of Noailles consulted Fenelon on the line of conduct he should pursue, in respect to the hu* gonot soldiers under his command. In his answer, Fene- lon says, " That tormenting and teazing heretic soldiers into conversion w^ill answer no end ; it will not succeed ; * The revocation of the edict of Nantes is unjustifiable : it was not only an atrocious act of religious persecution, but an infamous- viola- tion of public faith. It should, however, be added, that in the accounts, generally given, of this measure and its effects, there has been great exaggeration. See the writer's Eistofizal Memoirs of the Church qf France, Ch. V. l6 LIFE OP FENELON. it will only produce hypocrites; the converts made by them will desert in crowds. If an officer, or any other person can insinuate the truth into their hearts, or excite in them a desire of instruction, it is well ; but there should be no constraint, no indirect officiousness. When they are ill, a catholic officer may visit them, procure them assistance, and drop on them a few salutary words. If that produce no good, and the sickness continue, one may go a little further, but softly, and without con- straint. One may hint, that the. ancient is the best church, and derived to us immediately from the apostles. If the sick person be unable to enter into this, you should be satisfied with leading him to make some acts of sorrow for his sins, and some acts of faith and charity, adding words like these : O my God! I submit to what- ever the true church teaches. In whatever place she resides, I acknowledge her for my mother." The chevalier Ramsay relates, that Fenelon recom- mended to prince Charles, the grandson of our James the second, never to use compulsion in matters of religion. " No human power,'' he said, '^ 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 don't protect, they enslave it. Give civil liberty to all, not by approving all religions, as indifferent, but by permitting in patience what God permits, and by endeavouring to bring persons to what is right by mildness and per- suasion." The counsel, which Fenelon gave to others, he was himself the first to practise. The province of Poitou vfas appointed for the scene of his mission. When he was presented to Lewis the fourteenth, the only re- quest, which he made to the monarch, was, that the troops, and every species of military parade, might be LIFE OF FENELON. 17 removed to a great distance from the province. — We have mentioned that the sentiments of Bossuet on this subject agreed with those of Fenelon ; and we add with ■pleasure, that both the chancellor D'Aguesseau, and the chancellor's father, the intendant of Languedoc, con- curred with them in the satne opinion. The latter re- signed his office of intendant^ rather than witness the dragonade. CHAP. VI. FENELON PUBLISHES HIS TREATISES ON THE MIS- SION OF THE CLERGY, AND FEMALE EDUCATION. A. D. 1607. ^T. 36. The object of the first of these treatises, is to prove, that the great majority of mankind, being of themselves wholly incapable of forming a just judgment on the several articles of the christian faith, divine wisdom could afford them no surer guide to lead them to truth, than a visible authority, deriving its origin from the apostles, and from Jesus Christ himself, and continued through an uninterrupted succession of pastors, to the end of time. — Of all the points in dispute betsveen ro- man catholics and protestants, this, perhaps, is the most important. At the celebrated conference between Bos- suet and Claude, on the subject of the church, it seems, to have been agreed by them, that every point, on which the two churches were divided, would be settled by a decision of this question. Bossuet and Fenelon con- tended that the roman-catholics alone can show an unin- terrupted succession of pastors, consecrated by a form which may be traced to the apostles, while the reformed churches cannot trace their ancestry beyond the six- c l8 LIFE OF FENELON* teenth century. This circumstance of itself is said by them to decide the question in favour of the roman- catholic church. The system and the arguments of both are the same ; but Bossuet writes for the learned and informed; Fenelon, for the simple and uninformed. His treatise on female education endeared him to every mother and every daughter in France. He observes in it, that the education of a daughter should begin with her birth, as it is impossible to attend too soon to her physical or mental faculties ; that in her earliest years, instruction should be conveyed to her, chiefly in narra- tive, which is indirect instruction ; but that, even in her very earliest years, her instruction should be solid ; so that nothing should be allowed a place in her faith or exercises of devotion, which is not drawn from the gos- pel, or which the church does not sanction. She should be accustomed to reject idle histories, and kept from devotions, indiscreetly introduced, and not authorized by the church. The Historical Catechism of Fleury, he mentions, in his treatise, three times, with great com- mendation. Of the female character he expresses him- self, as does every intellectual man, in terms of the highest praise; " Women," he justly says, " were de- signed, by their native elegance and gentleness, to endear domestic life to man ; to make virtue lovely to children, to spread round them order and grace, and give society its highest polish. No attainment can be above beings, whose end and aim it is, to accomplish purposes at once so elegant, and so salutary : every means should be used to invigorate by principle and culture, such native ex- cellence and grace." LIFE OF FENELON. I9 CHAP. VII. FENELON IS APPOINTED PRECEPTOR TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY, THE DUKE OF ANJOU, AND THE DUKE OF BERRI, THE GRANDSONS OF LEWIS THE FOURTEENTH. A. D. 1609. ^T. 38. Fenelon's success in his missions in Poitou com- pletely satisfied the expectations he liad raised. Soon after his return from them, he was appointed preceptor to the duke of Burgundy, the duke of Anjou, and the duke of Berri, the three sons of the dauphin. Whatever defects were in the character of Lewis the fourteeath, it is allowed that he possessed, in the highest degree, the merit of discovering and employing the ta- lents of his subjects. Three times in the course of his reign he had to appoint the governors and preceptors of the royal princes ; and, on each of these occasions, the appointment did him honour. The education of the dauphin was intrusted to the duke of Mortaurier and Bossuet ; and when the dukes of Burgundy^ Anjou, and Berri, the sons of the dauphin, arrived at a proper age, he appointed the duke of Beauvilliers their governor. The duke of Beauvilliers was manied to a daughter of the celebrated Colbert : the two other daughters of that celebrated minister were married to the dukes of Chevreuse and Mortemar ; all the dukes held charges of importance in the court, and all the writers of the time recount, in their praise, that, while they were attentive to please the king, by an anxious discharge of their duties, none of them ever flattered him in his irregulari- ties, or paid court to the objects of his unlawful attach- ments. Madame de Montespan never, in the course of c 2 20 LIFE OF FENELON. her long sway, saw any of them among her courtiers. In the midst of his wanderings Lewis always showed sentiments of decency and delicacy : he was struck with the contrast between the dignity of the conduct of this family and the ignoble subserviency of the generality of his courtiers. This circumstance first recommended the duke of Beauvilliers to his favour, and, when the duke of Burgundy reached his eighth year, the monarch appointed the duke of Beauvilliers the governor of the duke of Burgundy and his two brothers, with an un- limited power of nominating all the other officers about them, and all their inferior attendants. The duke im- mediately appointed Fenelon to the place of preceptor, and Fleury, to the place of sub-preceptor. The general impression of Fenelon's character at this time, and the circumstances which immediately led to his appoint- ment, are thus mentioned by the duke de St. Simon. ** The duke de Beauvilliers, a very pious nobleman, was a great friend of the congregation of St. Sulpice. On some occasion, he remarked a tall person, with a countenance worn by profound study, with eyes pouring fire like a furnace, and a physiognomy, which, no one who had once seen, could ever forget. It combined in it, the most opposite traits of character ; but none contradicted the other. It had a mixture of gravity and gallantry ; of the serious and the gay ; of the doctor in divinity, of the bishop, and of the high nobleman ; but acuteness, grace, decency, and, above all, dignity pre- dominated. It required exertion tcr cease from gazing on him. Every portrait of him spoke ; but no painter gave an idea of the justness or the harmony of the original, or of the delicacy, which marked each feature of his countenance. In his manners, there was a similar reUef of opposite qualities ; they were easy, and made every person around him easy ; that fine taste, which LIFE OF FENELON. 21 only habits of high hfe can confer, entered, as of its own accord, into his conversation, with a natural, soft, flowing and insinuating eloquence ; a turn of expression, always natural, neat and pleasing, and a singular talent of expressing intelligibly the most abstruse ideas; an easy flow of* wit, the quahty and quantity of which, ex- actly suitable to the person, and the occasion, was in- tended for it, he could turn at pleasure. In company with him, it was impossible to quit him ; when he stole away, it was impossible not to run in search of him. " The duke de Beauvilliers was subdued by such an assemblage of agreeable qualities, and wished that madame de Maintenon should share in his admiration. Twice a week she dined at the hotel de Beauvilliers, or the hotel de Chevreuse, and made a fifth witli the two sisters and their husbands ; a bell was on the table, and no servant admitted, that they might converse without restraint. It was a sanctuary, from which the court was excluded ; but Fenelon was admitted. The purity of his morals obtained for him the esteem of the little society ; his feeling piety gained him their hearts ; they were enchanted by his spirituality ; so that, when the duke of Beauvilliers was named governor of the duke of Burgundy, with power to appoint the preceptor, he immediately cast his eyes on Fenelon." No choice was ever more applauded by the public ; — among the letters, which Fenelon received on the occa- sion, M. de Bausset presents us with one addressed to him by his friend M. Tronson, an extract of which must be acceptable to our readers. ^' The education, which his majesty has been pleased to intrust to you, is so connected with the state, and with the good of the church, that it is impossible for me not to be highly pleased in seeing it put into such good hands. But, my joy changes into alarm, when 1 consider c3 22 LIFE OF FZNELON. the dangers to which it exposes you. It is true that it gives you an opportunity of doing much good; but it is also true, that it may occasion your being the cause of much evil. You now live in a country, where the gospel of Christ is httle known ; and where even those who are acquainted with it, make use of it chiefly to do themselves honour before men. It is not necessary to live a great while in it, to bring yourself to regard, as immoderate and excessive, the maxims, which, when you meditated on them at the foot of the cross, appeared to you clear; and to think the most obvious and clear duties, doubtful and impracticable. Circumstances will arise, in which you will be tempted to think prudence and charity require of you to make terms with the world ; but, how strange will it be for a christian, and still more for a priest, to enter into any compromise with the enemy of his salvation ! Truly, sir, your situation is dangerous : confess that it is difficult not to lose yourself in it, and that, to conduct yourself in it properly, requires no common virtue. If ever the study and meditation of the scriptures were necessary to you, they are at this time indispensable. It should seem, that hitherto you have chiefly wanted it for filling your mind with just notions, and nourishing her with the lessons of eternal truth; henceforth you stand in absolute need of it fur keeping yourself free from bad impressions, for pjeserving yourself from falsehood. It is of infinite consequence to you, never to lose sight of the terrible moment of death, when the glory of the world will dis- appear like a dream, and every created object, to whom you would then seek for support, will sink under you." — This was certainly the language of friendship. LIFE OF FENELON. 23 CHAP. VIII. penelon's education of the duke of burgundy. As the duke of Burgundy was the first of the three royal brothers, in succession to the crown of France, he particularly engaged the attention of Fenelon ; his character is thus described by the duke de St. Simon. " The duke of Burgundy was born terrible, and during his first years, continued an object of terror. Hardhearted, angry, to the extreme of passion, even against inanimate objects, impetuous to a degree of fury, incapable of bearing the least opposition to his wishes, even from time or climate, without putting himself into paroxysms of rage, that made one tremble for his exist- ence, (a condition in which I have often seen him), stubborn in the highest degree, passionate in the pursuit of every kind of pleasure, addicted to the gratifications of the table and violent hunting ; dehghted, to a degree of extacy, with music, and with deep play, in which he could not endure to lose, and in which it was personally dangerous to be engaged with him; in fine, abandoned to all the passions, and transported by every kind of pleasure; often ferocious, naturally borne to cruelty, barbarous in his raillery, seizing the ridiculous with astonishing justness; high as the clouds, in his own opinion, considering other men as atoms, with whom he had no resemblance, and regarding his brothers, though they were educated on an equality with him, as inter- mediate beings, between him and the rest of the human race: — But even in his passions, talent beamed from him : his repartees were surprizing : in his answers, there was always something of justness and depth ; he seemed to play with the most abstract subjects ; the extent and C4 24 LIFE OF FENELON. vivacity of his genius were astonishing : but they always kept him from attending to any one thing at a time, and thus made him incapable of learning any thing. — ^The prodigy was, that, in a short space of time, religion and the grace of God, made him a new man ; and changed those terrible qualities into all the opposite virtues. From the abyss, which I have described, there arose a prince, affable, gentle, moderate, patient, modest, hum- ble, austere 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 of a son and subject, and to qualify himself for his future obligations." Fenelon gave up himself entirely to the duties of his employment; he foresaw, says M. de Bausset, that, with the singular disposition which his pupil had received from nature, he would make that rapid progress in science, which none but persons of extraordinary genius can make, and which is not always attainable by the offspring of kings. The difficulty was to subdue the temper, thus forcibly constituted, in such a manner, as to preserve its nobler parts, while all that was too violent in it, was removed. It was the object of Fenelon to place, on the throne, that perfect form of virtue, which he had in his mind, after the example of the great artists of antiquity, who endeavoured to express in their works, that perfect form of beauty, which they carried with them in idea. But what care, attention, art, management, observation, and choice of means were necessary to model the prince into such a character? — In entering on his office, Fenelon laid down to himself a rule, to which he rigidly adhered, never to ask of the court a favour for himself, his friends, or his family. His private revenue was small, and no pecuniary income was attached to his office; our author gives us extracts of letters which LIFE OF FENELON. 25 show that, though his establishment was on the smallest scale, it was with difficulty that he found money to answer his current expenses. Still, he kept the narrow- ness of his circumstances to himself; he never asked, and, till his nomination to the abbey of St. Valery, at the end of several years after his appointment to his office, he never received a favour from the court. It was more painful to him to refuse the solicitations of his family that he would use his interest at court in their favour. The marchioness de Laval, the only daughter of the marquis de Fenelon, by whom he was educated, requested him to obtain a lieutenancy for her son, then four years old. Fenelon answered her by calling to her recollection his general rule; " I wish," says he, *' that consistently with my principles, I could interfere in your son's behalf, bat, though my life should depend on it, I would not ask a favour of the king." He leaves her ftt hberty to act for herself; but intimates^ that her solicitations would be fruitless, as the king never con- ferred offices on persons in early infancy, except those, whose fathers had beeTi killed in battle. Other letters from him, which are cited by M. de Bauss6t, speak the same language. Such a proceeding naturally raised him in the esteem of his pupil. In his general demeanor towards him, Fenelon assumed a conduct, by which, though it were full of condescension and affection, he placed himself at an immeasurable height above him. Of this, our author gives the following instance. On some occasion Fenelon had expressed himself to the duke, in a tone of great authority : the duke was indignant ; " not so, sir," he said to Fenelon, " I know who I am, and who you are," — Fenelon made no reply ; he put on an air of recollection, and, giving the duke a serious and sorrowful look, retired, and spoke to him no more in the course of 26 LIFE OF FENELON. the day. The following morning, Fenelon entered the duke*s bed-chamber, while he was asleep ; ordered the curtains of his bed to be opened, and the duke to be awakened ; then, assuming a cool indifferent look, "sir," he said, " you yesterday told me you knew who you were, and who I was. My duty obliges me to inform you that you know neither. You imagine that you are greater than I am ; this some valet has told you ; but you oblige me to tell you, that I am greater than you. Birth, here, is out of the question. You would pro- nounce a person mad, who should give himself a pre- ference over his neighbour, because the dews of heaven had fertilized his field and not fallen on his neighbour's. You are not wiser than such a man; if you are vain of your birth, it confers on you no personal merit. You inust be sensible that I am your superior in knowledge; 1 have taught you every thing you know ; and, what you know, is nothing in comparison of what remains for me to teach you. With respect to authority, you have none over me. I have full and absolute authority over you. This, you have been often told by the king. You suppose 1 consider myself very happy in the honour of being your preceptor. Undeceive yourself; I un- dertook the charge of you at the king's request; it could be no satisfaction to me to receive so fatiguing an employment. That you may have no doubt on this head, I shall now lead you to the king, and request him to appoint me a successor, whose exertions about you will be more successful than mine." ■ The duke of Burgundy was thunder-struck with this declaration. Remorse, fear, and shame for a time pre- vented him from speaking ; " I am confounded,'' he cried, " for my conduct of yesterday. If you speak to the king, I am ruined for erer. If you abandon me, what will be thought of me I I promise you, ye-s I do ^•.-^rW 60L1M«E j;ai:-J.i- :: LIFE OF FENELON. 27 promise you, that you shall be satisfied with me in future. But do you promise me, — " Fenelon would make no promise ; it was not till a long continuance of good conduct had convinced him of the sincerity of his pupil's repentance, and after a formal intercession of madame de Maintenon, that Fenelon received him into favour. In one respect, Fenelon was particulaily fortunate : every one about the person of the royal prince, looked up to him with veneration, and co-operated in his plans of education. When the duke of Burgundy fell into any of those fits of anger and impatience, to which he was so much subject, the governor, preceptor, masters, officers and servants, who attended him, observed a perfect silence. They avoided answering his questions ; and either did not look at him, or looked at him with terror, as if they were frighted at being with a person, who discovered signs of aberration of intellect ; or with pity^ as if they beheld a person, whose mental malady made him an object of compassion. His books, every thing used in the way of his instruction, were removed from him, as useless to a person in this deplorable state. They w^ere not restored to him, and none of the parties resumed their general demeanour towards him, till the fit of passion entirely subsided. It was a rule with Fenelon, to permit the duke to interrupt his studies, whenever he was inclined to enter into any useful and learned conversation. He adopted this plan the more readily, as he found such conversation tended to humanize his pupil, to soften his mind, to make him gentle and compliant, and to call forth his pleasing qualities. But study was resumed the instant the conversation ceased to be useful. So far from lessening the general hours of study, this conduct in- creased the duke's ardour for literature, and induced him to dedicate to it a greater portion of his time. Of his 28 LIFE OF FENELON. own accord, he requested some person might always read to him at his meals. The fables, which Fenelon composed for the duke of Burgundy, are admirable. The great object of them appears to be to soften his pupil's manners, and to open his mind to humanity, beneficence and the milder virtues. Heaven and earth and all animate and inani- mate nature are called into action by them, to invite the future monarch to make justice, peace, and happi- ness reign on earth. " Who is the young hero," say the songsters of the groves instructed by the shepherds, " that comes among us, and appears to interest himself in our happiness ? He seems pleased with our songs ; he loves poetry ; it will soften his heart, and make him as amiable as he now appears haughty. May he increase in virtue, as a flower just opened by the spring ; may he love the gentle pleasures of the mind ; may the graces dwell on his eyes ! May Minerva reign in his heart ! May he equal Orpheus in the sweetness of his strains, and Hercules in his heroic actions ! May he have the valour of Achilles, but none of his ferocity! May he be good, wise, beneficent! May he sympathise with men ! He loves our songs ; they penetrate his heart as the dew falls on our gardens parched by the sun. May the gods moderate his pas- sions ! May they ever make him happy ! May he restore the golden age ! May wisdom fill his soul, and spread from it over all mortals! May flowers grow under his feet !" What an eff*ect, exclaims M. de Bausset, must in- structions, arrayed in such charms, have on a prince who was all soul and wit ! But then the fables of Melan- thos, and the Medal follow, which the royal pupil could not read without sinking into the earth, at the view, which they gave him of the deformities of his own LIFE OF FENELON. 29 character, and almost adoring the being, whose hand was stretched out to save him, to rescue him from him- self. — " What terrible woe has befallen Melanthos ? Outwardly, all is right with him ; inwardly, all is wrong. Last night, he went to rest, the delight of the human race ; this morning, one's ashamed of him, one must hide him. As he was dressing, a plait of his shirt displeased him ; all the long day he is to be in a rage, and every one is to suffer ; he is an object of fear, an object of compassion ; he cries as a child, and roars as a lion. A malignant vapour blackens his imagination, as the ink soils his fingers. Don't speak to him of what gave him delight a moment since ; it is enough that he was pleased with it then, that he should not endure it now. The parties of pleasure, which lately he desired so much, now w^eary him ; they must be broken up ; he must contradict and irritate and complain of every one ; and then is angry that no one will lose his temper with him. When he can find no pretence for being dissatis- fied with others, he turns against himself ; he blames himself, finds out that he is good for nothing, he despairs of improvement ; he takes it ill that persons will not comfort him ; he wishes to be alone ; thea he can't endure solitude, and returns to society, and quarrels with all about him. They are silent, he takes offence at their silence; they speak softly, he supposes they speak against him ; they talk in their common voice, he pretends they talk too much, and is angry that they appear gay while he is sorrowful; they become serious, he considers it a reproach of his faults ; they laugh, he supposes it is at him. What must we do ? be as steady and as patient as he is insupportable, and expect in peace that to-morrow morning he will be as good as he was yesterday. This strange humour passes off as it comes : when it seizes him one would suppose that a 3© LIFE OF FENELON. spring of the machine was broken, and the whole run backward. He resembles the picture of a person pos- sessed : his reason is inverted ; press him and you may make him say, at full noon, that it is night ; for, when the fit is once on him, there is no longer day or night for his dismounted intellects. Don't say to him, to- morrow we will go to such a place, to divert ourselves ; the man of to-day will not be the same man to-morrow ; he, who is now making you a promise, will disappear at the instant, and in his place you'll see a certain some- thing without shape, without name. It wills, it wills not, it threatens, it trembles, it mixes laughable haughti" ness with contemptible littleness ; it cries, it laughs, it plays the fool, it is in a rage. In his fury, however^ Melanthos, though wild and mad, and though he do not discover one ray of reason, is witty, is eloquent, is cunning, and abounds in repartee. Be particularly careful to say nothing to him, that is not perfectly just, exaet, and reasonable; he has all his senses about him, to take advantage of it, and put you in the wrong ; on a sudden he becomes reasonable, to show your errors. Then, a fit of distress comes on him ; he loves no one ; he has not a friend ; every one persecutes him, every one betrays him ; he has no obUgations to any one; wait a moment, he seems to be in n^ed of every one ; he is full of affection, he loves every one ; he flatters, insinuates, bewitches those who could not bear him ; he confesses his errors, and laughs at his oddities ; he mimicks himself, and he mimicks himself so well, that you would think him again in his airs. After this comedy, so perfectly well acted at his own expej^ae, you hope at last the demoniac is gone for ever. Alas! you are quite mistaken ; to-niglit he will again be the demon, and to-morrow he will again laugh at himself, and continue unreclaimed." It was impossible for the LIFE OF FENELON. 3 1" royal pupil not to recognize himself in this picture ; or to read it without emotions and resolutions of amendment. In a fable less serious, but equally instructive, Fenelon describes Bacchus inattentive to the lessons of Silenus, and a faun laughing at his blunders : Bacchus puts on an air of dignity, and asks the faun, " how he dares to laugh at the son of Jupiter?" The faun coolly answers.^ '' why does the son of Jupiter dare to make blunders ?*' The dialogues, which Fenelon composed for the duke of Burgundy, are in a higher style. He brings by them, the most celebrated personages of ancient and modern history before his pupil; and all the speakers take occasion to mention some incident in their lives, that conveys to him, in few but impressive words, some salutary truth. In every page of them, the charms of the milder virtues are happily pourtrayed ; when vanity or voluptuousness are to be censured, the most pointed ridicule is used ; when tyranny is to be execrated, the strongest language is adopted. A meeting of Caesar and Cato is supposed : " Thou wilt be greatly surprized," says Caesar^ " when I inform thee, that I died of the wounds I received from my friends in the senate house. What treachery!'* " No,'' replies Cato, I am not surprized. Wast thou not the tja-ant of those friends, as well as of the other citizens ? Was it not their duty to lend their hands to their oppressed country ? It was their duty to sacrifice not only a friend but a brother, as was done by Timoleon, and even their own children, as was done by Brutus.— But, tell me, in the midst of thy previous glory, wast thou happy ? — No, thou wast not. If thou hadst loved thy country, thy country would have loved thee ; he, whom his country loves, wants no guards ; his country watches round him. True security arises from doing good, and from interesting every one in your pi-eserVa^ 32 LIFE OF FENELON. tion. Thou wouldst reign and be feared. Well, thou didst reign, and thou wast feared : but mankind delivered themselves from the tyrant, and their fears of him, by the same stroke. So may all those perish, who wish to be feared by men ! They have every thing to fear ; all the world is interested in anticipating their acts of tyranny, and delivering themselves from the tyrant." Such were the exertions of Fenelon in educating the duke of Burgundy. We have seen what the duke saint Simon, whose evidence cannot be refused on this sub- ject, says of their success. Madame de Maintenon, in one of her letters, gives the same testimony : '^ we saw all those defects, which alarmed us too much in the youth of the duke of Burgundy, gradually disappear. Every year produced, in him, a visible increase of virtue. Rallied, at first, by every one, he obtained, in the end, the admiration of the freest livers. So much had his piety changed him, that, from being the most passionate of men^ he became mild, gentle, and com- plying; persons would have thought that mildness was his natural disposition, and that he was innately good." — All the writers of the time, who mention the duke of Burgundy, express themselves of him in the same terms. Fenelon HOW began to enjoy the fruits of his labours; his success in the education of the duke of Burgundy had excited general admiration, and his conciliating manners had obtained him general love. Lewis the fourteenth presented him to the abbey of St. Valiery, 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 Main- tenon and his three royal pupils. We enter into the feelings of the preceptor and his pupils on this occasion. Unfortunately, it was almost the last day of the precep- tof 8 happiness ; — To use an expression of the chancellor LIFE OF FENELON. ^^ d'Aguesseau, " events soon afterwards took place which revealed the secret cause of all his calamities, — his too great taste for the pious excesses of the mystics." — This memorable circumstance in the archbishop's life must now be presented to the reader. CHAP. IX. QUIETISM. A. J). 1696. MT. 45. In every age of Christianity, different denominations of christians, both orthodox and heterodox, have aimed at a sublime spirituality above visible objects and natural feelings, and attempted, by assiduous prayer and ab- straction from terrene subjects, to raise themselves to an intellectual contemplation of the Deity, and commu- nion with him. Among them, the Quietists, to whose doctrines the subject of these pages now leads, were eminently distinguished in the ecclesiastical history of the middle ages, and of modern times. The patriarch of modern quietists is Michael de Molinos, a Spanish priest, who resided at Rome, towards the end of the 16th century. His pious reveries procured him a con- siderable number of disciples of both sexes: they were condemned by the pope, and his disciples were perse- cuted ; but they preserved an obscure existence, and, with a slight modification, or rather, under the cover of more guarded language, were revived in the age of Lewis the 14th, and, during several years, distracted the Gallican church. In a religious, and even a philo- sophical point of view, the controversy, to which they gave rise, is a curious subject of inquiry, and it certainly D 34 I^IFE OF FENELON. forms the most interesting part of the biograph}^ of Fenelon. Quietism is an abuse of the science of sacred contem- plation, or as it is termed in the schools, of Mystical Theology, and an unwarranted extension of itslanguage. Every age of the christian church furnishes contemplative writers of eminence. To a perfect understanding of the doctrines of the quietists, some acquaintance with the works of those writers is necessary : but, even with that aid, it is not very easy to give an account of them, which will be found at once accurate and intelligible. This difficulty is admitted by Bossuet : he accounts for it by observing that the errors of the quietists arose rather from an exaggeration of what in itself was good, than from their adoption of principles intrinsically erro- neous : this will clearly appear from a slight view of their principal errors. I. To love God for his own perfections, without any view to future reward or punishment, is the highest effort of the soul : an habitual state of it is beyond the lot of man; and, as it would banish hope, the founda- tion of all christian virtue, and fear, the beginning of all christian wisdom, it cannot be considered the duty of a christian. The quietists however professed that they had attained this habitual state of divine love; they scarcely acknowledged any other virtue ; and this sup- posed freedom from hope and fear, the great agitators of the human mind, was one of the principal reasons of their receiving the appellation of quietists. II. The contemplation of the Deity raises, in the soul, conceptions and feelings which she can neither ex- press by language, nor even embody by thought. When these are at their highest elevation, a devotional silence ensues, the most profound act of homage, in the opinion of some, which the Creator can receive from the crea- LTFF. OF FF.NELON* SS ture. But along continuation of this sublime devotion is above the natural powers of man, and, as it would exclude prayer, an attempt to attain it, must seem a disobedience to the precepts of Him, who orders us to pray always, and framed for us a form of prayer. Yet, to this sublime and perpetual silence of the human mind, under the view of the Deity, as to a common duty, the quietist aspired. All explicit acts of devotion, even of the purest or simplest faith, respecting the Trinity, the incarnation, or the particular attributes of the Deity, and still more, those, which arose from the articles on the creed, or the petitions in the Our Father, were below his sublime devotion. His object was to ascend to God alone, and to rest in siknt adoration of his divine es- sence, without hope and without fear. This gave the quietists a further title to their appellation. III. A constant spirit of conformity to the divine will, is the duty of every christian, and enters into every virtue; but, to discover the divine will, and, when it is discovered, to act in conformity to it, requires exertion on our parts, and a correspondence of action with the graces with which we are favoured. — Inert and inactive, the quietist presented himself to the Deity. A formal petition for good, a formal deprecation of evil, was, in his view, a degradation from the general submission which he owed to the divine will, and fell very short of that abandon- ment of himself to it, which the soul owed to her Creator. IV. That resignation of the soul, which relies on God's infinite mercy for eternal happiness in the next life, and for as much of the good of this life as is con- sistent with her sanctification, was beneath the virtue of a quietist. His resignation was to arise to a sublime indifference, both for temporal and eternal things ; he was to look on both, without desire or alarm. Indulg- 36 LIFE OF FENELON^. ing himself in the impossible supposition, that such a sacrifice could be acceptable to God, he offered himself to reprobation in this life, and to eternal punishment in the next. This indifference to salvation, from a sup- posed conformity to the will of God, was the highest effort of a quietist's virtue, and completed his title to his appellation. V. So strange a sacrifice was to be followed by as strange a reward. Far above an humble hope of eter- nal bliss, and an. humble confidence of present favor, the ordinary happiness of the just in this life, the quiet- ist professed to aspire. — His soul was, even in this life, to assume a new existence, to be transformed into the divine essence, and to be so far individualized with the Deity as to lose the consciousness of her existence sepa- rate from him. VI. Whether we express our admiration or love of God, approach him in prayer, or speak his praise, our language must partake of the imperfections of our nature, and must therefore fall infinitely beneath its subject. Still, we should exert ourselves to use, in all our addresses to the Deity, and in every mention of him, the noblest and purest terms in our power ; and not only respect for the awful Being whom we address, but good sense and taste, point out to us the duty of avoiding, with the greatest care, every expression, in his regard, which, in itself is low, or has a tendency to raise a vulgar, a grotesque, or an irregular idea. Expressions of the very lowest kind, and tending to raise the most vulgar, grotesque, and irregular ideas, are to be found, too often, in the writings of the quietists, and their expressions of divine love are sometimes such, as would better become the strains of an amatory sonneteer. VII. The looseness of the doctrinal language of quiet- ism was, perhaps, still more blamable. It was difficult LIFE OF FENELON. 37 to fix on it any meaning ; and, when something of its meaning was discovered, it was necessary to understand it with so much limitation, and in a sense so pecuHar to Uie writings of the quietists, that the obvious import of their phrases had generally httle, and sometimes no resemblance with the notions they were intended to convey. Such was the general nature of the charges brought against the quietists. To all, the quietists pleaded guilty, so far as to allov/ the facts, on which they were built; but the consequences drawn from them, the quietists confidently denied. Thev observed) that ascetic devotion, like every other science, had its appropriate nomen- clature, upon which its professors were agreed, and by which, therefore, their doctrines were to be tried and explained. Thus explained, they contended that their doctrines would be found to express the noblest and purest sentiments of divine love. They observed, that the language of the ancient was the same as the lan- guage of the modern mystics ; and they suggested, that there could be no just reason for withholding from the latter the indulgence which was shown the former. These assertions were not wholj^ destitute of foun- dation. It is admitted that the quietists themselves always protested against the pernicious consequences imputed to their doctrines. From that circumstance, from the general spirit of piety, which is to be found in many parts of their writings, from the acknowledged purity of their morals, and their regular observance of their religious duties, it has been contended, with some appearance of reason, that their religious system, as it was explained by themselves, was much less repre- hensible than, standing singly, it appeared in their own writings; and from these circumstances it was inferred D 3 38 LIFE OF FENELON. by many, that their errors lay less in tlieir tenets, than in the language in which their tenets were expressed. In this mode of viewing the charge against the quiet- ists, much of it was answered; but much of it remained to be answered, for which they had no defence. I. What is only true with an explanation, is untrue without it. The explanation, which the quietists offered, when put on their defence, was either not to be found, or was only faintly discoverable in their writings. Thus, with respect to the generality of readers, their doctrine stood unexplained, and was therefore, on the face of it, chargeable with the errors with which it was reproached. II. With all the limitations, by which their writings could be qualified, they could, at most, be useful to very few — to that small number of persons only, whose exalted piety and contemplative habits, enabled them to com- prehend and relish such sublime speculations. To per- sons in the lower ranks of a spiritual life, they would be both imintelligible and prejudicial. Yet, in all their writings, the quietists affected to inculcate, that their doctrine was the only solid foundation of a spiritual life, and that to learn and practise it was the universal duty of christians. III. The unavoidable tendency of their writings was to draw the faithful from vocal prayer and meditation, the real support of a spiritual life, by exciting them to aim at a state of passive and quiescent devotion, in which, without any other effort on their part, than a re- collection of their being under the eye of the Divinity, and an intellectual belief of his presence, they were to expect the pious sentiments, with which he should visit them. Now, when it is considered how very few are capable of preserving a devotional habit of mind, even, for a short time, without actual prayer and meditation, and LIFE OF FENELON. 39 even without the assistance of a book, it may easily be perceived, that the state of passiveness and quiescence recommended by the quietists, immediately tended to a general subversion of all prayer and meditation. IV. But the most pernicious part of their writings was the language in which they attempted to express their resignation to the divine will. In the ordinary ac- ceptation of them, their expressions amounted to an absolute indifference to future rewards and punishments, and even to vice and virtue. That this was not their meaning may be conceded ; but it is certain, that, in its common acceptation, the general language of their writings had that import. CHAP. X. MADAME DE GUYON. The revival of quietism in the reign of Lewis the fourteenth, was owing to madame de Guyon, and her iinding too warm and powerful a friend in Fenelon. .She was descended from respectable parents, and in- herited from them an ample fortune. Beauty, wit, elegance, whatever is most captivating in the female form or the female mind, she is allowed to have possessed in an eminent degree; and, after a very severe inquiry, her adversaries were forced to confess, that, in every part of her life, her morals were irreproachable. She married at an early age : was left, while she was still young, a widow with children, and then, resolving to give her- self wholly to devotion, she delivered up her children to their father's family. This exposed her to censure; but it was admitted that, in the settlement of the pecuniary concerns of her children, she conducted herself with D 4 40 LIFE OF FENELON. generosity. Soon after she became a widow, she placed herself under the spiritual direction of father La Combe? a barnabite friar, who had been a disciple of Molinos, Under the impression of his instructions, she framed a system of spirituality, of which the doctrines of Molinos formed the ground-work, and pretended a divine mission to propagate it among the faithful. With that view, she composed two works : her Short Method of Prayer, she put into the hands of beginners ; her Torrents, she presented to the perfect. She travelled over many parts of France, every where made friends and proselytes, and finally arrived in Paris. She was soon admitted to the private parties at the hotel de BeauvilHers : there, in Fenelon, she found a willing hearer ; and, when she descanted before him, on the love, the pure, disinterested love of God, she touched a nerve of exquisite sensi- bility, which vibrated to his heart. That she had wit and eloquence is allowed by all her contemporaries; but her writings unquestionably abound with spiritual nonsense. She teaches in them, that the soul, which completely abandons herself to the divine will, retains no fear or hope, respecting anything either temporal or eternal ; that man is so worthless, that it scarcely deserves his own inquiry, whether he is to be everlastingly saved or everlastingly lost ; that God some- times takes from a soul every gift of grace and virtue; that the duty of a christian soul in this state, is to per- mit herself to be buried and crushed ; to suffer the stench of her death, to leave herself to rot, and to try no means of avoiding her corruption ; that, at length, she becomes insensible of her own stench, and accustoms herself to it, so as to remain at ease in it, without hope of arising out of it : then her inanition commences, and she begins to live to God alone. This should seem a picture of a soul abandoned to disorder, forsaken by God, and har- LIFE OF FENELOIS'. 41 dened in vice ; but is presented by madame de Guyon as a picture of the most perfect virtue. In some part of her writings, she assumes a prophetic character ; she pretends to see clearly the state of souls, to have a mi- raculous power both over souls and bodies ; she calls herself the corner stone of the cross, rejected by human architects ; she declares that she had attained so lofty a state of perfection, that she should no longer pray to the saints, or even to the mother of God, as it did not become the spouse of Christ to request the prayers of others. On some occasions, her language is so offensive to decency, that her expressions will not bear repeating. In exposing this objectionable part of her writings, Bossuet beautifully apostrophizes the seraphs, and en- treats them to bring burning coals from the altar of heaven, to purify his lips, lest they should have been defiled by the impurities which he had been obliged to mention. From the hotel de Beauviliiers, where it was first introduced, quietism rapidly extended over Paris and the provinces : and attracted the notice of the French clergy. They pronounced it a dangerous innovation, chimerical in theory, subversive in practice, of the true spirit of religion, and leading indirectly to a frightful laxity of morals. At first it was relished by madame de Maintenon, but her good sense quickly led her to suspect it; she advised upon it with many persons of distinguished eminence in the church; they universally declared against it, and, from that time, she professed herself the enemy both of quietism, and madame de Guyon. Fenelon would not admit the quietism of madame de Guyon, in the odious sense which was given to that word, and generally espoused her cause. Bossuet, the bishop of Meaux, was at that time the oracle of the French clergy ; and to him, madame de 42 LIFE OF FENELON. Guyon, when her doctrine became a subject of dispute^, addressed herself. He declared immediately against the spirituality of madame de Guyon ; but, in all his personal intercourse with her, appears to have con- ducted himself with condescension and delicacy. So much was she satisfied with him, that she communicated to him all her works, both manuscript and in print. She even put into his hands, a manuscript account of her life ; it is written with vivacity, and, in some parts of it, pleases by its piety ; but it abounds with vanity and enthusiasm. The late Mr. John Wesley translated it into English: in his preface to it, he says, "Such another life as that of madame de Guyon, I doubt whether the world ever saw. — It contains an abundance of excellent things, uncommonly excellent : several things, which are utterly false and unscriptural ; nay, such as are dangerously false. — As to madame de Guyon herself, I believe, she was not only a good woman, but good in an eminent degree ; deeply devoted to God, and often favoured with uncommon communications of his spirit." It is very remarkable that madame de Guyon never showed her manuscript to Fenelon: — Was she more apprehensive of Fenelon's good sense and discernment than of Bossuet's ? — After having examined with great attention, the writings which madame de Guyon com- municated to him, Bossuet had a personal conference with her ; he explained to her what he thought repre- hensible in her works, and gave her advice for her conduct. She acquiesced in every thing he suggested ; he then said mass, and what, in her circumstances, was very remarkable, administered to her the blessed sacrament with his own hands. Of these circumstances, Bossuet informed Fenelon, and sent him large extracts which he had made from LIFE OF FENELON. 43 the writings of madame de Guyon, with remarks on them, and endeavoured to draw from Fenelon a direct condemnation of her doctrine. Fenelon professed the highest deference for his authority ; he admitted that several passages in the works of madame de Guyon would not bear the rigid examination of scholastic accuracy ; but he contended that they were entitled to a more benign interpretation, and, on that ground, deprecated for them the prelate's severity. For some time, madame de Gliyon lived in the re- tirement and quiet which Bossuet recommended to her: by degrees, she grew tired of her obscurity : and, hearing that reports injurious to her character were in circulation, she applied to madame de Maintenon, to prevail on Lewis the ix)urteenlh to appoint commissioners to inquire into her doctrines and morals. Madame de Maintenon observed, that madame de Guyon's morals had never been seriously accused; but, as her doctrines had occa- sioned a considerable degree of ferment in the mind of the public, she thought it a proper subject of inquiry. On madame de Maintenon's suggestion, Lewis the fourteenth appointed the bishop of Meaux, the bishop of Chartres, and M. Tronson, commissioners for this inquiry. They assembled at Issy, a retired country house, belonging to the congregation of St. Sulpice, o^ which, it has been mentioned, that M. Tronson was superiour. The conferences were carried on, without much inter- ruption, during six months : the subject was discussed, the authorities examined, and the inferences weighed with great deliberation. Bossuet alwaj^s admitted that, before these disputes, he was little conversant with mystical theology, and had read little of the mystical writings of St. Francis of Sales, St. John of the cross, and other spiritualists of eminence. At his request. 44 l^TFE OF FENELON. Fenelon made extracts from those works for him, and accompanied them with observations, evidently calculated to make Bossuet think favourably of them and of madame de Guy on. After a full and patient examination of the writings of madame de Guyon, and of the general doctrine of quietism, the conferences at Issy closed. The commis- sioners drew up thirty articles ; Fenelon was consulted upon them, made some alterations in them, and added to them four, which were entirely new. In this state they were signed by the three commissioners, and by Fenelon. They contain no mention of madame de Guyon, or her doctrines ; but profess to express the doctrines of the church on the principal points of dispute on the subject of quietism. They declare that every christian is bound to practise the theological virtues, and make acts of them ; to desire and pray explicitly for his eternal salvation, as a blessing, whigh God wishes to grant him, and enjoins him to desire ; to pray for the remission of his sins, for the blessing of perseverance, for increase of virtue, and for strength to resist temptation ; that it is unlawful to be indifferent to salvation, or to any thing with which salvation is connected ; that these acts of devotion do not derogate from a high state of per- fection ; that faith and the ordinary measure of grace will raise a christian to perfection ; that we should always endeavour to obtain it, without waiting for a particular inspiration; that acts of faith and hope form a part of the sublimest prayer, as they necessarily enter into charity, which is its foundation : that perpetual prayer docs not consist in a perpetual and uninterrupted address to the Deity, but in an occasional prayer, and an habitual disposition and readiness to perform his holy will; that passive prayer j as it is described and admitted by St. Francis of Sales, and some other spiritualists, approved LIFE OF FENELON. 45 by the roman-catholic church, should not be rejected ; that, without it, persons may be great saints ; that it is a dangerous error to exclude from it, an attention to the particular attributes of the Deity, or to the mysteries of faith, to the passion, the death, or the resurrection of Christ ; that the gift of high prayer is very uncommon, and should always be submitted to the examination of spiritual superiours. Whatever may have been the errors of madame de Guyon^ her docility is entitled to praise. Without any reserve or equivocation, she signed a writing, expressing her acquiescence in the doctrine contained in the articles of Issy. The bishop of Chartres, and afterwards cardinal de Noailles, published condemnations of her writings ; to each, she readily subscribed. It was soon after the breaking up of the conferences at Issy, that Fenelon was nominated to the archbishopric of Cambray ; every thing respecting quietism then seem- ed to be set at rest. At bis own warm request, Bossuet officiated at the consecration of Fenelon ; and it appears that he was anxious to shovr to Fenelon this mark of regard. Quietism, however, continued to gain ground. To stop its progress, . Bossuet composed his " Instruction sur les etats de Voraisoii'' It was formally approved by the cardinal de Noailles, and the bishop of Charti*es ; and Bossuet earnestly wished that it should have the approbation of the new archbishop. This Fenelon de- clined on two grounds ; he thought it contained an absolute and unqualified denial, of the possibility of a pure disinterested love of God, and that its censures of madame de Guyon were too general and too severe. It seems to be admitted that there was some ground for the first of these objections; on the second, little can now be said. It appears, however, that Fenelon's 46 LIFE OF FENELON. motives for withholding his approbation of the work appeared satisfactory to the cardinal de Noailles^ the bishop of Chartres, and madame de Main tenon ; but they required of him immediately to publish some work, in which he should express, in precise and unequivocal terms, his adherence to the doctrine contained in the articles of Issy, and his disapprobation of the doctrine of the quietists. CHAP. XI. THE CONTEST OF FENELON AND BOSSUET, ON THE SUBJECT OF QUIETISM, PARTICULARLY ON FENE- LON*S BOOK " EXPLICATION DES MAXIMES DES SAINTS SUR LA VIE INTERIEURE." In performance of his engagements with the cardinal and the bishop of Chartres, and with madame de Main- tenon, Fenelon, soon after his consecration, published his celebrated " Explication des Maximes des Saints sur la Vie interieure,^ the immediate cause of all his woe. It is certain, that, before it was printed, it was ex- amined, with the most severe and scrupulous attention, by the cardinal de Noailles and M. Tronson, and by M. Pirot, a theologian of great eminence in his day, attached to Bossuet, and consulted by him, on his work, " Sur les etats d'oraisonr All of them pronounced the Maximes des Saints a golden work ; and cardinal de Noailles said, he had no charge to bring against the author, but his too great docility. It is, however, equally certain, that immediately on its appearance, it was distinctly and loudly condemned by the public voice. In a private letter of Bossuet, he justly re- marked, that; at a time when a false mysticism did so LIFE OF FENELON. 47 mnch harm, nothing should be written on the subject, but to condemn it, and that the true mystic should be left in peace to God. Till this stage of the business, Lewis the fourteenth was kept in ignorance of the disputes in question; it was then thought necessary that he should be made acquainted with them. Bossuet fell at his feet, informed him of the fact, and asked '^ his pardon for not having informed him sooner of the fanaticism of his mitred brother." A less theatrical revelation of the secret, would, perhaps, have been more consonant to the dic- tates of christian prudence and charity. To Fenelon, Lewis the fourteenth was never partial. —This circumstance is mentioned both by the duke de St. Simon and the chancellor d'Aguesseau ; they observe that Fenelon had a loftiness of genius, of which that mo- narch felt an awe; and something of an extraordinary elevation of character, which did not accord with the severe simplicity of the royal mind ; so that, though Lewis the fourteenth was not insensible to the merits of Fenelon, and had raised him to one of the highest ranks in the Galilean church, he had no personal attachment to him. Hence, when Bossuet disclosed to Lewis the fourteenth, the fana- ticism, as he termed it, of Fenelon, there was nothing in the mind of Lewis the fourteenth, which pleaded in the archbishop's favour, and the monarch's aversion from all novelties, particularly in matters of religion, argued strongly against him. From madame de Maintenon, who had once been so partial to him, it was natural that Fenelon should expect more indulgence ; but, at the time of Bossuet's disclosure to Lewis the fourteenth, she was quite alienated from Fenelon. His piety had first recommended him to her ; when that piety appeared to her to be tmctured with quietism, it became odious to her. Good sense and severity marked her character, 4B LIFE OF FENELON. as much as they did the character of Lewis the four- teenth : it was therefore natural for her to view Fenelou's partiality for madame de Guyon, (for such his refusal to censure her writings must have appeared to madame de Maintenon), with disgust. Besides, — a sense of her own preservation would naturally irritate madame de Maintenon greatly against Fenelon, and induce her rather to seek, than avoid occasions of expressing her- self to his disadvantage. Lewis the fourteenth's anger with him was very great, and it appears by a letter, of which M. de Bausset gives his readers an extract, that madame de Maintenon was apprehensiv^e of his being seriously displeased with her for keeping Fenelon's con- duct so long concealed from him. Some writers have intimated that madame de Maintenon had a very par- ticular cause of complaint against Fenelon: — by their account Lewis the fourteenth consulted Fenelon on the propriety of making public his marriage with madame de Maintenon, and Fenelon advised the monarch against it. — But this story rests on very slight authority ; and M. de Bausset mentions, that among Fenelon's papers he did not discover the slightest circumstance in its support, and that it was disbelieved in Fenelon's family. It is, however, certain that, from the time of which we are now speaking, madame de Maintenon's conduct to Fenelon was unfriendly. To restore him to the favor of her sexagenary lover, might not be in her power; but it is difficult to suppose that it was not in her power to save Fenelon from any mortifications, and, in a great measure, to break his fall ; and if she had this power, she owed to her former friendship for him, to his cha- racter, at once so amiable and so respectable, and even to the claims which genius in distress ever has on the powerful and the great, to exert it all for him. Butlier friendly arm was never stretched out to Fenelon. It was LIFE OF FENELON. 45 itt her own establishment at St. Cyr, that Lewis the fourteenth's displeasure at Fenelon was first publickly displayed. The monarch repaired to St. Cyr, summoned the whole community before him, dismissed three of the religious, who were supposed to be attached to the opinions of madame de Guyon, declared they should never be readmitted, and expressed the strongest indig- nation against that lady and all her adherents. Many attempts were made to bring the dispute to an amicable termination. Explanations were suggested, conferences were proposed ; but every thing proved ineffectual. Nothing short of a formal retractation would satisfy Bossuet. He declared that the Maxims of the Saints contained some positions which were errors of faith ; others, that led directly to quietism and the most fatal consequences; some things that were abominable; and several falsifications of passages in the writings of St. Francis of Sales. Yet he spoke of Fenelon, as an author dear to his heart, who was so used to listen to him, and to whom he was so used to listen. " God," says Bossuet, " in whose presence I write, knows, with what sighs I have raised to him my sorrow- ful voice, in complaint that a friend of so many years thought me unworthy of treating with him, — me, who never raised my voice more than half a tone against him. I impute it to my sins, that such a friend has failed me, the friend of my life, whom I carry in my heart." Yet, when the cardinal de Noailles and the bishop of Chartres seemed to relax in favour of Fenelon, " take your own measures," Bossuet sternly said to them, " I will raise my voice to the heavens against those errors, so well known to you; I will complain to Rome, to the whole earth ; it shall not be said that the cause of God is weakly betrayed ; though I should stand single in it, [ will adyocate it." After the affair of quietism was over. 50 LIFf: OF FENELON. Lewis the fourteenth asked Bossuet, how he would have acted, if he had not met with the royal support : *' I should have raised my voice still higher than I did," answered Bossuet. The storm continually increasing, Fcnelon determined to carry the cause to Rome. For this he requested the monarcli's permission, and it was immediately granted. Lewis wrote, with his own hand, to the Pope, a letter, penned by Bossuet. It denounced to the pope the Maxims of the Saints, as " a very bad and very dan- gerous work ; condemned by bishops, by many doctors, and a multitude of learned religious men ; that the ex- planations offered by the archbishop could not be sup- ported." The monarch concluded by " assuring the pope, that he would use all his authority to cause the decision of the holy see to be carried into execution," This certainly was not the tone of moderation and im- partiality, with which the cause ought to have been presented to the holy see. A few days after the letter was written, the cardinal de Noailles, Bossuet, and the bishop of Chartres, signed a formal condemnation of the Maxims of the Saints, and delivered it into the hands of M. Delphini, the pope's nuncio. It was penned by Bossuet, and is expressed with great mode- ration ; but it was greatly softened by the cardinal de Noailles and the bishop of Chartres, after it came from the hands of Bossuet. — It should, however, be remarked, that it mentions as an expression of Fenelon's ^' the involuntary emotion of Jesus Christ on the Cross." Now, both before and after the bishops had signed this instrument, Fenelon uniformly declared that the ex- pression had been interpolated by the printer's mistake. After such a declaration, the expression should not have been noticed ; or, if it were noticed, the archbishop's declaration should have been noticed equally. LIVE OF FEXELOX. 51 Fenelon applied to Lewis the fourteenth for his per- mission to go to Rome, under any restrictions his majesty should think proper. This, the monarch ab- solutely refused, but permitted him to send agents to Rome, to act for him. He ordered Fenelon to proceed immediately to his diocese, to remain there, and not to stop at Paris longer than his affairs made his stay abso- lutely necessary. On receiving this letter, Fenelon wrote tomadame de Maintenon, and in his letter, expressed, in short and unaffected language, his concern at his having incurred the displeasure of her and the king, his obe- dience to his majesty, and his future submission to the sentence of the holy see. Madame de Maintenon was so much affected by Fenelon's letter as to be seriously ill. Lewis reproached her with it; " we are then," he said, " to see you die by inches, for this foolish affair.". In passing through Paris, Fenelon stopped before the seminary of St. Sulpice, where he had spent his earl}', and probably, his happiest hours : but he forbore from entering the house, lest his shewing a regard for it, might expose its inhabitants to his majesty's displea- sure. From Paris, he proceeded strait to Cambray. The agent, whom he employed at Rome, was the abbe de Chanterac, a relation, with whom he had long been united in the closest friendship, and with whom, he had long lived in the habit of the most confidential commu- nication. The abbe possessed every quality, which could recommend him, on this occasion, to Fenelon. His probity and piety were exemplary ; his mode of thinking and acting were mild: he spoke and wrote, the Latin and Italian languages with ease and elegance ; the subject of the controversy, and every thing, whicli had passed in respect to it, were familiar to him; he was intimately acquainted with Fenelon's notions and views, and had the most sincere affpGiion and veneriitioa E 2 52 LIFE OF FENELOy. for him. " My dear friend/' Fenelon said in the in- structions which he gave him for his conduct at Rome, '* consider God alone, in the unhapp}^ business. I often say with Mardocheus, O Lord ! every thing is known to thee ; thou knowest that, what I have done, is not through pride, through contempt of others, or the secret desire of glory. When God shall manifest his pleasure, we too should be pleased ; whatever may be the humiliation he sends us." Bossuet's agents, were the abbe Bossuet, his nephew, and the abbe de Phillippeaux ; both of them had learn- ing and talents, both were attached to Bossuet; but both inclined to violent councils : the friends of Bossuet have laid to their charge the intemperate spirit, which too often, in the course of the controversy, was shewn by Bossuet. Lewis the fourteenth removed Fenelon from his office of preceptor to the duke of Burgundy, the duke of ^njou, and the duke of Berri, but permitted him to retain the title of their preceptor. His displeasure with Fenelon extended to his relations and fi lends : the frown of the court was shewn to them all; but, to the eternal honour of them all, it appears that, in spite of the mo- narch's frown, every friend of Fenelon continued at- tached to him. The duke de Beauvilliers proclaimed publickly his friendship for him : Lewis the fourteenth reproached the duke with it, and intimated to him, that it might be the cause of his own disgrace. " I will re- member," the duke replied, " that Fenelon was appointed preceptor to the duke of Burgundy upon my recom- mendation ; I shall never repent of it. Fenelon always has been, and is now more than ever, my friend. I know I am the work of your majesty's hand : you raised me, you may throw me down. If this should happen, I shall recognize, in what befals me, the will of the LIFE OF F£NELON. ^3 Almighty. I shall retire, with sincere regret at having displeased your majesty ; not, however, without the hope of leading a more quiet life than a court allows." On some occasion, a compromise was suggested, which, if it had been accepted, would have hushed the question, and of course removed the duke from danger; the duke would not even hear of it, and desired it might not be mentioned to Fenelon. But, among the friends of Fenelon none was more constant than his royal pupil, the duke of Burgundy The instant he heard of Fenelon's banishment, he ran to his grandfather^ flung himself at his feet, implored, with tears, his clemency, and, as a proof of the purity of Fenelon's doctrine, appealed to what his own conduct would ever be. Lewis was affected with the noble con- duct of his grandson ; when he recovered himself, he told him that, what he solicited was not a matter of favour : that the purity of faith was at stake, " and of that," he said, " Bossuet is the best judge." The duke retired in silence : how he felt and how he conducted himself afterwards in respect to Fenelon, will be men- tioned in a future page of tiiis work : the preceptor and pupil were worthy of each other. After the cardinal de Noailles, the bishop of Chartres, and Bossuet had published their condemnation of the Maximes des Saints, the two former almost quitted the war, and left the field to Bossuet and Fenelon. " Then," to use the words of the chancellor D'Aguesseau, " were seen to enter the lists, two combatants, rather equal than alike. One of them of consummate skill, covered with the laurels which he had gained in his combats for the church, an indefatigable w^arrior ; his age and repeated victories might have dispensed him from further service, but his mind, still vigorous, and superior to the weight of his years, preserved, in his old age, a great portion E3 54 IIFE OF FENELON. of the fire of bis early years. The other^ in the full strength of youth, not yet much known by his writings, but enjoying the highest reputation for his eloquence, and the loftiness of his genius : long exercised in the subject of discussion, a perfect master of its language : nothing in it was above his comprehension, nothing in it which he could not explain, and nothing, when he explained it, which did not appear plausible. Before they became rivals, they had long been friends ; both were estimable for the purity of their morals ; both, amiable for the softness of their manners ; both, an ornament of the church, of the court, and of human nature : one was respected as the sun setting in full majesty ; the other, as the sun, who promised to fill the universe with his glory, if he could but disengage himself from a kind of echpse in which he was unhappily involved." It is admitted that the tenets objected by Bossuet to Fenelon may be reduced to two : 1st, That a person may attain an habitual state of divine love, in which he loves God, purely for his sake^ and without the slightest regard to his own interests, even in respect to his eternal happiness. This was said to elevate charity beyond human power, at the expense of the fear of God, and the hope of divine favour. 2dly, That, in such a state, it is lawful, and may even be considered as an heroic effort of conformity to the divine will, to consent to eternal reprobation, if God should require such a sacrifice ; the party wlio makes such an act, conceiving, at the moment, that such a sacrifice is possible. It was also objected to Fenelon, that he refused to subscribe to the condemnation of madame de Guy on, in whose writings these propositions were expressed in the boldest terms; who maintained the possibility of a permanent existence, of a state of divine love, depend- LIFE OF FENELON. 55 ing only on faith, and a kind of intellectual view of the Deity, from which prayer and every other devotional efFort was absent, and even kept away ; who confounded a holy resignation to the divine will, with indifference to salvation ; whose works abounded with expressions on the love of God, offensive to good sense and deli- cacy ; with ridiculous and impossible suppositions, and monstrous and disgusting errors. These were the charges brought by Bossuet against Fenelon, with subsidiary charges of inconsistency, duplicity, falsification, subter- fuge, and other similar accusations. Fenelon retorted on Bossuet, that, by denying the pure love of God, he elevated the hope and fear of God at the expense of charity, and that his censures of madame de Guyon were too general, and immoderately severe. During this memorable controversy Bossuet and Fenelon repeatedly issued from the press in the way of attack and defence. It is admitted that each of them exerted his utmost talents for composition, in these publications : that no work of either is more highly finished : that each shews in his writings on this occa- sion, a conscious dignity of character ; each cautiously abstains from vulgar abuse, but each exerts every power and artifice of composition to excite the resentment of his reader against his adversary. Had such works been written, on any subject of a general and permanent interest, they would now be found, with the Introduction to Universal History^ and with Telemachus, in every library and on many a toilet : but, from the perishable nature of the subject, after a momentary celebrity, they sunk into oblivion, and are now read by those only, who anxiously labour to acquire the highest polish of the French language. Sure of the active support of his sovereign, and con- fiding, as he certainly might very far, in the justice of E4 5^ I^IFJi: OF FENELOX. his case, Bossuet appears to have expected that the court of Rome would have proceeded almost imme- diately to the condemnation of the accused book- With this impression, Bossuet's instructions to his agents were, to avoid the slightest intimation, that the condemnation of it, " would be attended with the least difficulty ; that, in whatever manner the sentence of condemnation should be pronounced, it would meet with no resist- ance/' They were to represent, that " Fenelon, in his own diocese, was considered an heretic ; and that, as soon as Rome should speak, Cambray and all the Low Countries would rise against him." But the court of Rome was too wise to proceed with such precipitancy. For some time, the pope took no other step in the busi- ness, than to consult with his confidential advisers on the best method of proceeding in it. He then appointed a commission, composed of the persons in Rome most distinguished for learning and piety ; they were directed to extract, from the book, such propositions as appeared to them reprehensible. Several propositions, which ap- peared to them of that description, they extracted ; and they referred them to the pope himself, stating, at length, their reasons for supposing them erroneous. By the pope's orders, they were transmitted to the agents of Bossuet and Fenelon, for their observations ; and, when those were returned, all the papers were again laid before the pope, and, both in public and private consis- tories, repeatedly discussed in his presence. The pope permitted nothing of his sentiments to transpire, except that he thought the matter submitted to him was im- portant and full of difficulty. Both Bossuet and his royal master were surprised and mortified at this delay. At the instigation of Bossuet, the monarch expressed his impatience of it to the nuncio, and the nuncio described it strongly to the pope. His holiness desireo him to LIFE OF FENELON. 57 observe to the king, that, " as the three bishops had become accusers of Fenelon, and had given the greatest publicity to their charge against him, every rule of jus- tice, and the practice of every judicial court required, that Fenelon should be fully heard in his defence." For a time, the king seemed willing to leave the mat- ter to its course ; but Bossuet intimated to him, that it was essential both to his glory, and to the good of the church, that the sentence of Rome should be acce- lerated. He composed, in the name of Lewis, a me- morial, stating succinctly the arguments used against Fenelon, and urging his speedy condemnation. Lewis, with his own hand, delivered this memorial to the nuncio. Some time after, Lewis dismissed the abbe de Beaumont, and the abbe de Langeron, both of whom were the confidential friends, and the former of whom Avas the nephew of Fenelon, from their situation of sub- preceptors to the royal dukes : all Fenelon's other rela- tions, and several of his friends, were forbidden the court. The abbe Bossuet and the abbe Phillippeaux heard this with a transport of joy, and earnestly recom- mended that the proscription might be extended to father le Chaise, father Valois, and some other religious persons about the court ; " they wish all possible evil,'' writes the abbe Bossuet to his uncle, " to the king, to madame de Maintenon, to the archbishop of Paris, and to yourself." Under all these indignities, Fenelon preserved the pious serenity of his mind. '' Yet but a little while," he says in one of his letters, " and the deceitful dream of this life will be over. We shall meet in the kingdom of truth, where there is no error, no division, no scandal; we shall breathe the pure love of God; he will com- municate to us his everlasting peace. In the mean while, let us suffer, let us suffer; let us be trodden under , 58 LIFE OF FENKLON. foot ; let us not refuse disgrace ; Jesus Christ was dis- graced for us : may our disgrace tend to his glory !" We have seen that Lewis the fourteenth had per- mitted Fenelon to retain the title of preceptor to the royal dukes ; even that slight indulgence was now with- drawn from him: Lewis ordered the list of the officers about their persons to be presented to him, and, with his own hand, drew a line over the name of Fenelon. The pens both of Fenelon and Bossuet were soon put into action : a pastoral instruction of cardinal de Noailles was the signal for war ; Fenelon, in answer to it, addressed four letters to the cardinal ; five or six different works were sent to the press by Bossuet : all his controversial talents and eloquence are displayed in them. Fenelon replied to them : by the talents which he displayed in his replies, he fairly balanced his rival's character as a writer, and, by their apparent candour and simplicity, won over every heart to his cause. " How painful is it to me," he says to Bossuet, " to carry on, against you, this combat of words ! and that, to defend myself against your terrible charges, it should be necessary forme to point out your misrepresentations of my doctrine? I am the writer so dear to you, whom you always carry in your heart ! yet j^ou endeavour to plunge me, as another Molinos, into the gulph of quiet- ism. Every where you weep over my misfortunes, and, while you weep, you tear me into pieces. What can be thought of tears, to which recourse is only had, when crimination is to be aggravated ! You weep on my ac- count, and you suppress what is essential in my writ- ings; you join together sentences in them which are wide asunder. Your own exaggerated consequences, formally contradicted in my text, you hold out as my principles ! What is most pure in my text, becomes blasphemy in your representation of it ! Believe me, we LIFE OF FENELON. 59 are too long a spectacle to the world ; an object of de- rision to the ungodly ; of compassion to the good. That other men should be men, is not surprising ; but that the ministers of Jesus Christ, the angels of the church, should exhibit such scenes to the pmphane and the unbeliever, calls for tears of blood. How much more fortunate would have been our lot, if, instead of thus consuming our time in interminable disputes, we had been employed in our dioceses, in teaching the catechism, in instruct- ing the villager to fear God, and bless his holy name.'' Bossuet now saw, with surprise, thatFenelon met him with equal arms, and that, if the public opinion did not yet consider Fenelon to be wholly innocent, it considered him to be cruelly persecuted, and Bossuet to be his persecutor. Besides, it had transpired, that in the consistories at Rome, many voices had declared in favour of Fenelon. Another battery was now opened against the arch- bishop : an attempt was made to revive the stories, often propagated but fully disproved, of the too great fami- liarities of madame de Guy on with father La Combe. At this time father La Combe had been a prisoner, during ten years, in the chateau de Lourds, at the foot of the Pyrennees. To have him more under its command, the court caused him to be transferred to the chateau de St. Vincennes : there, he was prevailed upon to write to madame de Guyon a letter, exhorting her to acknowledge and repent of their intercourse. It was expected, that the ascertainment of this fact, would indirectly operate to the detriment of Fenelon, by exposing his connection with that lady to a similar suspicion. So much import- ance was annexed to this circumstance, that cardinal de Noailles himself, with the cure de St. Sulpice, took the letter to madame de Guyon, and pressed her, in the most solemn and moving terms, to confess the fault. 60 LIFE OF FENELOlf. She heard them with surprise, coolly asserted her inno- cence, and declared, that father La Combe must have been mad when he wrote such a letter. The accusation, however, was believed by the cardinal and by Bossuet. The latter forwarded it to his nephew at Rome : " It is better than twenty theological demonstrations," was the nephew's answer on receiving it. " These are the argu- ments we most need." But the whole of this wretched manoeuvre ended in nothitig : it was soon discovered that father La Combe's intellects were wholly deranged ; he was removed to Charenton, and died in the course of the following year, in a state of complete insanity. Still the stories of Fenelon's supposed habits with madame de Guyon were kept alive : *' It is asserted here," the abbe de Chanterac writes to him, " that you followed madame de Guyon equally in her disorders, as in her errors. To impress this on the mind of the public, every new courier is said to bring new confessions of the woman, and fresh discoveries of her abominations. It is asserted that your adversaries are in possession of the ^originals of several of your letters to her, which however, to save your reputation, are not to be produced till the last extremity." It was in this stage of the business, that Fenelon's friends were dismissed the court. When the abbe de Chanterac informed the pope of this circumstance, his holiness was greatly affected; he repeated to himself with great emotion : ** expulerunt nepotem, expulerunt consanguineos, expulerunt amicos," they have put out of doors his nephew, his relations, his friends ! In spite of the odious measures we have mentioned, in spite of the logic and eloquence of Bossuet, the public favour began lo manifest itself more strongly forFenelon, and it hourly became more and more uncertain, w^hich would ultimately prove victorious, Bossuet, aided by the favour of the sovereign, or Fenelon, who had nothing to LIFE OF FENELON. 6l oppose him, but the exquisite beauty of his genius, anH the reputation of his virtue. At this critical moment, Bossuet published his cele- brated Relation du Quietisme, In composing it, he availed himself of some secret and confidential writings which he had received from madame de Guyon, of private letters written to him by Fenelon, during their early intimacy, and of a letter, which, under the seal of friendship, Fenelonhad written to madame de Maintenon, and which, in this trying hour, she unfeelingly commu- nicated to Bossuet. The substance of these different pieces, Bossuet connected with so much art, interwove in them the mention of so many curious facts, so enter- taining an account of madame de Guyon's visions and pretensions to inspiration, and so many interesting anecdotes of the conduct of Lewis the fourteenth, and madame de Maintenon during the controversy; he occasionally inserted in it, so much dignified and truly episcopal eloquence, he deplored so feelingly the errors of Fenelon, presented his own conduct, during their disputes, in so favourable a view, and put the whole together with such exquisite skill, expressed it with so much elegance, and set it off by such brilliancy of thought and expression, as excited universal admiration, and attracted universal favour to its author. In one part of it, he assumed a style of mystery, and announced, " that the time was come, when it was the Almighty's will, that the secrets of the union should be revealed." — A terrible revelation was then expected, it seemed to appal every heart : it seemed that the existence ofvirtue itself would become problematical, if it should be proved that Fenelon was not virtuous. A letter of madame de Maintenon shews the eagerness with w^hich the extraordinary performance of Bossuet was read; *< they talk here of nothing else; they lend 62 LIFE OF FENELOK. it, they snatch it from one another, they devour it:** she herself circulated copies of it every where. Nothing could exceed the consternation, which this raised among the friends of Fenelon, at Rome, and at Paris:— His first intention was not to answer it; but the abbe de Chanterac informed him, that the impression, which it made against him at Rome was so strong, that a full refutation of it was absolutely necessary. He therefore determined to reply. Bossuet's relation appeared in the middle of June, Fenelon's reply was pubhshed on the third of August. A nobler effusion of the indignation of insulted virtue and genius, eloquence has never produced. In the first lines of it Fenelon placed himself above his antagonist, and to the last preserves his elevation. '* Notwithstanding my innocence," says Fenelon, " I was always apprehen- sive of a dispute of facts ; I knew that such a dispute between bishops must occasion considerable scandal. If, as the bishop of Meaux has a hundred times asserted, my book be full of the most extravagant contradictions, and the most monstrous errors, why does he have recourse to discussions, which must be attended with the most terrible of all scandals? why does he reveal to libertines what he terms a woeful mystery, a prodigy of seduction ^ why, when the propriety of censuring my book is the sole question, does he travel out of it's text ^ but the bishop of Meaux begins to find it difficult to establish his accusations of my doctrine ; the history of madame de Guyon then comes to his aid, and he lays hold of it as an amusing tale, likely to make all his mistakes of my doctrine disappear and be forgotten. Thus, when he can no longer argue the point of doctrine, he attacks me personally ; he publishes on the house-top what before he only ventured to whisper : he has recourse to all that is most odious in human society. The secret of private LIFE OF FENELOX. 63 letters written in intimate and religious confidence, (the most sacred after that of confession), has nothing inviolable in him. He produces my letters to Rome; he prints letters which I writ to him in the strictest con- fidence. — But all will be useless to him ; he will find that nothing that is dishonourable ever proves service- able." He then takes upBossuet's insinuationsrespecting madame de Guyon ; he produces the very honourable testimonies of the bishop of Geneva, both in respect to her piety and her morals, under which she w^as first introduced to him. He observes to Bossuet, that, after the long examination he had made of her doctrine, he permitted her to frequent the sacraments habitually, and even allowed her to state, in the declaration which he made her sign, that it had always been her wish to write in the most orthodox sense, and that she never thought it was possible to give her words any other meaning. " Now," continues Fenelon, '' if the bishop of Meaux, who had a full knowledge of madame de Guyon's most secret manuscripts, of those very manuscripts, from which, in his Relation, he has given such remarkable extracts, with a view of representing her as infected with the most extravagant and dangerous principles; if, iti the full possession of these documents, he still thought her intentions good, might not I, to whom all these manu- scripts, all these visions, all these pretended miracles were altogether unknown, be allowed to entertain that private opinion in favour of madame de Guyon's intentions, which Bossuet, in a public instrument, admitted to be pre- sumable ?"' This positive assertion by Fenelon, of his absolute ignorance of madame de Guyon's manuscripts, is of the utmost importance to his character, as it necessarily goes very far in excusing his refusal of subscribing to Bossuet's condemnation of her. It is to 64 LIFE OF FENELOX. be observed, that, throughout the controversy, the truth of this assertion vi^as never questioned. Bossuet, in his relation of quietism, exclaimed, *' May I venture to say it? Yes, I can say it confidently, and in the face of the sun. Could I, the most simple of mortals, the most incapable of artifice and dissimulation; could I, single and unaided, from the solitude of my cabinet, buried in papers and books, by imperceptible springs, put all the court, all Paris, all the kingdom, all Europe, Rome itself into action, to ruin merely by the strength of my own personal credit the archbishop of Cambray ? '* In answer to this animated figure, Fenelon cites a passage on which Bossuet deplores the general seduction in Fenelon's favour. '^ You lament then," says Fenelon, " the sudden and universal seduction in my favom- ! Permit me to avail myself against you of your own vivid expressions. Could I, in exile at Cam- bray, from the solitude of my cabinet, by imperceptible springs, attach to me so many disinterested and impartial persons, who, before they read my replies to you, were so prejudiced against me? — Could I in exile, I contra- dicted, I overwhelmed on all sides, could I, do that for my writings, which ihe bishop of Meaux, in credit, in power, with so many means of making himself dreaded, could not do against them ? The bishop of Meaux com- plains that cabals and factions are in motion ; that passion and interest divide the world. Be it so ! But, what interest can any person have to stir in my cause? I, stand single, and am wholly destitute of human help; no one, that has a view to his interest, dares look upon me. Great bodies, great powers, '' says the bishop," are in motion; but where are the great bodies, the great powers that stand up for nie 1 These are the excuses the bishop of Meaux gives, for the world's appearing to be LIFE OF FENELON. 65 divided on his charges against my doctrine, which at first he represented to be so completely abominable, as to admit of no fair explanation. This division, in the public opinion, on a matter which he represented to be so clear, makes him feel it advisable to shift the subject of dispute from a question of doctrine to a personal charge." Fenelon thus concludes i — " If the bishop of Meaux has any further writing, any further evidence to produce against -me, I conjure him not to do it by halves. Such a proceeding is worse than any publication; I conjure him to forward it instantly to Rome. I fear nothing, thank God, that will be communicated and examined judicially ; I fear nothing but vague report and unex- amined allegation." " I cannot here forbear from calling to witness the adorable Being whose eye pierces the thickest darkness, and before whom we must all appear; he reads my heart ; he knows that I adhere to no person, and to no book ; that I am attached to him alone, and to his church; that incessantly, in his holy presence, I be- seech him^ with sighs and tears, to restore peace to his church, and shorten the days of scandal ; to bring back the shepherds to their flocks; to reunite all in his holy mansion, and bestow on the bishop of Meaux as many blessings as the bishop of Meaux has thrown crosses on me." Never did virtue and genius obtain a more complete triumph. Fenelon's reply, by a kind of enchantment, restored to him every heart. Crushed by the strong arm of power, abandoned by the multitude, there was nothing to which he could look but his own powers. Obliged to fight for his honour, it was necessary for him, if he did not consent to sink under the accusation, to assume a port still more imposing than that of his 66 LIFE OF FENELON. mighty antagonist. Much had been expected from him, but none had supposed that he would raise himself to so *-r prodigious a height as would not only repel the attack of his antagonist, but actually reduce him to the de- fensive. Bossuet published remarks on Fenelon's reply; Fe- nelon published an answer to these, which, on the question of facts, fixed the public in his favour. *' What an indecency," says Fenelon, ^' it is to be- hold in the house of God, in his very sanctuary, his ^^ principal ministers unceasingly venting on each other, vague declamations which prove nothing. Your age, and my infirmities, must make us soon appear before Him, whom credit cannot influence, eloquence cannot seduce. You profess to be afraid of my power, to fear my subtility. To what are you reduced ! You are under a necessity of proving seriously that I have more power than you ! what cannot your subtility prove, if it can ~^ prove a fact so contrary to what is known to the whole world?'' In one of his works, Bossuet has compared Fenelon and madame de Guy on to the heretic Montanus and his prophetess Priscilla. Fenelon exclaimed against the odiousness of the comparison: Bossuet, in his justifica- tion, alledged that a criminal intercourse between Mon- tanus and Priscilla had never been suspected ; that it was a mere commerce of mental illusion, like that of Fenelon and madame de Guyon. — " But," snys Fenelon, " does my illusion, such even as you represent it, resem- ble that of Montanus ? That fanatic had detached iVom their husbands two wives, who followed him every where; he delivered them up to a false spirit of prophecy, he was himself possessed by it, and all three in a trans- port of diabolical fury strangled themselves. Such was the man, the horror of all succeeding times, to whom LIFE OF FENELON. 67 you compare me ; me, the dear friend of your life, whom you carry in your heart. You say, I have no right to complain of the comparison. No, my lord bishop, I do not complain : I grieve for you— for )^ou, who can coolly say you accuse me of nothing, when vou com- pare me to Montanus ! Who now believes what you say? You have done for me more than I could have done for myself. But what a wretched comfort is this, when I see the scandal it brings into the house of God ; what a - triumph your disgrace is to heretics and libertines." " The scandal was not so great," says the chancellor D'Aguesseau, " while these great antagonists confined their quarrel to points of doctrine : but the scene was truly afflicting to all good men, when they attacked one another on facts, and differed so much in their accounts, that, as it was impossible that both should. speak the truth, persons saw with concern, but saw with certainty, that one of the two prelates must be guilty of untruth. Without saying on which side the truth lay, it is certain that the archbishop of Cambray contrived to obtain, in the opinion of the public, the advantage of probability : — sut se donnery dans Vesprit du public, Vavantage de la vraisemblanceJ' From this time the question of facts was abandoned. The apologies of Fenelon did not produce a less effect at Rome, than they did at Paris; and his friends, to a se their own words, experienced the same joy, as if, having seen him for a long time struggling with the waves, and finally sinking under them, they beheld him regain, the shore in safety. The happiness of the abb6 de Chan- terac was perfect : '' When I saw," he writes to Fenelon, " your innocence on the point of being overwhelmed in consequence of your repugnance to answer the unjust charges brought against you, and that your silence put F 2 68 LIFE OF FENELON. the doctrine of the church in danger of being confounded with the most gross errors, I own to you that my soul: was often sorrowful, and that as I sat under the juniper branches 1 could not always keep my sorrows within bounds. * Cum sederet suhter juniperum, petivit animca su(E tit moreretur' (III. Lib. Reg. Cap. ig.) But now, when the truth is known, and you have done all that de- pended on you to clear it up and defend it, whatever may happen will so clearly appear to be the will of God, in our regard, that I shall not venture to complain of it to him, or even to be afflicted at it. I shall quietly submit myself to his holy will." The pope and cardinals received Fenelon's apology from the abbe in the most affectionate manner : all of them expressed themselves satisfied with it; the abbe mentions that, when they found how completely Fene- lon vindicated his innocence, they seemed to him to feel themselves eased of a weight which oppressed them. The mortification of the abbe Bossuet was equal to their joy. " Fenelon," he writes to the bishop of Meaux, " is a wild beast, to be hunted down for the honour of the mitre and of truth, till he is quite subdued and ren- dered incapable of doing further mischief. Did not St. Augustin pursue Julian even to death ? It is necessary to deliver the church from the greatest eniemy she ever had. It is my opinion that neither the bishops, nor the king, can, in conscience, allow any rest to the archbishop of Cambray." In the course of the discussion, it was frequently sug- gested to Fenelon, that he might make a useful diversion in his favour, by retorting on Bossuet, that the expres- sions which Bossuet used in combating disinterested love, went as far to the ruin of charity as the language of Fenelou, in the support of disinterested love, went to LIFE OF FENELON. O9 the ruiQ of hope ; but those suggestions were rejected by Fenelon : " there might/' he said, ^* be prudence in such a measure; but let me Uve and die in siniplicity." It is necessary to mention a circumstance in the con- troversy, which gave particular scandal. In the days of their intimacy Fenelon had communicated, m writing, to Bossuet, the cardinal de Noailles, and M. Tronson, an account of the most secret disposition of his con- science: among them, it was called his confession. Allu- ding to it, Fenelon, in the course of the controversy, accused Bossuet of reveaUng his confession. Bossuet held out this to the public as a charge of having betrayed Fenelon's sacramental confession. Such a disclosure is justly considered, among roman-catholics, as a crime of the blackest die. In roman-catholic countries, it is punishable with death, and none but a villain, in whom every sentiment of religion, virtue, and honour is lost, is supposed to be capable of it. Bossuet's representation of this fact raised a storm of indignation against Fenelon ; but it was immediately explained by him to the satis- faction of the public, and Bossuet never returned to the charge : but the language in which Fenelon rnade the charge, was very blameable. The public at large was wholly ignorant of the circumstance, which explained it, and could not therefore but suppose that Bossuet stood accused by Fenelon of revealing his sacramental confession. F3 70 LIFE OF FENELOiV. CHAP. XII. THE pope's condemnation OF PENELON's " MAXIMS OF THE SAINTS." A. D. 1699. ^T. 48. Still the proceedings at Rome lingered. — The pope had begun by appointing twelve consultors, who were to hold their meetings in the chamber of the master of the Sacred Palace. Twelve times, they met; and, finally, were divided, in their opinions. The pope then appointed a congregation of cardinals : these two met, in conclusion, twelve times, and came to no resolution : he then appointed a new congregation of cardinals ; they met in consultation fifty-two times, and at length extracted from Fenelon's work, several censu- rable propositions, and reported them to the pope : after which, they had thirty-seven meetings to settle the form. of the censure. During all this time, private conferences on the subject were continually held by the pope's di- rection, and sometimes in his presence. Lewis the fourteenth's impatience at the delay was now shewn in a marked manner. He wrote to the pope in strong terms : he stated, in his letter, that *^ while he expected from his zeal and friendship a speedy decision on the archbishop's book, he could not hear, without sorrow, that the sentence so necessary to the peace of the church, was delayed by the artifices of those, to whose interest the delay was of advantage." He en- treats his holiness, in the most pressing terms, to pro- nounce sentence immediately. He accompanied his letter with one to the cardinal de Bouillon, his ambas- sador at Rome, making him responsible for the event. LIFE OF FENELON. 71 It was evident that the pope sought to avoid a final decision : the height of the subject, almost ahvays above reason, made it difficult to express an opinion upon it, in such terms, as should be both intelligible and exact; and it was difficult to censure any of Fenelon's propo- sitions, without censuring a proposition of a similar sound, in the writings of some v^riter, of whom theroman- catholic church thinks with respect. Besides, — though Fenelon always declared his determination to submit implicitly to the judgment of the roman see, and much dociUty might be expected from him, it was felt that such an act of submission was an effi^rt of heroic hu- mility, almost beyond the power of human nature, and therefore not to be taken for granted. If Fenelon should not submit, there was a powerful party, and, at a time not very distant, there might be a powerful monarch, who would espouse his cause, and this might bring fresh troubles into the church, already too much agitated by the disciples of Jansenius. It was also observed to the pope, that, in many respects, it was merely a dispute of words. On the habitual state of disinterested divine love^ the attainment of w^hich was said to be inculcated in Fe- nelon's writings, Fenelon himself uniformly declared his opinion that a permanent state of divine love, without hope and without fear, was above the lot of man ; and Bossuet himself allowed that there might be moments, when a soul, dedicated to the love of God, would be lost in heavenly contemplation, — and then love, and adore without being influenced either by hope or fear, or sen- sible of either. As to the sacrifice of eternal bliss, an offer of which, Fenelon was said to consider as the ulti- mate effort of heroic resignation to the divine will, Fene- lon assimilated it to the wish of Moses, to be blotted from the book of life, (Ex. c. 32. v. 32, 33, 34.), and to the wish of St. Paul, (Rom. c. 9. v. 3.) tp'be an ana. F 4 72 LIFE OF FENKLON. thema, — for the sake of those for whom they interceded. Bossuet justly contended, that both the patriarch and the apostle were to be understood, with an implied sup- position, that the sacrifice which they offered was conso- nant to his will, and might tend to his glory. This was admitted by Fenelon, but he contended that the similar expressions of modern mystics should receive a similar construction. As to the strange comparisons, the extra- vagant suppositions, and the language of fondness used by madame de Guy on and other mystics in expressing their love of God, and their communion with him, which were reprobated in the harshest terms by Bossuet, Fene- lon admitted that they could not be censured too severely, if it were just to construe them strictly ; but he contended that theological precision could not be re- quired, with justice, from such writers ; and that these expressions should be treated, merely as effusions of pure and fervent minds, who, feeling nothing wrong in them- selves, suspected nothing wrong in others. As to the charge of advocating the cause of madame de Guyon ^ Fenelon expressly declared his readiness to desist from any defence of her, and even from mentioning her name ; he allowed that her writings w^ere in some re- spects justly censurable; but healledged, that much was imputed to her, of what she was not guilty, and that her real errors were greatly exaggerated : on that account he avowed an unwillingness to subscribe to a general cen- sure either of her conduct or her writings. With these explanations, the real difference between Bossuet and Fenelon was not very great ; and perhaps rather to be felt than very accurately defined or described. On this ground, it was suggested to the pope, that^ with- out pronouncing a formal decision on the points in con- test, it would be prudent in him, to be satisfied with issuing a brief, in which the general doctrine of the LIFE OF FENELON. 73 diuich should be accurately propounded, and both par- ties required to abstain from future discussions. It ap- pears that the pope himself inclined to this plan ; but, unfortunately for Fenelon, Lewis the fourteenth had made himself a party in the cause, and Lewis the four- teenth was too powerful a suitor, to be denied justice. In spite even of this circumstance, the final decision of the cause was repeatedly postponed, and the papal ba- lance remained steady for a period of time, which the adversaries of Fenelon thought very long. At last it trembled, with a slight preponderance, against Fenelon. — The pope issued a brief, by which twenty-three pro- positions, reduceable to the two w^e have mentioned, were extracted from the obnoxious work, and condemned : but the expressions used in the condemnation of them, were gentle; the propositions were said to be condemned because they might insensibly lead the faithful to errors already condemned by the catholic church ; and because they contained.propositions, which, in the sense of the words which immediately presented itself, and according to the order and connections of the sentiments, were rash, scandalous, ill-sounding, offensive to pious ears, per- nicious in j)ractice, and erroneous ; but none of them was said to be heretical, and the name of Fenelon, as the author of them, was not once mentioned in the brief. These circumstances soothed the sorrow of the friends of Fenelon, and considerably mortified his adversaries. Their mortification was increased by a bon mot of the pope, which was soon in every mouth, that, " Fenelon was in fault for too great love of God ; and his enemies equally in fault, for too little love of their neighbour." " Now is the time come," wrote the good abbe de Chanterac to his friend, " to put in practice, whatever religion has taught you to be most holy, in a perfect con- 74 I'IFE OF FENELOJ^i, formity to the will of God. You and all attached to you, must be obedient to Jesus Christ, to death, even to the death of the cross. You will want all your piety, ail the submission which you have so often promised the pope in your letters, to possess your soul in patience, when you read the brief, which he has just published against your book. — It was mentioned to me, that I ought to see him, to assure him of your submission. — • All of us together cannot be so much affected, as he appears to be, for what may be painful to you in his brief :— most pious, most holy, most learned ; — were epithets he often applied to yon. All your friends here think you should receive this brief with the most perfect submission ; and that the more simple your submission shall be, the more acceptable it will be to God and man. Jesus Christ agonized on the cross, exposed to the judg- ments of men, appears to me the true model which re- ligion now holds out for your imitation, and to which the Holy Ghost wishes you to conform. It is chiefly in situations like that, in which providence has now placed you, that the just man lives by faith, and that we ought to be founded and rooted in the charity of Jesus Christ. Who shall separate us from it ? — never was I so inti- mately united to you for eternity .'' The first information of the pope's brief was conveyed by Fenelon's brother to him, at the moment he ascended the pulpit of his cathedral, to preach ; and the news of it was immediately circulated through the congregation. Fenelon recollected himself, paused for a few minutes, and then, changing the plan of his sermon, preached on the duty of obedience to the church. The subject of his discourse, the sentiments it expressed, the religious calm, with which it was delivered, the solemn engage- ment, which he contracted by it, to practise on that LIFE OF FENELON. 75 trying occasion, the submission which he preached, drew tears of sorrow, respect, and admiration from the whole audience. The first moment it was in his power, Fenelon pub- lished a pastoral letter, addressed to all the faithful of his district :— " Our holy father/' he says in it, " has condemned my book, entitled the ' Maximes des Saints,' and has condemned, in a particular manner, twenty-three propositions extracted from it. We adliere to his brief, and condemn the book, and the twenty-three propo- sitions, simply, absolutely, and without a shadow of re- serve.'' He sent his pastoral letter to the pope, and solemnly assured his holiness, that he would never at- tempt to elude his sentence, or raise any questions on its regard. " Thus," to use the language of the chancellor d'Ague3- seau, " the archbishop of Cambray, who had fought like a lion in defence of his work, while there was a chance of victory, or even a chance of not being conquered, sub- mitted in an instant, like the lowliest sheep of his floek. His pastoral letter, short and affecting, comforted his friends, afflicted his enemies, and falsified every predic- tion which had been made of the nice subtleties and dis- tinctions with which he would seek to disguise his defeat." M. de Bausset gives extracts of several letters written by Fenelon, about this time ; all of them breathe an amiable spirit of peace and resignation, but, in gene- ral, he declined all writing and discourse on the subject, and at an early moment, almost whplly dismissed the controversy from his thoughts. After what has been seen of the letters of the abbe Phillippeaux and the abbe Bossuet, it will not be sm> prising, that the former spoke of Fenelon's pastoral letter, as consisting of dry expressions, and vague words ; or that the latter shouid say, " that it was easy 76 LIFE OF FENLLON. to discover its ambiguity and pride, and impossible to read it without indignation." But, who can read without surprise, that the bishop of Meaux himself, said of it, — > " the cabal exalts the letter ; disinterested persons think it full of ambiguity and pride ;" — or that he should write to his nephew, who continued at Rome, " after all, I think Rome should be satisfied with the archbishop's letter : it contains the essential, and expresses, however pompously, his submission/' He sent his nephew some remarks on it, but desired him to keep them to him- self. The bishop of Chartres thought of it very differ- ently ; he wrote to Fenelon, that " he was delighted with his perfect submission : I have no words to ex- press how my heart is affected with your humble and generous action/' The pope addressed a letter to Fenelon, much less kind, and less honourable to him than it would have been if Lewis the fourteenth's name had not been called in to chill its terms. With the single exception of the cardinal Cassanate, a decided partizan of France, all the cardinals desired the abbe de Chanterac to testify to Fenelon their respect and attachment. With friendly and wise solicitude, they advised him to observe the most rigid silence on the subject, and particularly to avoid further retracta- tions, or explanations ; they observed to him, that his act of submission was perfect ; that the pope was satis- fied with it, and that no one therefore had a right to require more from him on the subject : — *' It is impos- sible," writes the abbe de Chanterac to him, " to praise, more than they did, your submission, your pastoral letter, your letters to the pope, the whole of your con- duct. Some things they said to me on the subject must be reserved for private conversation." It might be expected that the ready and perfect sub- mission of Fenelon would soften the mind of Lewis the LIFE OF FENELON. 77 fourteenth ; but he persisted in the Hne of extreme rigour, and Fenelon was to drink the cup of his humiliation to its dregs. The metropolitan prelates of the kingdom were ordered, by the king, to convene their suffragans, and, at an assembly of them, to accept the brief. The car- dinal of Noailles, as archbishop of Paris, first assembled his suffrasfans. The assembly consisted of himself and the bishops of Meaux, Chartres, and Blois. As the three first of them had been the leaders of the attack on Fenelon, decency seemed to require, that some other metropolitan assembly should take the lead ; but the court's opinion was known, and zeal was the order of the day. Instead of confining themselves to the accep- tation of the brief, the cardinal and his suffragans petitioned the king for a general suppression of all the writings, which Fenelon had published in his defence: in this superfluous display of zeal, seven of the re- maining fifteen metropolitan assemblies followed their example. All the metropolitan assemblies spoke in high terms of Fenelon's piety^ virtue, and talents: some of them, among which was the metropolitan assembly of Paris, commended his submission as simple, absolute, . and without any restriction. The wor ling of the declara- tion of that assembly was entrusted to Bossuet ; and he mentions, in a letter to his nephew, that much of it, as he has prepared it, was softened. But, it was among his own suffragans that Fenelon met with the harshest usage. The bishop of Tournay intimated, that Fenelon's pastoral letter did not express an internal acquiescence in the brief of the pope. Fenelon, with mjld dignity, repelled the imputation ; and the bishops of Arras and St. Omers, his other suffragans, stood up in his support. The next step of the court was to procure the regis- tration of the brief This, on account of some want of 78 LIFE OF FEXELON. formality, was attended with difficulty, but the over- powering influence of Lewis the fourteenth, levelled every obstacle. The brief was presented for registration by the chancellor d'Aguesseau, then first attorney general of his majesty. He pronounced, on that occa- sion, a discourse, which the president Henault describes, " as an immortal monument of the solidity of the church of France, and an eternal honor to the chancellor's me- mory/* M. d'Aguesseau mentions in it Fenelon's sub mission in terms of high praise ; " no discordant voice troubled the holy concert, the happy harmony of the oracles of the church. What was the joy of the church, when she found that he, among the prelates, whose opposition she would have had most to fear, if his heart had been an accomplice of bis under- standing, had, more humble and more docile than the lowliest of his flock, anticipated the judgment of the prelates, and, by pronouncing an afflicting but salutary sentence on himself, hastened to encourage the church, frightened at his doctrine, by professing readily and solemnly, a submission without reserve, an obedience without bound, and an acquiescence without a shadow of restriction.'* The chancellor informs us, that in his discourse, as he had originally penned it, he had expressed himself in stronger terms, in the praise of Fenelon, but that, wiien the discourse was read in manuscript to the king, he objected to them. — It is remarkable that the chan- cellor, who, in every part of his voluminous works> writes with more than roman gravity, appears always to have a smile on his countenance when he mentions quietism : he evidently considered it rather as an intrigue of the court than an affair of rehgion. * * The celebrated Leibniz, (Opera, Tom. IV. p. 295, and Tom. V. p. 189), remarks that, before the war of words between Bossuet and LIFE OF FENELON. 79 After the registration of the pope's brief in parliament, it only remained that a report should be made of the affair to the next assembly of the clergy. This was intrusted to Bossuet, and he penned this Fenelon began, the prelates should have agreed on a definition of tlie word " Love," and that such a definition might have prevented the dispute. To love a person, is, he says, to delight in his happiness. The contemplation of beauty always gives pleasure to an intelligent spec- tator. God is the most beautiful of spectacles ; a person who contem- plates him, in a proper disposition of mind, has, in the act of contem- plating his beauty, an exquisite sensation of pleasure, he rejoices that God is happy ; — in other words he loves God ; and thus far his love, though accompanied with an high degree of joy, is perfectly pure and disinterested. But then, he receives pleasure in feeling this sensation of joy, and this pleasure, say the adversaries of pure love, is self-love. Be it so : still, says Leibniz, it had been preceded by a period of pure lov«. Besides : this sentiment of self-love, continues Leibniz, does not always take place. — In the contemplation of the perfections of the Deity, both the heart and the mind are often so fixed on the divine object, that the party has no sensible feeling of his own existence. Nm sentio meam aUevietatem, was the expression of a mystified female. Still, it is inaccurate to use these words, if they are supposed to import any thing like an individualization of the soul with the divine essence : for even the most exalted act of divine love shews this alteriety of the soul : so that, though the soul do not always feel that, which makes her actually sensible of her separate existence, she alv/ays feels that, which proves it. — Siich is the system of Leibniz on the subject in dis- pute between Bossuet and Fenelon. The Writer thinks it not im- probable, that, if it had been proposed and expounded to the two great antagonists it would have reconciled their differences. In contending for the existence of pure love, unmixed with self- interest, its advocates appeal to the sentiment of pity, which, as they assert, must proceed, on many occasions, from feelings of unmixed benevolence. A child was drowned in attempting to cross a brook ; the mother of the child, in order to prevent the like misfortune to another mother, immediately caused a bridge to be placed over the brook. In this, could self-love have the slightest part? Yes, the advo- cates for it answer, it entered greatly into the pleasure which the mother derived from the consciousness of the generous feeling, Avhich prompted her to the act. But did not the resolution to build the 80 LIFE OF FENELON. report in the language of moderation. " It was justly observed," he says in it, " that the archbishop of Cam- bray, who had more interest than any other person, in eluding, if it had been possible, the sentence which coi>demned him, was the first to submit to it ; and he expressed his submission by a formal act. We recollect with joy the names of the illustrious bishops whom he imitated on this occasion. Following the example of the king, all the provinces united in praising that sub- mission : and thus it was shown, that all, which it had been found necessary to say against the work, had been spoken without any breach of charity." These expres- sions of Bossuet, as they apply to Fenelon, are very cold; they are less an eulogy of Fenelon than an artful conclusion, from premises which did not allow it, in favour of the vehemence of conduct, with which Bossuet knew he was generally reproached, and which Fenelon's humble submission tended to place in its worst light. In speaking of madame de Guyon, Bossuet says, — ^* As to the abominations, which seemed the necessary consequences of her doctrine, they were wholly out of the question ; she herself always mentioned them with horror." — In this solemn and explicit declaration of the innocence of her morals, ended the various charges and insinuations which had been made against madame de Guyon with so much publicity, and with such parade. Here the, affair of quietism ends. At the close of his account of it, M. de Bauss^t expresses himself in terms, which, if we make some allowance for his fear of saying any thing harsh of Lewis the fourteenth, may be con- sidered a fair representation of the merit and demerit of the general conduct of the principal actors. " All of them," he says, " preserved in it the character of great- bridge, precede the feeling of its being a generous act ? If it did, then say its advocates, there was at least a moment of pur© unmixed benevolence. LIFE OF FENELON. 8l ness, which posterity has stamped on them. Seduced by his own virtuous mind, Feneion thought, that the highest degree of virtue, attainable by man, was to unite himself to the divine perfections, by a love of God, free from interest ; and he rectified, in the wri- tings which he published in his defence, all that was incorrect or equivocal in the work, which was the subject of dispute. — Bossuet, crowned with triumph and glory, preserved his high rank of Oracle of the gal- lican church : but Feneion was blameable for his admi- ration of the supposed spiritual gifts of a visionary woman, for permitting his admiration of them to pre- vail over his better reason, and to prevent his surrender- ing opinions, perhaps less erroneous in themselves, than in the terms in which he expressed them, to the peace of the church. On the other hand, Bossuet was blame- able for connecting a mere question of doctrine with a personal charge of the worst kind, against an estimable and amiable adversary. Having thus assigned to Bossuet and Feneion, what he considers their due share of praise and blame, M. de Bausset proceeds to his great idol. — Lewis the four- teenth, he says, comes before us in his proper light ; he does not pretend to be a judge of doctrine, he does not pretend to dictate to the church, he petitions for a clear decision, and when he receives it, then, as the external bishop, he causes it to be executed according to the canons ; and, as sovereign, he causes it to be exe- cuted with legal formality. — But, had not Lewis the fourteenth his share of blame ? By his severities to F'enelon and his friends, by his marked support of Bossuet, by his pointed instructions to his ambassadors, by bis letters, almost menacing, to the pope, did not the external bishop attempt to influence the decision ? did he not anticipate the judgment ? 82 LIFE OF FENELON. On the pope, M. de Bausset is silent: — to the present writer, the pope appears the only actor in the business, whose conduct was perfectly free from blame. The real errors in the work of Fenelon, which was denounced to the pope, would have justified a more severe censure, or rather a censure, expressed in harsher terms, than the pope adopted. To the extreme of severity, the pope was repeatedly urged, (and we have «een in what terms), by the French monarch : but he listened to meekness, and to wisdom, which is always meek. He pronounced a censure, afflicting to Fenelon, but much milder than the king required, or extreme justice warranted. He generously wept over the virtue, the piety, and the talents, the abuse of which he was forced to condemn, and did every thing in his power to heal the wound he was obliged to inflict. Fenelon's submission, however, made him the hero of the day. " It stands a solitary example in history,'' says the chancellor d^Aguesseau, " of a controversy upon a point of doctrine, which one single sentence termi- nated, at the instant, without its reproduction in any other form, and without any attempt to reverse it by power, or to elude it by distinctions. — The glory of it is due to Fenelon/' Some attempts were made to effect a reconciliation between Fenelon and his episcopal antagonists, but such a reconciliation never took place. M. de Bausset, however, informs his readers, that he has discovered vestiges of a friendly correspondence, after the affair of quietism, between Fenelon and the bishop of Chartres ; and cites a letter of madame de Maisonfort, which mentions a projected journey of M. de St. Andre, the confidential grand-vicar of Bossuet, to Cambray, for the purpose of bringing about a reconciliation between Bossuet and Fenelon. It appears that Fenelon uniformly expressed himself of Bossuet with respect, and men- LIFE OF FENELON. 83 tioned his talents and the services he had rendered to religion, with admiration. * * Some time after Bossuet's decease, M. le Dieu, the secretary of Bossuet, whose family resided in the neighbourhood of Cambray, spent; by the desire of Fenelon, a whole day with him, and appears to have been highly pleased with his reception. — He mentions, in a letter to madame de Maisonfort, that, after supper, the conversation turned on the recent death of Bossuet, and that he was asked, whe- ther in his last illness, Bossuet had received the sacraments of the church, — by whom they were administered to him,— who prepared him for death. " I thought within myself," says the abbe, " that Fenelon, who put the last of these questions to me, recollected at the time, what had passed between them, and supposed that Bossuet stood in need of a stout confessor." Without a fuller investigation of the conduct of the contending prelates than the writer has been able to bestow on the subject, it would be presumptuous in him to pretend to assign to them their exact degrees of blame, (for blameable they both were), in their per- sonal hostilities. It seems evident to the writer, that Bossuet had a just, a kind, and a generous mind, and that much of what appeared reprehensible in his conduct towards Fenelon, was owing to the vio- lent councils of the cabal of the duke de Maine, who were jealous of the party attached to the duke of Burgundy, and likely to enjoy his exclusive favour if he should come into power. Of that party, Fene- lon was confessedly the head : it was therefore the interest of the cabal to effect his ruin, and unfortunately for Bossuet, they made him, unknown to himself, the instrument of their designs, and thus drew him, by exaggerated representations of the danger of the church from Fenelon's writings, into measures equally repugnant to his natural judgment and feelings. Bossuet left behind him the character of great ignorance in common affairs. Fenelon was allowed to possess great knowledge of men and manners ; and, notwithstanding his sublime spirituality, Fenelon had probably a much greater knowledge of the things of this world, than his serious and severe adversary. — Besides, in extenuation of Bossuet's violence, it should never be forgotten, that, in the main object of the controversy, he was perfectly in the light. " But," to repeat the writer's words, in his short reference to this controversy, in his Life of Bossuet, — " on the failings of such men it is " painful to dwell : the best reflection, suggested by them, seems to " be that, with which father Bourdaloue opens the part of his funeral 02 84 LIFE OF FENELON. It is singular, that at a subsequent time^ when Bossuet was worn down with age and infirmity, he applied to Lewis the fourteenth, to nominate his nephew, the abbe Bossuet, of whom such frequent mention has been made in the preceding pages, to be his coadjutor, and of course his successor, in the bishoprick of Meaux, and that he met with an absolute refusal. After the death of the abbe de Phillippeaux, the other agent of Bossuet, a re- lation of quietism, supposed to be written by him, was published at Paris; and, on the application of some of^ the family of Fenelon, was declared, by an arret du con- " oration on the prince of Coude, which turns on the failings of his *' hero." *' There is not," says that elegant preacher, " a luminary in the " heavens, which does not sometimes suffer an eclipse ; and the sun, '' which is the greatest of them, suffers the greatest and the most " remarkable. Two circumstances in them particularly deserve our " consideration, — one, that in these eclipses, the sun suffers no sub- " stantial loss of light, and preserves its regular course ; the other, " that, during the time of its eclipse, the universe contemplates it " with most interest, and watches its variations with most attention. " The hero, whom we lament, had his eclipses : it would be idle to " attempt to conceal them, they were as visible as his glory : but he ^' never lost the principles of rectitude, which governed his heart. '* These preserved him in his wanderings, and restored him to religion " and virtue, so greatly to his own honour, and to our benefit. " The faults of Fenelon and Bossuet, in their unfortunate contro- " versy, are entitled to the same benign consideration. The lustre of " their characters attracted universal attention, and made their errors " the more observable and the more observed. But the eclipse was " temporary, and the golden * flood remained unimpaired. — Those, " who are most disposed to be severe, should reflect on this circum- " stance. On a little self-examination, they will generally find, that, " if they themselves be not equally exposed to public censure, it is " owing, less to the undeviating rectitude of their conduct than to the " happy obscurity of their destinies." * To-morrow, he repairs his golden flood, And cheers the nations with redoubled rays. Gray. LIFE OF FENELON. 85 cile, to be scandalous and defamatory, and ordered to be publicly burnt. A question has been made, whether Fenelon was sin- cere in his retractation. On this point, we have the testi- mony of Lhe chevalier Ramsay. In a formal conversa- tion, which he had with Fenelon, the chevalier observed to him, that he could not reconcile his condemnation of his book, with his adherence to his avowed opinion of the possible existence of a pure and absolutely disinte- rested love of God. Fenelon replied, '^ that in condemn- ing his book, the church had not condemned the pure love of God ; that it had only condemned the expressions used by him, in explaining it, and those," he admitted, " were unfit for a dogmatical w^ork. My book," he said to the chevalier, " is good for nothing ; it is an abortion of imagination, it is not a work of the heart ; I wish you not to read it." The doctrine itself remained dear to Fenelon's till it ceased to beat. He left behind him a voluminous manuscript on the subject, to be delivered to the pope after his decease. We have seen that madam e de Guy on was imprisoned, soon after the dispute on quietism first broke out : a short time after its termination, she was released. She then retired to Blois, where she passed the remainder of her days in retirement and devotion, entirely silent on the events of her life, her principles, and her writings. She died • at an [advanced age, adored by the poor, and universally esteemed. In every vicissitude of life, she preserved the esteem of the hotel de Beauvilliers, and her other distinguished friends. A few days before her death she made her will : she prefixed to it a profession of her faith, of the purity of her intentions, and her sub- mission to the church. To close this account, perhaps too minute, and there- fore already too long, of the affair of quietism, it remains $6 LIFE OF FENELON. only to mention, the steady affection which all the antient friends of Fendon, with the single exception of madame de Maintenon, preserved for him during the long coniinuance of the court's displeasure. Nothing could exceed their attachment to him. He was a hond of union which cemented them together, for many a good and kind purpose. *' They took every oppor- tunity," says the duke de St. Simon, " of meeting to- gether; it was their delight to talk of Fenelon, to regret him, to express their wishes for his return to them, to contrive means of seeing him." But none of them was more warmly or steadily at- tached to Fenelon than his former pupil, the duke of Burgundy. Lewis the fourteenth enjoined him not to correspond with Fenelon, and spies were placed near each of them to prevent their intercourse. Four years elapsed before there was the slightest communication between them : the duke then contrived to send a letter to Fenelon. — " At length, my dear archbishop,'* writes the amiable youth, " I have an opportunity of breaking the silence, which for these four years, I have been obliged to keep with you. I have suffered much since we parted ; but one of my greatest sufferings has been, not to have it in my power, during all this time, to testify to you how much I felt for you, and to assure you, that my friendship for you has increased with your misfortunes. I shall not say how much I am disgusted with what has been done in your regard." He gives the archbishop an account of his studies ; " I think," he says, '^ that 1 persist more steadily than I did, in the path of virtue : but pray to God for me, that he will please to strengthen me in my good resolutions, and not suffer me to offend him again." Fenelon's answer is most affectionate ; it contains much good advice, expressed in the most af- fectionate language, but scarcely one word of himself. LIFE or FENELON. S? or his misfortunes : " My mind," he says in it, " is at rest; my greatest misfortune is not to see you. I would give a tliousand hves as a drop of water, to see you what God wishes you to be *." CHAP. XIII. TELEMACHUS. During the disputes concerning quietism, a circum- stance took place, which increased, and perhaps unal- terably fixed the aversion of Lewis the fourteenth to Fenelon :~the publication of Telemachus. It appears to have been composed by Fenelon, while he was preceptor to the royal dukes. Not long after the affair of quietism broke out, Fenelon gave the manu- script of it to a valet de chambre, to be copied by him ; and the valet sold it to a bookseller at Paris, The po- lice at that time narrowly watched the motions of Fene- lon ; they had notice of the publication, and, when the bookseller was at the 208 th page of the impression, seized, in the king's name, all the copies which were found in the possession of the bookseller ; and every pre- * Since the publication of the first edition of this work, the writer has seen a publication of the abbe Tabaraud, entitled, " Lettre cL M. de Baussety ancien eveque d'Alais, pour servir de supplement a son Histoire de Fenelon, Sw. Parisy 1809. The object of it, is, to remove the impressions unfavourable to Bossuet, which M. de Bausset's repre- sentation of that prelate's conduct towards Fenelon, is likely to pro- duce. — In a second letter, the writer attempts to vindicate the jan- senists, against some charges brought against them by M. de Bausset. Both letters show a considerable degree of talent, and contain useful information : but, they have not persuaded the writer, that the con- duct of Bossuet, was quite blameless, or the conduct of the jaasenists, was not vevy wrong. G 4 88 LIFE OF FENELON. caution was used to annihilate the work. But it was too late; the manuscript was preserved; it was sold to Adrian Moetjens, a bookseller at the Hague, and by him it was immediately printed. This edition appeared in 1699 ; and is very incorrect. Editions of it were rapidly multiplied; it was translated into every European lan- guage, and universally read and admired. Immediately on/ its appearance, it was supposed to contain an intentional and pointed satire of Lewis the fourteenth, his court, and his government. Calypso was supposed to be the marchioness of Montespan ; Eucha- is, mademoiselle de Fontanges ; Telemachus, the duke of Burgundy ; Mentor, the dakeof Beauvilliers ; Antiope, the duchess of Burgundy ; Protesilaus, Louvois ; Ido- meneus, our king James the second ; Sesostris, Lewis the fourteenth. It does not appear, and Fenelon himself always de- nied, that, in the composition of the work, he intended to pourtray these objects, or intended to lead the atten- tion of his readers to them : but it is easy to suppose, that, as he unavoidably wrote it under a strong impression of what immediately passed under his eye, the work would contain a more striking resemblance of the scenes passing before him, and of the principal actors in them, than it would have discovered, if the author had lived at a distance from them. Admitting, however, that no such individual resemblance was intended, or can be fairly traced in Telemachus, still, it contained enough to excite the monarch's highest displeasure. The disres- pectful mention, which is made, in every part of it, of ambition, of extensive conquest, of mihtary fame, of magnificence, and of almost every thing else, which Lewis the fourteenth considered as the glory of his reign, could not but prejudice the monarch against the writer. When he reflected that it was the production of one, on LIFE OF JtJLNELOy. 8t| whom he had conferred splendid marks of his favor, he could not but think the publication an act of ingratitude; when he recollected that the preceptor had probably in- stilled the principles of the work into the heir of his throne, the preceptor would naturally become an object of personal hatred; and these feelings would be much aggravated by the reception which the work met with, in the countries, whom Lewis the fourteenth viewed as his natural enemies, and who, soon after its first publi- cation, confederated for the destruction of him and his family. He knew theirhatred of him, and whatever they cherished, he could not but consider as hostile to him. In the monarch's general dislike of the work, madame de Maintenon unavoidably shared ; and, as Lewis the fourteenth suspected her of a partiality to Fenelon, her interest required that she should take every opportunity of expressing her disapprobation of the author, and that she should be forward in condemning the offending work. This was soon perceived by the courtiers : they quickly saw thatTelemachus w^as never to be mentioned. Fenelon was a member of the French academy : when his successor was received into it, both his successor and the member who presided at that sitting of the academy, pronounced an eulogium of Fenelon, and praised his other works, but neither of them mentioned Telema- chus. After several editions of Telemachus had been printed, on the model of the edition of 1699, Moetjens himself gave a more perfect edition of it in 1701 ; and that edi- tion was generally followed, in all subsequent editions, till the edition of 1717. In that year, the marquis of Fenelon, great nephew to the archbishop, published a new edition of Telemachus, from a copy corrected by Fenelon himself. With the leave of the regent, the mar- quis dedicated this edition to Lewis the fifteenth, who 90 LIFE OF FENELON. was then in his eighth year. This edition became the textus receptus, or the model, from which all subsequent impressions of Telemachus have been taken. As a composition, Telemachus has perhaps received its full measure of praise. It is eminently defective in unity of design, abounds with unnecessary details, is often prosaic ; its moral is oftener taught by long discourses, than by action, the proper vehicle of moral in an epic poem; and it contains more of profane love, than might be expected from a man of prayer, always writing at the foot of the cross ; but it abounds with passages of exqui- site beauty, and contains some of true sublimity. A soft tinge of poetic, and, it may be said, of religious melan- choly is shed over the whole, which seems to elevate it to real poetry, gives it an indescribable charm, and inte- rests the reader, both for the author and his hero. We find, by M. de Bausset, that Mentor's apology to Tele- machus, for the faults of kings, was inserted in the ma- nuscript, long after the first edition of the work, and consequently long after, '* The haughty Bourbon's unrelenting hate — " Dryden. had sealed the author's doom. CHAP. XIV. F^NELON S OTHER LITERARY WORKS AND GENERAL LITERARY CHARACTER. The mention of Telemachus, naturally leads to some account of the other works of Fenelon, and a general view of his literary character. All his writings show much grandeur and delicacy of sentiment, great fertility of genius, a correct taste, and LIFE OF FENELON. Ql exquisite sensibility. The poetical character appears in them all; but generally, it is poetry, descended from the heavens, to converse familiarly with man, and lead him, by her sweetest and simplest strains, to virtue and happiness. By assiduous study, the works of the best writers of antiquity became familiar to him; he imbibed their spirit ; and his intimate acquaintance with their writings, was his resource in every vicissitude in life, his ornament in prosperity, his comfort in adverse fortune : and, in the memorable contest we have mentioned, in which every thing dear to him was involved, the charm which it spread over his writings, enabled him to divide the world in his favor, against his mighty adversary, and his royal aid. He appears to have formed himself more on the Greek than the Roman writers. All the approved authors of antiquity are far removed from the extremes of simplicity and refinement; but the Greek, by their greater simplicity, have an evident advantage over the Roman. The writings of Fenelon, when quietism did not entangle him in its refinements, are distinguished by simplicity both of sentiment and expression. Without appearing to be measured, his periods are mellifluous, and, by a profusion, sometimes perhaps carried to ex- cess, of the little connective words, which the French language possesses much more than the English, but in no proportion to the Greek, each of his sentences always leads to the following, and harmonises with it both ia sense and sound. His Telemachus, and his replies to Bossuet, contain many passages of great splendor and pathos; but their greatest beauty is their tender simpli- city. This attached every reader to him, and gave Bossuet those sleepless nights which he ingenuously owned. The greatest fault of his writings is, that they 92 LIFE OF FENELON. abound with what, in music, is called rosalia, a repetition of the same idea in the next higher notes. After Telemachus, the principal literary work of Fenelon is, bis Dialogues sur F Eloquence en general, et sur celle de la chaire en particulier, published after his death. The chief aim of it is to show, that the real object of eloquence, is to excite in the auditors, virtuous and noble sentiments, and to impel them to generous and virtuous deeds ; and that, when eloquence falls short of this, it fails of its end. He particularly applies this observation to the eloquence of the pulpit: we shall present the reader with a general view of what he says on this subject, when we shall have occasion to mention his own sermons. On popular oratory he observes, that the first thing to be required of a public speaker is, that he should be a virtuous man : this, he pronounces to be indispensable to the success of his eloquence. He asks, " how is a mercenary and ambitious orator to cure his country of corruption and ambition ? If riches are his aim, how is he to correct the venality of his countrymen ? I know,^' says Fenelon, *' that a virtuous and disinterested orator should not be permitted to want the necessaries of life; but let him put himself in the way of not wanting them • let his manners be simple, unpretending, frugal and la- borious : if it be necessary to his independence, let him work with his own hands, for his subsistence. The pub- lic may confer honours on him, may invest him v/ith authority: but, if he is master of his passions, if he is really disinterested, he willnever make any use of his au- thority for his private advantage ; he will always be ready to resign it, when he cannot preserve it without dissi- mulation or flattery. To persuade the people, an orator should be incorruptible; his eloquence and talents will LIFE OF FENELON. 93 otherv/ise ruin the state. Where a man has his fortune in view, he must please every one, and manage every one ; how is such a man to obtain an ascendant over his countrymen ? Does he seek riches, let him embrace some of the professions by which riches are acquired : but, let him not make his speeches in the pubHc cause, the means of acquiring them." Fenelon observes of Cicero, ^^ that the speeches which he made, while he was young, rather amuse the mind than move the heart ;" that, he seems rather occupied by a v/ish of exciting admiration, than by his chent's cause; yet that even in the most flowery of these ha- rangues, he shows great talents of persuasion and of moving the passions. But it is in the harangues which he made in the cause of the republic, when he was ad- vanced in life, that he appears to advantage. Then, experience in affairs of magnitude, the love of liberty, and the view of the dangers which surrounded him, raised him to efforts worthy of a great orator. When he is to support the cause of dying liberty, to animate the republic against Anthony, 3^ou have no longer a play of words, no longer an antithesis ; then, he is negligent ; he finds in nature, all that is wanting to seize, to ani- mate, to carry off his hearers. Of antithesis, the bane of modern writings, Fenelon says: — " I do not absolutely proscribe antithesis; when the things to be expressed are naturally opposed to each other, it is proper to mark their opposition. There, an- tithesis is the natural and simple form of expression ; but to go out of tiie v/ay to form batteries of words is childish." In the same work, Fenelon observes, that, " to a per- fect intelligence of the sacred writings, some previous acquaintance with the works of Homer, Plato, Xeno- phon, and other celebrated writers of antiquity, is abso- lutely necessary. After this, the scripture," he says 94 l^^FE OF FENKLOX. " will no longer surprise." The same customs, the same mode of narrative, the same splendid imagery, the same pathetic touches are found in each. Where they differ, the advantage is wholly on the side of the scripture; it in- finitely surpasses all the writers of antiquity in simplicity, the subhmity of the canticles of Moses ; of that canticle in spirit, in grandeur. Homer himself never approaches in particular, which all the children of Israel vy^ere obliged to learn by heart. No Greek or Latin poetry is com- parable to the psalms. That, which begins, *' The God of Gods, the Lord hath spoken, and hath called up the earth," exceeds whatever human imagination has pro- duced. Neither Homer, nor any other poet, equals Isaiah, in describing the majesty of God, in whose pre- sence empires are as a grain of sand, the whole universe as a tent, which, to day is set up, and removed to-mor- row. Sometimes, as when he paints the charms of peace, Isaiah has the softness and sweetness of an eclogue; at others, he soars above mortal conception. But, what is there in profane antiquity, comparable to the wailings of Jeremy when he mourns over the calamities of his people ? or to Nahum, when he foresees, in spirit, the downfall of Nineveh, under the assault of an innume- rable army i* We almost behold the formidable host, and hear the arms and the chariots. — Read Daniel, denoun- cing to Balthazar, the vengeance of God, ready to fall upon him ; compare it with the most sublime passages of pagan antiquity ; you find nothing comparable to it. It must be added that, in the scriptures, every thing sus- tains itself; whether we consider the historical, the legal, or the poetical part of it, the proper character appears in all. On the writings of the antient fathers, he has the following judicious observations. " Some well informed persons have not always done to the fathers the justice due to them. They seem to have formed their opinion LIFE OF FENELON. 95 of them by a harsh metaphor of Tertullian, a swollen period of St. Cyprian, an obscure passage of St. Am- brose, a subtle jingling antithesis of St. Augustin, or a quibble of St. Peter Chrysologus. But we ought to consider how much the fathers were necessarily influ- enced by the taste, generally depraved, of the times, in which they lived. Good taste began to decay at Rome, soon after the Augustan aera. Juvenal possesses less delicacy than Horace ; both Seneca the tragic writer, and Lucan, have a disagreeable and turgid style. In Greece, attic literature had fallen into neglect, before St. Paul or St. Gregory Nazianzen wrote. A kind of minute scholastic subtlety had taken place of sound taste and judgment. Tlie fathers were educated by the wrangling rhetoricians of their times, and naturally fell into the general manner: yet they seem continually to struggle against it. To speak in a simple and natural manner was then generally esteemed a fault : declama- tion, not eloquence, was the leading object. But if we bestow on the writings of the fathers a patient and impar- tial perusal, we shall discover in them pearls of inesti- mable value. St, Cyprian possesses a greatness of spirit, and a vehemence, resembling those of Demos- thenes. We find in St. Chrysostom an exquisite judgment, noble images, a feeling and amiable morahty. St. Augustine is at once sublime and popular ; he rises into dignity, by the most simple expressions. He converses, he interrogates, he answers. It is a conversation between h^m and his hearers; his similes, generally introduced very opportunely, throw light on his subject. He sometimes descends to the coarseness of the popu- lace, blU it is to reform them, and he leads them by it to what is right. St. Bernard was a prodigy, in a bar- barous age. We find in him delicacy, elevation, senti- ment, tenderness, and vehemence. We shall be asto- 96 LIFE OF FLNELON. nished at the beauty and grandeur which we meet in the fathers, if we take into consideration the times in which they wrote. We readily pardon the pompous diction of Montaigne, the obsolete diction ofMarot; why not show the same indulgence to the fathers ? Why not ascribe their defects to the defects of the times in which they lived ?" The letters of Fenelon have been generally admired ; they appear to have been chiefly written on the impulse of the moment, without study, and without the least view to publication. The greater part of them are on subjects of piety : but many of them are addressed to persons in public situations, or engaged in the ordinar}^ affairs of life, and abound with profound and dehcate observations. ^' What you have most to fear," he writes to a young nobleman, " is idleness and dissipation. — Idleness is as prejudicial in the world, as it is criminal before God. A soft and indolent man, must always be a poor creature. If he is placed in any considerable situation, he is sure to disgrace it. If he has the most brilliant talents, idleness prevents his making any use of them. He cannot cultivate them, or acquire the infor- mation wanted for the proper discharge of his duties, or make necessary exertions, or accommodate himself, for any length of time, to those, whom it is his duty or his interest to conciliate. What can be done for such a man? Business wearies him, serious reading fatigues him, military duty interrupts his pleasures, attendance at court is irksome to him. — Pride alone should, make such a being insupportable to himself. '* Do you beware of this wretched existence. At court, with the king, in the army, among the generals, wherever you may be, exert yourself to behave with civility. Endeavour to acquire that politeness, which shows a respectful deference to every one. No airs of LIFE OF FENELOX. 97 dignity, no affectation, no bustle ; learn to behave to every one according to his rank, his reputation, his meril;, and his credit. Give to merit, esteem ; to talents, when virtue and confidence accompany them, confidence and attachment; to rank, civility and ceremony. On days of general representation, speak to every one, but enter into particular conversation with none. Bad company is always disgraceful ; it is ruinous to a young man, who has not yet an established character. It is excusable to see few persons, but nothing excuses your seeing a single person of a blasted reputation. Show such per- sons no indignity, but keep them at a great distance. " A seclusion from the world to indulge in idleness is dishonorable; but a retirement, employed in acts of duty or professional exertions, acquires general esteem. " As to general acquaintance, consider them as a kind of imperfect friends, upon whom you should not rely ; and whom, except from urgent necessity, you should never trust ; but you should serve them, as opportunity offers, and endeavour to lay them under obligations to you. Among these persons, you are not to look for perfect characters ; be most connected with such among them, as are most worthy. " As to true friends, chuse them with great care ; but their number must be small. Have no friend, who does not fear God, who is not wholly governed by the truths of religion. They should be a little older than yourself. To friends like those, open your heart with- out reserve ; and keep nothing secret from them, except the secrets of others.'' Soon after Fenelon was appointed preceptor of the royal princes, he was elected a member of the French academy. Conformably to an established rale of that institution, he pronounced a discourse before the aca- demy on his reception. Few of the discourses pro- igS LIFE OF FENELON, nounced on these occasions, have survived the day on which they were delivered. Fenelon's was generally admired ; the authors of the Bibliotheqiie Britannique, (vol. 19. p. 54,) mentions it, in terms of great commen- dation. In one part of it, Fenelon illustrates, by an ingenious comparison, what should be a great object of every writer in the general ordonnance of his work : " the beauties of a literary composition," he says, " should resemble those of architecture; the boldest works are not always the best. No part of an edifice should be constructed with a view to its o^vn particular beauty ; each should be constructed with a view to the strength and beauty of the whole." When the academy projected their dictionary, they directed M. Dacier, their secretary, to communicate the plan of it to Fenelon, and to request his thoughts on the design, and the best mode of carrying it into execu- tion. Fenelon replied by a lecter, published after his decease, with the title, Lettre a V Academic Francane. He does not confine himself to the particular point to which his attention was called by the academy, but throws out many general observations, replete with judgment and taste, on the actual state of literature in France. His remarks on French poetry are interesting, and show, that in a very advanced age, ibr they were not written till a very late period of his life, his soul was still wedded to immortal verse. He admits the imperfection of the heroic poetry of his countrymen. " Our versification," he says in this letter, " loses, if I am not deceived, much more than it gains by rhyme. It loses by it, much of its vivacity, its ease, and its har- mony. It frequently happens, that the rhyme, which has cost the poet so much labour, reduces him to the necessity of extending and weakening his period. He is often forced to employ two or three superfluous verses LIFE OF FENELON. 99 for the sakq of one which he particularly wishes to in- troduce. We are scrupulous in the choice of rhymes, and anxiously seek for those, which are thought to be rich, but we are not as scrupulous as we should be about goWity of thought and sentiment, clearness of expres- sion, natural arrangement, and real dignity of language. By rhyme, we gain little except an irksome uniformity of cadence, which is so far from being grateful to the ear, that we carefully avoid it in prose. The repetition of final syllables fatigues us in heroic verses. There is more harmony in those odes and stanzas, in which the rhymes are irregularly arranged ; but our grand heroic strains, which require the most harmonious, the most varied, and the most majestic sound, frequently consist of verses which have no pretence to perfection.'' Fenelon's other works principally relate to religious subjects ; a considerable portion of them are of a polemic ^nature, on the subject of the jansenistical controversy, in which, in his latter years, he took an active part. His Treatise on the Existence of God, was addressed, in a course of letters, to the duke of Orleans, the celebrated regent. M. de Bausset shows, that a work, entitled. Lives of the Philosophers, often published with his name, is unjustly ascribed to Fenelon. CHAP. XV. FENELON IN HIS DIOCESE. When Fenelon was nominated to the see of Cambray, every motive of interest and ambition nmst have prompted him, (in opposition to the canons which called him to his diocese,) to make the court his habitual resi- H 2 100 LIFE OF FEXELON^. deuce, and must have allured him to it b}'^ very gpecious reasons. In the opinion of the public, and even in his own conscience, if it were usually pliable, such a reso- lution would require no other apology, than his office of preceptor to the young princes. It would naturally suggest to him, that personal attendance on them was his first obligation. But Fenelon considered residence in his diocese tod sacred a duty to be neglected ; and therefore, before he acquiesced in his nomination, he stipulated, that his office should, on no account, prevent his residing with his flock, during nine months of every year. The royal mandate now made his constant residence among them' a matter of necessity; and probably, except so far as it separated him from his friends, he found the compliance with it, no great mortification. A letter written by him to the duke of Beauvilhers, gives a pleasing view of the situation of his mind, soon after he was settled among his flock. " I work," he says, in it, " softly and gently, and endeavour, as much as 1 can, to put myself in the way of being useful to my flock. They begin to love me, I endeavour to make them find me easy of access, uniform in my conduct, and without haughtiness, rigour, interest, or artifice : they appear ah-eady to have some confidence in me; and let me assure you^ that even these good Fleminders, with their homely appearance, have more finesse than I wish to put into my conduct towards them. They enquire of one another, whether I really am banished ; and they question my servants about it ; if they put the question to me, I shall make no mystery of it. It cer- tainly is an affliction to me to be separated from you, and the good duchess, and my other friends ; but, from the general scene, I am happy to be at a distance, and sing the canticle of deliverance." LIFE OF FENELON. 101 From the recent occurrences of Fenelon's life, it might be natural to expect, that, in the administration of his diocese, he would err by excess of zeal; but, from that defect, no one was ever more free. To do the kind and common thing while conscience allowed it, to ab- stain from unnecessary acts of authority, to avoid every display of talent or virtue, to remove by meekness and moderation what was blameable, to improve, with pru- dence and sobriety, what was good, and always to keep himself and his own exertions from the public eye, was the uniform tenor of his conduct. During the fifteen years, in which he governed his diocese, his administra- tion of it was uniformly wise and meek ; between him and his flock, his chapter, or his clergy, there never was an appearance of discord. Though, by his indefatigable zeal, he soon made the district committed to his charge, the model of a well-regulated diocese, his biographers do not record of him, a single instance of what are generally called acts of vigour, or a single instance of gaudy virtue. The peace of heaven was with him, and W9S communicated by him to all his flock. He allowed himself a short time for sleep, rose at a very early hour, gave some time to prayer and pious meditation, and then arranged with one of his grand- vicars, the employments of the day. Except on Saturdays, or on festivals particularly celebrated in some church of his diocese, when he officiated there, he said mass every day in his private chapel ; on Saturdays, he said it in his metropolitan church, and, during the rest of that morning heard indiscriminately, the confessions of all who presented themselves. Till nine o'clock, he was visible to those only who attended him by appoint- ment; after that hour, till he dined, his doors were open to all persons who professed to have real business with him. At noon, he dined; his table was suitable to his H3 102 LIFE OF FENELON. rank, but he himself was extremely abstemious, eating only the simplest and lightest food, and of that, sparingly. All his chaplains were admitted to his table : it was his general rule to show them the greatest respect ; if he sent them into the country, on any business of his diocese, it was always in one of his own carriages, and with one of his own attendants, that the respect which he shewed them, might conciliate to them the general respect of his flock. Both before and after dinner, he himself said grace with seriousness, but without affectation : the reader will hear with pleasure that his tried friend, the virtuous and faithful abbe de Chanterac, was always placed next him, on his left hand. During dinner, the conversation was general, and strangers were struck equally, with its ease and politeness. After dinner, all the company retired to a large apartment, for about an hour ; there, the same stile of conversation was continued, but a small table was sometimes placed before Fenelon, on which he signed his name to papers which required immediate dispatch, and he sometimes took that opportunity of giving directions to his chap- lains, on the affairs of his diocese. An hour was spent in this manner, after which, unless he was prevented by mgent business or necessary visits, he lived to himself till nine o'clock, then he supped, and at ten, the whole of his household assembled : one of his chaplains said night-prayers; at the end of them, the archbishop rose, and gave his general blessing to the assembly. The only recreation of Fenelon was to walk in his garden or in the open country. His letters, like those of Cicero, often express the satisfaction which he felt in retiring, after the agitation and hurry of business, to the simple and interesting scenes of nature. By their stillness and calm, any ruffle of the day was quickly smoothed, and his mind, wearied by study or business. LIFE OF FENELON. IO3 soon. recovered its freshness and elasticity. There too, his piety was often invigorated. "The country/' he says in one of his letters, " delights me. In the midst of it, I find God's holy peace. O what excellent com- pany is God! with him one never is alone." — In his country walks with his friends, his conversation was particularly instructive and pleasing: this circumstance is frequently mentioned by his contemporaries. *^ 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; every one found him on his own level. If you quitted him for a moment, you instantly ran back to him." He often joined the peasants, sat down on the grass with them, talked to them, comforted them, went into their cottages, placed himself at table with their families, and partook of their meals. In the midst of the vexations of Fenelon, during the disputes on quietism, a fire burned to the ground the archiepiscopal palace at Cambray, and consumed all his books and writings. He bore his misfortune with great resignation. As soon as the abbe de Langeron was informed of it, he hastened to apprize Fenelon of it, and found him conversing with his friends, so much at ease, that he concluded he was ignorant of it, and began with much preparation, to apprize him of it. Fenelon nterrupted the abbe; he told him that he was informed pf his loss, and remarked to him, that '^ it was better that his palace should be burnt to the ground, than the cottage of a peasant." At his own expense, he rebuilt the palace, and furnished it in a suitable style of magni- ficence ; but he did not allow the arms of his family to be fixed or painted on any part of it: he probably re- H 4 104 I-IFE OF FENELON. collected how severely, in his dialogues, he had censured the cardinal de Richelieu, for almost covering the Sor- bonne with his arms. An early care of Fenelon, after his settlement in his diocese, was to establish a seminary for completing the education of such of his flock as were intended for the church. He always presided at the examination of those who presented themselves to take orders. These examinations were conducted with such a happy mixture of ease and solemnity, that none ventured to present themselves for ordination, who had not gone through a serious course of previous study, while all were sufficiently at ease to discover, by their behaviour, their real dispositions and talents. This was so well arranged, that in Fenelon's time, no priest was ordained, who, previously to his ordination, had not been five times examined by Fenelon himself. It was Fenelon's wish to put his seminary under the direction of his beloved sulpiciens, and he intimated his wish to M. Tronson their superior; but fearful of involving his friends in his own disgrace, he avoided pressing it on him. Twice a week during the lent, he preached in some parish church of his diocese; on solemn festivals, he preached in his metropolitan church ; in his visitations of his diocese, he always made a familiar discourse, in the church of the parish which he visited ; so that, in his large diocese, there was not a single parish church, in which he had not preached more than once. It was his opinion that, in general, sermons were not sufficiently instructive. " The people," he says, in his dialogues on the eloquence of the pulpit, '^ hear continually of the scripture of the church, of the two laws, of the priesthood of Moses, Aaron, Melchisedeck, and of the prophets and apostles; but little pains are taken to LIFE OF FENFLON. 1 05 inform them from the pulpit, what all this means, or what these persons have done. A preacher should explain to the people regularly and in great detail, the gospels; the mysteries, the origin and institution of the sacraments, the traditions, the discipline, the offices, and the ceremonies of the church. — Such instructions will strengthen their faith, give them a just notion of religion, and, by degrees, enable them to profit of all they see or hear in their churches. Sermons should be short, but frequent, and the same sermon should be often repeated." He disliked the divisions and subdivisions of sermons. " These," he says, " were unknown to the fathers. St. Bernard, the last in time of the fathers, often remarks the natural division of his subject, but does not observe it in his sermons." Fenelon declares against the practice of committing sermons to writing, and then learning them by heart. ** Consider," he says, " the advantage of speaking without minute preparation. The preacher possesses himself; he expresses himself naturally, his words flow immediately from his own sources ; his expressions, (if he has a natural talent for eloquence), are lively and moving. The warmth of the moment suggests to him expressions and images, which would not have occurred to him, in his cabinet. His action is natural, and has no appearance of art. — Above all, a preacher, who has learned by experience to discern the effect of his oratory on his audience, observes what fixes their attention, what makes an impression on them, where he fails. He sees, where the imagery should be bolder, the principles more fully expressed, the conclusions more distinctly or forcibly pointed. In all these particulars, how generally must a preacher fail, who learns his sermons by heart! Such a preacher dares not say a word more than is iu 106 LIFE OF FENELON. his lesson ; his style inevitably smells of its labour ; his compositions, as was said of those of Isocrates, are better read than heard. In spite of all his care, there is a monotony, a something forced, in the inflections of his voice. He is not so much a man who speaks, as an orator who recites ; his action is confined, his look shows his dependence on his memory, he dares not abandon himself to the feehngs of the moment, lest the thread of his discourse should slip from him. The hearer per- ceives the mechanism of the exhibition, and remains unmoved." In support of his opinion, Fenelon cites St. Augustine, who declares, that " those preachers, who speak their discourses word for word, as they have written them down, cannot repeat and enforce a truth till they perceive that it is perfectly understood; and thus deprive themselves of one of the most powerful means of instruction." Still, Fenelon admitted a con- siderable degree of preparation : he presupposes, that the preacher has seriously meditated his subject ; and,.(what certainly is taking much for granted), that the speaker has a natural gift of extemporaneous oratory. As the subject is interesting, we have given Fenelon's sentiments upon it at length: yet perhaps, it is a mere question of words. If an unprepared and a prepared sermon be equal in other respects, the former, being the most natural, must necessarily have a great advan- tage over the latter : but it must be taken into considera- tion, that the gift of unpremeditated eloquence is very rare. On the general question, therefore, as leading to practical inference, we must weigh the advantages of extempore eloquence, against the small number of those, on whom the gift of it is generally conferred ; and viewing it in this light, we shall be tempted to conclude, that the number of those to whom extempore predica- tion should be recommended, is very small. LIFE OF FENELON. I07 This leads to the further enquiry, — which is best, that sermons should be read, or, that they should be spoken by heart. On this point, great authorities differ. It is remarkable, that Bourdaloue, who had no action, and spoke, though distinctly, very rapidly, with his eyes almost closed, and with little inflection of voice, was a decided advocate for the sermon's being prepared with great attention, learned by heart, and exactly spoken as it was committed to paper: while Massillon, whose action was both elegant and vehement, and father de la Rue, more celebrated for action than any other preacher in France, maintained the contrary opinion. Father Segaud, (himself a preacher of eminence), thought Fenelon's sermons were evidently the worse for their want of preparation ; he admitted that they contained splendid and beautiful passages, but thought the effect of them was destroyed by the weakness of others. Fa- ther Segaud, however, listened to Fenelon with the cool attention of a critic : the flock of Fenelon heard him with other ears : to them, he was the good shepherd, who knew his flock ; whom his- flock knew, and whose voice they loved. We have already had occasion to mention the at- tachment of Fenelon's friends to him; M.deBausset relates many facts, and presents us with extracts of many letters of Fenelon, which show his attachment to them, the warm interest which he took in their concerns, and his great anxiety that the displeasure of the court, under which he laboured, should not be extended to them. To every part of his own family, he was uni- formly kind. The extracts of his letters to them, which M. de Bausset has published, are equally replete with religion and good sense. It was natural that his relations should feel, very strongly, the harsh treatment, which Fenelon received from the court, that 108 LIFE OF FENELON. it should wound their feelings, and sour them against society in general. Fenelon soothes their resentments, and gives them excellent advice. In a letter to the marquis de Fenelon, one of his great nephews, he says, " If you can find a sensible friend, one who really pos- sesses the fear of God, endeavour to alleviate your mortifications, by opening yourself to him, as far as it is prudent: but be assured, that God is the true friend of the heart, and that there is no comforter like him. — No one so well understands, or so kindly enters into the afflictions of those who have recourse to him ; no one accommodates himself so much to their wants." In another letter, he says, " you must be persuaded of the pleasure it would give me to have you constantly about me, but your duty calls you to Versailles: you should become acquainted with its inhabitants, and they with you. While even my shadow continues on earth, 1 wish it to be useful to you ; but I am old and at a distance, and our family has now no other help or hope, than what it can derive from your success in the world. — God forbid that I should make you an ambitious man! But without being indiscreet or obtrusive, you should put yourself in the way of persons in power, and cultivate all fair opportunities of attracting their good will. Sometimes idleness, sometimes timidity, sometimes a love of ease, assumes an appearance of modesty, and makes a person retire from commerce with the great, when in fact it is mere idleness, or timidity, or a refined self-love, which induces him to prefer the company of a few persons with whom he is at ease, and whom he sees pleased with his society. But this is wrong ; — it is proper to despise the world; but it is also proper to make it subservient to one's laudable views: it is proper to be detached from it from motives of religion, but there is no merit in abandoning it from sloth and caprice. Attend LIFE OF FENELON. lOg to it, so far as it is your duty; but do not love it from motives of ambition ; neither neglect it from idleness, nor follow it from vanity/' The marquis de Fenelon, to whom this letter was written, appears to have profited by the advice it contained ; he served with distinction in the army, and was appointed ambassador to Holland, in which situation his conduct gave great satisfaction. Many of Fenelon's other rela- tions were happy imitators of his virtues. The abbe de Fenelon may be particularly mentioned. After a length of years, uniformly devoted to religion and virtue, he retired to Paris, and spent the remainder of his life in endeavouring to procure a religious and moral education for the poor Savoyard boys, with whom, under the an- tient government, Paris abounded. Allowing himself no more than was necessary for his mere subsistence, he contrived, with the remaining part of his income, and, with the contributions, which he raised upon his friends, to accomplish this edifying work. — The horrors of the revolution forced him from it, and he retired to the de- lightful solitude of the Mont St. Valerien. He was pur- sued to his retreat, and conveyed to the prison of the Luxembourg ; he was then in his eightieth year. — When this became public, all the little Savoyard boys assem- bled, and went in a body to the national assembly : they loudly petitioned the assembly for his liberty : and offered, that any number of them should be constituted prisoners in his stead, as hostages for his good conduct. This, for a time, delayed his fate : but a day was at length fixed for his execution. One of the poor Savoy- ards, whom the abbe had instructed and assisted, was, at this time, turnkey of the prison of the Luxembourg. Perceiving his benefactor among the victims led out to execution, he sprang forward, and in a state of distrac- tion, strained him in his embrace, and cried aloud. 110 LIFE OF FENELON. ^* Mj father ! my father ! are you then going to die ! You, whose hfe has been an uniform act of goodness !" " Be comforted," the abbe said to him, " death is not an evil to him, who can no longer do good. My dear child, your sensibihty at this moment, comforts my, heart. Farewell, my friend ! farewell, Joseph! think sometimes upon me.'' — '*^ Alas ["answered the poor Savoyard, " I shall never forget you." The abbe asqended the fatal cart, with sixty-eight other victims. He exhorted them, during the whole way, to sorrow for their sins, to confide in God, and to offer up to him, with resignation, the sacrifice of their lives. Having arrived at the guillotine, he once more addressed them : he exhorted them to join him, with all their hearts, in an act of repentance for their sins : all of them humbly inclined their heads : he pronounced over them the words of absolution; and continued to suggest to them sentiments of religion, till it was his turn to submit to the instrument of death. Notwithstanding the disgrace of Fenelon at court, his virtues attracted the friendship of many respectable persons ; among them, his first biographer, the chevalier Ramsay, deserves particular notice. It has been men- tioned, that he was preceptor of the grandchildren of our James the second, and that he spent several years in the family of Fenelon. He afterwards obtained leave to return to England, and presented himself to receive an honorary degree of doctor of laws, at the university of Oxford. On the day of his installation, twomej^ibers of the university opposed his election, on the ground of his former connection with the princes of the Stuart family, and his religious principles. The celebrated doctor King advocated his cause. Artfully passing over his connections and religion, he mentioned, with due praise, his writings, and observed that they breathed the purest principles of religion and virtue: then, ad- LIFE OF FENELON. Ill dressing himself to the audience, he told them, he had the honour to present to them the disciple of the great Fenelon; and that title, he said, answered for every thing. This address almost entirely disarmed the oppo- sition ; upon a division, the chevalier was elected by a majority of eighty-five voices to sr^venteen. In the disputes on the subject of Jansenism, Fenelon appeared several times in print, against the disciples of Jansenius : but, though he combatted their errors, he left them in quiet. The duke de St. Simon observes, that throughout the whole diocese of Cambray, the jansenists were unmolested by the archbishop, and gave him no trouble. At this time the head of the jansenists was father Quesnell, an oratorian. In answer to a letter, which he received from the father, Fenelon writes to him as follows : " I thank you from the bottom of my heart, for all your civilities. Though I have never had an opportunity of seeing you, or had any corres- pondence with you, I recollect with pleasure, the desire you expressed, some years since, of paying me a visit at Cambray. I wish you would now put this design in execution. I should receive such a mark of your confi- dence with the most religious fidelity, and the most sincere attention. I should make it a point never to in- troduce into our conversation, those subjects on which we differ, except it should be perfectly agreeable to yourself. Yet, with your permission to mention them, I should hope to show you, with the book in hand, how much they, who profess themselves the disciples of St. Augustin, are opposed to his real doctrine. If wecould not bring ourselves to agree upon the points in question, we might, however, give an example of a dispute, car- ried on without any breach of charity." This appears to be the true language of religion. These amiable over- tures of peace to father Quesnell, were the more worthy 112 LIFE OF FKNELOK. of praise, as Fenelon considered the jansenists as dan- gerous enemies of the church. In a letter to the duke tJe Beauvilliers, he says, " as to the provincial letters of Pascal, I think the prince should read them : in fact, sooner or later he will read them. His curiosity, his taste for entertaining books, and the great reputation of the letters, will not suffer him to remain long in ignorance of them. But I wish all possible precautions should be taken, that he should know what measure of truth they contain, and not be seduced by the appear- ance of truth, which these letters wear. Part of the memorial, which I send you, furnishes an antidote against the two first letters of Pascal. It is more than sufficient to show the hidden poison of the letters, and to prove that, in her censures of Jansenism, the church does not combat a phantom." Still it is among his flock, that Fenelon appears to most advantage; he was in every sense of the word, their father. His establishment and stile of living, were suitable to his public situation ; but far beneath the scale of expense and show, which even good men would have thought justifiable. This left him an ample income, but it sunk under his acts of beneficence. His principal attention was directed towards the labouring peasantry ; he appears to have felt strongly the hardship of their lot. A curate complained to him, that, after the evening service of Sunday, his parishioners, in spite of his remonstrances, would dance; " My dear friend," replied Fenelon, " neither you nor I should dance; but let us leave these poor people to dance as they please ; their hours of happiness are not too numerous." During the contest for the Spanish succession, the diocese of Cambray was often the theatre of war, and of course experienced the cruel ravages of advancing and retreating armies. Under these circumstances. LIFE OF FENELO^;. 113 1^'enelon frequently made visitations of every part of his diocese : and all the writers of his life mention a singular mark of homage, which was shown, on those occasions, to his eminent virtue. " From their high respect for his character," says M. de Bauss6t, " from their general admiration of Telemachus, and possibly from a secret wish of revenging the archbishop of Cam* bray, against the injustice of Lewis the fourteenth, the hostile armies permitted Fenelon to visit every part of his diocese. The English, Germans, and Dutch, rivalled the inhabitants of Cambray in veneration for the arch- bishop. All distinctions of religion and sect, all feelings of hatred or jealousy, which divide nations, disappeared in his presence. He was often obliged to have recourse to artifice to avoid the honours, which the armies of the enemy intended him. He refused the military escorts which were offered him, for his personal security, in the exercise of his functions; and, without any other attendant, than a few ecclesiastics, he traversed the countries desolated by war. His way was marked by his alms and benefactions, and by the suspense of the calamities which armies bring. In these short intervals, the people breathed in peace, so that his pastoral visits might be termed the truce of God." In one of those visits he met a peasant, still young, but plunged in the deepest affliction. He had recently lost a cow, the only support of his indigent famil}^. Fenelon attempted to comfort him, and by giving him money to buy another, alleviated his sorrow; still, he had lost his own cow, and the tear continued to fall. Pursuing his journey, Fenelon found the very cow, which was the object of so much affliction ; and, like the good shepherd, he himself drove it back before him, in a dark night, to the young man's cottage. " This," «ays the cardinal de Maury, " is perhaps the finest trait I 114 LIJE OF FENELON. in Fenelon's life. Woe to those who read it without being affected ! " " The virtues of Fenelon," continues the cardinal, " give his history something of the air of romance : but his name will never die. To this moment, the Flem- minders bless his memory, and call him the good archbishop.'* CHAP. XVI. THE LATTER YEARS OF THE LIFE OF FENELON: HIS DEATH IN I715. Year after year, Fenelon continued in this noiseless tenor of well-regulated, and edifying virtue, beloved and revered by his whole diocese, and by every person, to whom his wise and exemplary conduct was known. Still, the indignation of his royal master against him continued unabated: the court was shut against his relations ; his friends, with the exception of the duke of Beauvilliers, and the duke of Chevreuse, were dis- countenanced, and it was generally understood that the name of Fenelon was never to be pronounced at Ver- sailles. But nothing could weaken the duke of Bur- gundy's attachment to him. The preceptor and the royal pupil corresponded frequently, and when, in 1702, Lewis the fourteenth gave the duke of Burgundy the command of the army in Flanders, the duke petitioned him, with great earnestness, that he might be allowed, in his passage to the army, to see Fenelon ; the monarch consented, with an express condition, that their inter- view should be public. The duke apprized Fenelon of the circumstance by an affectionate letter. When the courier who carried the letter to him arrived at I LIFE OF FENELON. II5 Cambray, Fenelon had left it, from a motive of delicacy, wot to put himself, unasked, in the way of the duke. They met at a public dinner, at the town-house of Cambray; it was evident that they were observed, and every thing passed in great ceremony. Once or twice, Fenelon said something to enliven the conversation, but it did not succeed. According to etiquette, he pre- sented the duke, at the end of dinner, with a napkin to wipe his hands : the duke received it, returned it to him ; then raising his voice, loud enough to be heard by all persons present, said to him, " I am sensible, my lord archbishop, what I owe to you, and you know what lam." They met once more; but letters passed fre- quently between them. Nothing can be more affec- tionate than the letters which the duke wrote to Fenelon. *' My love of virtue,'' he writes in one of ihem, " con- tinues, and 1 think, gains strength ; but I have many faults. Do you assist me with your advice, and prayers ; in mine, you come every day ; but you will easily suppose I don't pray for you in a very loud voice. I say nothing of my dispositions in your regard : they are always the same. If the abbe de Langeron is at Cambray, say to him a little kind word from me, but recommend silence to him." Fenelon's letters to the duke abound with good advice. " Religion," he writes him, ^^ does not consist in a scrupulous observance of little forms, but in the steady observance of the duties proper for one's state; a great prince is not to serve God in the same manner as a hermit, or an obscure individual. I must tell you the truth ; the public esteems you, respects you, forms great hopes of you, and wishes to see you without fault; but the public thinks you stern, timid, and scrupulous, and that you have not the talent of uniting moderation and firmness in your decisions. Show them they are mistaken: if you wish that religion I 2 Il6 LIFE OF FENELON". should be honoured, let your's be simple, accommodat" ing, sensible, noble, enlightened, proper for your rank. You cannot regulate the court or the army, as you might a religious community. I am glad you see, by your own experience, what war really is ; how much it is to be dreaded ; how the greatest armies often prove unserviceable: how easily the most splendid monarchies are shaken ; how rigorously princes, in the midst of the incense of their flatterers, are censured by the pub- lic. While despotism abounds with ways and means, it acts with more promptitude and energy than a limited monarchy ; but, as soon as the ways and means begin to fail, it sinks for ever. When despotism becomes bankrupt, how are you to expect that the venal herd, who have fattened so long on the spoils of their country, will, by their exertion in her support, expose them- selves to ruin. Should you ever come to the throne, you should wish to be the father, not the master of your people. You should know that all were not made for one ; that the one was made for all, and to work for the happiness of all." One is at a loss, whom most to admire, the preceptor, who so eloquently taught, or the royal youth, who so willing]}^ listened to these excellent lessons. It appears, that, for the duke's information, Fenelon committed to paper the heads of a project for remedying the abuses of the French government. He evidently saw that the time was come, when public opinion called loudly for an intermediate body between the monarch and the people, to attach them more to each other, and to increase the general interest of the public in the welfare of their country. With this view, Fenelon suggested an assembly of the notables ; and, for this suggestion, M. de Bausset thinks Fenelon requires an apology ; and he accordingly makes an elaborate apology for him. LIFE OF rENELON. II7 The humanity and attentions much Fenelon showed to the sufferers in the war in Flanders, endeared him to the whole nation. " Charity," says the duke de St. Simon, '' was among Fenelon's most striking virtues: it embraced equally, the rich, the poor, his friends, and his enemies. He found frequent occasions for the ex- ertion of it in the crowds of the wounded and sick, who, in the wars in Flanders, were carried in great numbers to Cambray. He was regular in his visitations of the hospitals, showed constant attention to the lowest officers, and generally, during their illness, lodged a con- siderable number of the principal officers in his palace. Like a true shepherd of Christ, he watched continually over their spiritual welfare. The fine manners, which his habits of high life gave him, attached them to him, and none ever had occasion to repent of confidence re- posed in Fenelon. In sickness, and in health, they always found him willing to listen to their humble con- fessions, and anxious to replace them in the path of virtue. If the lowest person in the hospital requested his attendance, Fenelon never refused his request. Their corporal necessities were equally an object of his com- passionate zeal. Broths, meat, physic, comfortable food of every description, and always of the best kind, were sent them, in well regulated plenty, from his palace. Fenelon presided at the consultations of the physicians, vrith the tender concern of a warm and kind friend. It is impossible to conceive how greatly he became the idol of the militar}^ and how Versailles, in spite of her stern master, resounded with his name. It happened, that the commissariat w^as in extreme want of corn for the troops; the archbishop emptied his granaries for their subsistence, and refused to be paid. On that oc- casion, Lewis the fourteenth himself became his panegy- 13 II 8 IIFE OF ¥tlSEtOK* rist. His charity and polite attentions extended equally to the prisoners of war, as to his countrymen. In all he did, there was an indescribable propriety ; the true epis- copal character appeared in it; and virtue herself became more beautiful, from Fenelon's manner of being virtuous- The death of the dauphin, advanced his royal pupil ta the rank next the throne; and the good effects of the edu- cation he had received from Fenelon, were then perceived by all. From that moment, the duke appeared to be every thing which the nation wished. He threw off his reserve, did the honours of the court with majesty and graceful- ness. His easy, instructive, and well adapted conver- sation, charmed the better kind of courtiers, pleased every ear, gained every heart, showed his talents, and the use which it was to be expected he would make of them. He was never wanting in attention to birth, to age, to natural or acquired endowments ; it is wonderful, with what rapidity he gained universal esteem, admi- ration, and love. The joy of the public made it the theme of every conversation. Is this the man, they asked, till lately so reserved, and unaccommodating ? — The dukes of Beauvilliers and Chevreuse answered. He is the man ; the very man, we always knew him to be ; but the time is now arrived, when it is proper for him to unfold his real character ; and, such as you now see him, such you will ever find him. It will easily be supposed, that, from this moment, all the attention of the courtiers, veered to the acknowledged friends of the duke of Burgundy. The dauphin died in April, and that very spring revealed at Cambray, to the happy and delighted flock, the change which had taken place at Versailles, in their pastor's regard. — Cambray immediately became the general road to the array of Flanders ; every person of rank, who served in it, found LIFE OF FENELON. II9 some reason for passing through Cambray, and prolong- ing his stay there, as long as he could find a real or pretended cause. But the hopes, which the duke of Burgundy raised, he was destined not to realize : he died in 1712, and was regretted by the whole kingdom. His eyes were scarcely closed, when Lewis the fourteenth ordered that his papers should be brought to him ; he examined them with minute and anxious attention, and burned them with his own hands. Madame de Maintenon informed the duke de Beauvilliers of this circumstance : -she adds, " I am sorry they are burned ; nothing so beautiful or so good was ever written : if the prince whose loss we deplore, had some faults, it was not because the councils given him, were feeble, or because he was too much flattered. Well may we say, that those who keep the strait path shall not be confounded." One miportant manuscript, the Directions fo7' the Conscience of a King, happened to be in the hands of the duke de Beauvilliers, and thus escaped the flames. Every line of it breathes moderation and virtue; every line censures ostentation, inordinate love of glory, thirst of conquest, injustice^ luxury, yielding to flattery, and the wish of absolute power. It was not printed till several years after Fene- 3on's decease, when a superb impression of it was printed by the marquis de Fenelon, then ambassador at the Hague. The court of Versailles took the alarm, and peremptorily ordered the marquis to suppress all the copies : he obeyed the order, preserving two copies of it only ; one of which found its way to the library of M. Gaignat, and is noticed by De Bure. A surreptitious edition of it was published at the Hague in 1747 ; in 1774, it was publislied at Paris, with the express per- mission of Lewis the sixteenth. I 4 120 LIFE OF FENELON', WE are now arrived at the term of our biography:—- and we cannot close it better than in the words of the duke de St. Simon. " Fenelon," says the duke, " sur- vived his disciple two years. Neither in the life-time of the prince, nor after his decease, did a word once escape Fenelon, which showed regret for what he had lost, or a wish concerning the future. Concentrated in his pas- toral duties, he died, if the expression may be allowed, in the field of honour. Returning from an episcopal visit, his coach was overturned j no one was wounded, and he himself run no particular danger : but the shock was too great for his feeble frame. When he arrived at Cambray, he was feverish, and in a few days, was be- yond the reach of remedy. During his whole illness, he appeared insensible to what he quitted, and occupied only with the thought of what he was going to find. Pene- trated with the most lively sentiments of religion, he placed his soul in the hands of God, with a resignation full of confidence and humility. He wrote a letter to the king, containing no request for himself, but earnestly recommending to him, the wants of his diocese. — Lewis the fourteenth decided, on perusing the letter, that he had never read any thing more affecting, or more worthy of the last moments of a bishop. Fenelon died at the age of 65, in the arms of his friends, and his clergy, mourned by all his diocese, equally lamented by catho- lics and protestants. — To complete his eulogium, he left behind him, neither debt nor monev." ( 121 ) THE LIFE OF HENRY-MARIE DE BOUDON, ARCHDEACON OF EVREUX IN NORMANDY. Among the few pleasures of an Author j the liberty, which custom allows him, of dedicating his TVorks to those, whom he particularly reverences and regards, is one of the greatest : Availing myself of this liberty, 1 inscribe, with every grateful and affectionate sentiment, these pages to Her, to zohom 1 owe thirty-seven years of happiness. Charles Butler, Great Ormond Street, 14 Oct. 1813. ( 123 ) THE LIFE O F HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON 'T^HE Sketches of the Lives of Bossuet and Fenelon, which have been lately laid before the public, have presented to the reader, a view of two of the brightest ornaments of the church of France. Both of them were eminent for the purity of their morals, their piety, their exemplary discharge of pastoral duty, their learning and their eloquence. But, while both of them made the principles of the Gospel the rule of their conduct, both of them were attentive to the forms and decencies of polished life ; and thus far, both of them, it may be said, kept terms with the world. — With the world, the venerable man, whose life is the subject of the present pages, kept no terms : — God Alone was the sole end and aim of his life. He was born on the fourteenth day of January sixteen hundred and twenty-four, of noble parents. Three queens, Mary of Medicis, the widow of Henry the fourth, Ann of Austria, the wife of Lewis the thirteenth, and Henrietta-Maria, the daughter of the first, and the sister of the second of these princes, and, afterwards the wife of our Charles the first, were present at his baptism. The last of them was his god-mother, and, out of respect to her, he received the christain name of Henry-Mary. His mother, immediately upon his birth, placed him 124 LIFE OF under the protection of the Virgin Mary : and, as soon as he was capable of bearing the journey, took him to Liesse, a town in Normandy, and there, in a chapeJ, dedicated to the Holy Virgin, placed him u nder her protection. When Boudon grew up, this was a subject of great joy to him : " Oh most amiable and most mer- ciful mother!" he used to exclaim, " from my earliest " years thou hast been a mother to me. Were all hearts " in the world in my power, they should be dedicated to *' thy Son. They should breathe his perfect love, and '* incessantly sound his praises !" At three years of age he could read ; and even then, rose always at an early hour to sing the divine office. When he was in his ninth year, he made his first communion. He prepared himself for it, by much prayer, by many acts of charity, and by great austerity ; for, even at that age, holy austerity was familiar to him. The Almighty received his humble preparation^ and bestowed on him an abun- dance of those heavenly favours which exceed all worldly joy. From that time, he dedicated himself to God alone : and, soon after, made a vow of perpetual chastity. He was then placed under the Jesuits at Rouen. There, he prosecuted his studies with exemplary dili- gence, and made great proficiency in them. He was beloved both by his masters and schoolfellows. Insen- sibly he formed the latter, and several other children, into bands, dedicated to practices of devotion and charity. He frequently spoke to them on pious subjects ; on the dignit}^ of their souls ; or the goodness of Jesus Christ, who became poor for the love of them, and died on the cross to redeem them ; on the habitual disposition, in which they ought to be, of preferring death, in its most hideous form, to the slightest sin. He was particularly attentive to such of the children as were poor : he in- HENIII-MAKIE DE BOUDON^. 125 culcated to them, that, if they sanctified their humble lot by probity and devotion, they would cease to be poor, as they would become the beloved children of God, and co-heirs of his eternal kingdom. His words had a wonderful effect on their little minds. One of them, a beggar in rags, while the Jesuits were making a collection at Rouen, for building a church, offered a small piece of money to the rector, as a mite, towards the pious work. The rector, observing the poverty of the child's appearance, declined the present. The child as rich in faith as poor in fortune, looked steadily at the rector, and said to him ; — " Father, you are under *^ a mistake ! I am not poor ! I am a Christian, and ^' therefore a child of a great king, and heir of a great " kingdom. God is my father ; and if I truly love " and serve him, his kingdom is mine by inheritance." — Boudon incessantly recommended the poor chil- dren to those who were rich : " They are," he used to say, " your brethren. Deny yourselves what you " can to give it to them ; and, when you give it, " return thanks to God, that, in permitting you to serve " them, he does you the honour of permitting you to " serve him. Above all things, never give them a look, " or a word, that is harsh. Every poor man is an image <^ of Christ : What a crime must it be to treat the image " of God— to treat one whom he loves, with disrespect!' By degrees the association was a matter of general won- der and edification in the city of Rouen. Every morning at four o'clock the members of it met at the church of the Jesuits, made their morning prayer and meditation, and then heard mass. In the evening they again assem- bled to pray ; and, in the intermediate time, employed themselves in their proper occupations. On Sundays and festivals, they attended the whole of the divine service in the church ; and, in the evening assembled in 126 LIFE OF some sequestered spot in the country, and made it re- sound with their holy hymns. But in the mean time they lost no opportunity of serving the poor. They begged alms for them, procured medicines for such of them as were sick, prevailed on physicians and surgeons to attend them, dressed their wounds, and obtained food and raiment for them. They were particularly attentive to their spiritual w^elfare: read good books, and brought priests to them. — What was very remarkable, not a single act of imprudence was ever charged on these interesting children. This circumstance Boudon fre- quently observed ; he ascribed it to a singular protection of Providence :— " God," he used to say, " never neglects " those who trust in him, and who, sincerely, make his " glory the object of their lives." By these occupations, Boudon sanctified his studies, till he came to the end of Rhetoric. In the mean time, he passed through trials of the severest kind. At a very tender age, he lost his father ; and, soon after his father's decease, his mother contracted a second marriage. From that time Boudon had no home ; the provisions, with which his family supplied him for his subsistence, were, from the first, very scanty ; by degrees, they were diminished, and, at length, absolutely discontinued. Thus, he himself became one of the poorest children of the association w'hich he had instituted ; and was alto- gether supported by casual donations, or by alms, soli- cited by him in the streets. He was never heard to murmur at his lot ; but received what was given him with cheerful and humble gratitude ; and, whenever it exceeded his own immediate wants, he gave the excess to the poor. When Ixe had finished his studies, Boudon went to Paris, to study philosophy. He w^as wholly destitute of regular means of support, but Providence watched HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON. 127 over him. One day, being quite faint witli hunger, he went into the church of Notre Dame. The abbe de Laval, of the illustrious house of Montmorency, after- wards bishop of Quebec, entered it at the same time: Boudon held out his hand to him for alms. The abbe refused him with some harshness, and walked into another part of the church. There, unseen by Boudon, he observed him, before the blessed sacrament, in that attitude of respect with which the Scriptures represent the seraphs before the throne of God. Charmed with the devotion of his countenance, and the length and fervour of his prayer, the abbe advanced to Boudon as a living saint, and respectfully asked him who he was, and what he wanted. Boudon shortly informed him, that he was a poor student, and wished to prosecute his studies; but that he had no means of doing it; and that, being at the moment in want of bread, he had implored his charity for alms. The abbe took him into his house, and from that time provided for his subsistence and education. Being thus secure of his temporal support, Boudon was better enabled to devote himself to his studies and spiritual exercises. He joined a number of young gen- tlemen destined for the ecclesiastical state, and associated under the direction of father Bagot, a Jesuit distin- guished by his piety, and his skill in the care of souls. Most of them were persons of quality, and Boudon was the only poor man among them. They lived in community; had regular hours for rising, for going to bed, for their meals, for study, for prayer, for recreation. They lived in great retirement, and sought to die to the world and themselves. Boudon continued among them till he entered into holy orders. In the mean time he cultivated the acquaintance of several persons of extra- ordinary piety. Those who have no other information 128 LIFE OF of the reign of Lewis the XIV. than what the historians and memoir writers of his reign supply, have no con- ception that it abounded with persons of most exalted piety. Numbers of them were known to God alone; but others edified the faithful, among whom they lived> and the multitude of these was such, that there scarcely is a province in France, which did not contain some person whose memory, for the purest and most heroic virtues, and for extraordinary favours of grace, is not, even at this time, held in benediction among the true followers of the cross. The biographers of Boudon mention many such persons, whom, during his stay at Paris, he often frequented. He himself gives an account of some solitaries, whom he discovered in the neighbour- hood of Paris, which it is impossible to read without admiration of their exemplary patience and piety. '^ The prayer of each," says Boudon, " was different, but " the prayer of each was perfect, and almost all of them '^ abounded in those sublime gifts, which are generally " only the rewards of the most heroic virtue." One of them seems, by Boudon's account, to have suffered the utmost degree of corporal pain that the human frame can endure : but he bore it with unfailing patience, tie regularly assisted at the church service; now and then, the extremity of his sufferings drew from him a sudden shriek ; or some other short expression of pain ; but the serenity of his countenance, and the mildness of all he said and did showed, that, in the midst of his excruciating torture, he was possessed of interior peace. In this manner, Boudon endeavoured to acquire the sublimest of all sciences, that of living to God Alone ; but he was fully sensible how easy it is to pronounce those words, and how difficult to practise the truth which they inculcate. — ** It is easy," he observes in one of his writings, " to live to God Alone in prayer ; but who HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON. I2() " lives for him alone in pain or pleasure ! In prayer, we " sigh over ihe vanity of all that the world esteems; but " we are no sooner in company, than we are entangled *' by the world, and sigh for its friendship and esteem. " The senses, which delight in pleasure and created " objects, insensibly lead us to believe them of some *' value. Then God alone ceases to be thought of, and ^' the world usurps His place. How^ many exclaim that '' the world is nothing ! Many devout persons are even '^ supernaturally persuaded of this truth. But is there '* one, even of these, who is sufficiently strong to act '^ up to this adorable truth? — Behold the multitudes '' which fill our towns ; — behold, in one view, all the " nations of the universe. They are nothing in the " sight of God. O Holy Spirit of God! imprint this *' truth in me. In some of the solemn days, consecrated *' to th}^ honour, in some of the festivals, in which the ^' mysteries of thy life are celebrated, vouchsafe to me, *' O Jesus ! the grace of knowing that God Alone is, '^ and that all else is nought. How can a sinner esteem " himself any thing? Nothing was ever comparable to *' the holy humanit}' of Jesus, to his graces, his per- '' fections, his grandeurs : but Jesus placed delight i|^ '' God Alone: let Thy will, he prayed, not mine, be '' done." After a long preparation, Boudon entered into holy orders and was ordained priest. Through the interest of the abbe de Laval, he was appointed to the arch- deaconry of Evreux, the only ecclesiastical benefice which he enjoyed. His poverty, and the sup^posed meanness of his extraction, prejudiced the diocese against him : but his zeal for the service of God, his un- affected piety, and his love of the poor, soon gained him every heart. Persons of the highest rank though c they did them?selves honour by showing him respect ; where- K 13<) LIFE OF ever he preached^ the church was crowded; his sermons were universally admired; they equally subdued and satisfied reason, and were followed by innumerable con- versions. The good effects of his labours soon appeared. Several, who had long scandalized the public by the open profligacy of their lives, were reclaimed by them ; and afterwards edified their neighbour, by their severe and persevering penance, as much as they had shocked him before by their excesses. Many, from slothfulness and tepidity, were animated by Boudon to the highest fervour. The purity and austerity of his own life authorized him to preach to others: " It does not," says Bourdaloue, in his Sermon on the Feast of St. Andrew, " belong to every one to preach the way of the Cross. " It is an eternal truth, that it is our duty to take up " the cross and follow Christ; and that to do this, we " must bear the cross voluntarily, and must glory in the ^^ cross. But this eternal truth has not the same grace " from every mouth. It is equally the interest of ail to " understand and practise it; but every one feels a secret " dislike of being told it by those, who do not practise *' it; and, generally speaking, when a worldling takes " upon him to instruct his hearers in this saving truth, " so far from being docile scholars, they rebel ; they ^' cannot bear that a man, to whom none of the good '^ things of this life is wanting, should preach mortifi- *' cation and penance to them. However zealous^ " however eloquent, such a man may be, they think " they have a right to tell him, that the language of " the cross does not become him." But nothing of this could be opposed to Boudon ; his life was a model of tlie devotion, the humility, and the penance, which he preached. A celebrated preacher ingenuousl}^ said to him, *' I don't know how it happens : my sermons are HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON. I3I ^^ much more applauded than yours: yet I scarcely gain '* a soul to God ; while those whom you gain to him " are countless/' None of his sermons have reached us : but we may conceive the nature of them from his writings. The soul that lives for God Alone speaks in every line of them ; and they abound with passages of extraordinary eloquence. " O eternity! eternity!" he exclaims in one of his writings, {Les Saintes Voies de la CroiXy ch. vi.) " how little do'st thou enter into the " mind of men! So deplorable is their blindness, that " they are wholly occupied by that, which flits away as " a shadow, and scarcely give a thought to that, which " is to endure for ever! O Eternity 1 All men are to be " buried in thy unfathomable depths! But a few years, " (and perhaps not even those remain to us), and Eter- " nity shall be our lot ! Shall it be a happy or a miserable '' Eternity ? We know not. O dreadful uncertainty! * The pillars of the heavens shake : even they, who are " to judge the world, tremble. Bu t shake and tremble " as we may, we cannot avoid thee. O my soul! let " but a little time, a moment, pass away, and eternity willbethy lot!" His writings are very numerous : That which is in- titled, " Dieu Seui;' or, '' God Alone," is considered to be his masterpiece : it was a popular work of devotion in France. All of them abound with sohd instruction. They incessantly inculcate the obligation of observing the commandments of God, and of observing them in the manner which the church prescribes ; but they particularly inculcate, that, among the commandments of God, we must include the maxims of the gospel : that self-denial, the pardon of injuries, the loving of our enemies, the carrying of the cross, and works of spiritual and corporal mercy, are not less the duty of every Christian, than the commandments of the De- K 3 132 LIFE OF calogue. Several of his writings are calculated for those only who aspire to the heights of Holy Perfection — With Bossuet and Fenelon he had the greatest ad- miration of the works of Father Surin. Religious communities were particularly respected and attended to by Boudon. He was always at their command ; with many individuals in them he corres- ponded; and, in all their temporal and spiritual distresses, they found in him an active and steady friend. He was the father of the poor, and the comforter of all in affliction. Immediately after he had been instituted into his archdeaconry^ he circulated a devotional writing, by which, he placed the district, within his jurisdiction, under the protection of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This excited a smile : " But," said Boudon, " why should " we not put ourselves under the protection of her^ " whose Son is omnipotent? In 1638, Lewis the XIHth, ^' solemnly invoked her; laid his sceptre and crown on ^* the altar of the church of Notre Dame at Paris ; put " himself and his whole kingdom under her patronage; " and every good man approved of his conduct. Now, " if such a conduct became so great a monarch, what, *' lowly and abject, as I am, can I do better, than " imitate his conduct.'"' Language sunk under him, when he spoke in the praise of the Mother of God. " No creature," he used to saj^, " however pure, has " been so intimately united to Jesus Christ, as his holy " mother. In the order of Providence, there is nothing '^ like her. Mother of God! that title, that dignity *^ belongs to her alone. But she is also our mother. " I want words to express what I feel, when I think of " it. Let each one choose his devotion, the holy " Mother of God shall, after her Son, be the unwearied " object of mine." Jie lived in the presence of God, and his recollection HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON. 133 of it was habitual. Travelling once in a barge, with a numerous company, whose conversation was engrossed by the objects which presented themselves to their view, it afFected him to tears, to think how God was forgotten. " The heart (5f man," he exclaimed, " is truly incom- " prehensible! One person points out a fine tree; every " one looks at it ; another remarks a fine house ; im- " mediately it becomes a general object of conversation: " But, let any one say, God is here ! Even the thought " of him is avoided." Boudon's reliance on Providence was unbounded. Early in life he made a vow of poverty, and never was vow more rigidly observed. He never possessed more than mere necessaries, and was often without those. When he set out on a journey, however distant the term of it might be, he never took with him more money than would satisfy the expense of the first day. For his subsistence and lodging, he trusted to the hospitality of the curates and rehgious houses, that should be in his way. He was sometimes disappointed, but Providence never absolutely deserted him. His charity to his neighbours was most edifying. Their spiritual wants were his first care : to supply them, he refused no pains, and avoided no labour. Whole days he often spent in his confessional, in catechising or instructing the poor. His exertions to supply then- temporal wants were great: and he never appeared so happy as when the lowest of the poor crowded about him for his instruction or his alms. His behaviour to them was not only kind, but respectful ; in all of them^ he beheld, to use his own words, (Fie cachee avec Jesus en Dieu, ch. iv.j " the person of Him, who chose for " the palace, in which he should be born, a poor stable; " for the courtiers to fill it, low animals ; for its fur- " niture, naked walls; for his cradle, a manger; for K 3 134 i^i^E OF " the time of his birth, a season of the bitterest cold ; " who, during many years, gained his bread by the '^ sweat of his brow ; and afterwards lived on alms ; " who, when every bird had his nest, every tox his " lurking hole, had no place in which he could rest his " head ; who died naked on the cross. O my soul ! he, " whom thou beholdest on it, is the Lord of all things ! " The universe is his. Surely a condition which He " chose, must be honourable. Honoured, ihen, and " respected by us all, be those who belong to it." All virtuous ecclesiastics were particularly respected by him. The idle and the voluptuous, he strove to re- claim; those, who were contented to remain in decencies, he encouraged to nobler aims; but, for those, who were truly men of God, his veneration had no limit. In humility, few have surpassed him. It was his delight to be abject in the house of God : to be employed in those occupations, which attract no notice ; which are irksome and laborious; which others avoid ; and, in which success is attended with no renown. The instruc- tion of poor children, and the attendance of the sick poor, on prisoners, and on criminals sentenced to death, were the employments which he coveted. He was never known to say any thing, that could recommend himself, and, for a time, the applause, v/hich his sermons gained him, withheld him from preaching. His confusion, when he was praised, was visible ; and sho • ( d how un- pleasant it was to him to hear his praises. It was to be expected, that a life so uniformly good ; by which the public was so much edified, and which was so eminently useful to numberless individuals, would have attracted uniform and universal respect and love. But it pleased the Almighty, that Boudon should drink the cup ol" holy humiliation to its dregs. By incessant meditation on the suiferings of Christ, he had taught HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON. I35 himself its value, and qualified himself for its bitterest draught. ," O my God !" (he exclaims in a work We have cited), " Thou wast treated as one, who had lost '^ his intellects j and we seek the reputation of wit- " Thou wast held in no repute, and we seek for honours ! " O my God ! my divine Sovereign ! What are my " humiliations, my sufferings, compared to Thine • *' Come then, O my soul! Whatever it may cost us,— " health, life, reputation, friends, let us go to Calvary, ^' to our adorable King! His most holy mother and '■' beloved disciple will bear us company. Let us die " with him ; die, to the point of honour; to pleasure ; '' to ourselves : that, thus dying to all besides, we may " live to Jesus I and to him alone. O my soul! How " much better is it to be afflicted, to be disgraced, to " be poor, to be abandoned with Jesus, in this life, and " to be glorified for ever with him in the next, than to '^ enjoy the honours and pleasures of this short and '' miserable life, and then to be precipitated into utter " darkness, and suffer eternal confusion and shame, " among devils ! — I earnestly conjure all who read " these lines, to meditate attentively on this important " truth." The libertines threw the first stone at Boudon. No person, either in his sermons or writings, could abstain, more than he did, from personalities : but, when vice is attacked, however generally, every vicious individual feels the blow, and is apt to think it aimed at him: this indisposed a large description of persons against Bou- don. A less numerous, but more formidable, host of enemies, he found in a sect, which, at that time, con- vulsed the church of France to its centre. Boudon had uniformly opposed them ; and they now took an active part against him. His great exertions were a secret re- proach to the indolent part of the clergy of the diocese K 4 136 LIFE OF in which he lived : and the lustre of his reputation created envy. Thus a general attack was made upon him: he was charged with the grossest imprudencies, and even with the blackest crimes. All the artifices of calumny were resorted to, and they succeeded too well. His bishop was prejudiced against him; almost all his friends deserted him ; and he became a subject of gene- ral abuse. Sermons were preached against him; the doors of every one were closed to him: the finger of the prudent, and even of the good, was pointed at him, as an object of infamy. But all the charges against him were general ; and so little of a specific nature was urged against him, that it never could be made a regular sub- ject of ecclesiastical inquiry. Care was taken that the calumnies should find their way to Paris. There, at Rouen and Evreux, Boudon was equally a subject of universal scorn and derision. In the midst of this se- vere trial he possessed his soul in peace : he never pub- lished a word in his defence: he felt that the more he suffered, the more he resembled the divine Sufl^erer on Calvary : and, resigning himself to His holy will, he trusted himself, his reputation and his all to him. On one occasion, he arrived at Paris, worn down by illness, without a single piece of money to purchase the nou- rishment of the day. A religious community, dedicated to the service of the poor, heard of his situation, and sent a person in search of him. He was found, in a wretched garret, shaking with an ague, and with nothing for his subsistence but cold water. He was taken to the community ; and, when he entered the doors of the con- vent, he fell on his knees and exclaimed, " Is it possible " O Jesus ! That thy adorable providence should provide " this retreat for such a miserable sinner as I am ! Thou, " who, when thou wast on earth, hadst no place to re- '^ pose thine head !" He frequently blessed God for his HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON. I37 sufferings : " O my God/' he used to say, " what have " I done, that thou shouldest treat me, as thou treatest " thy chosen favourites ! What have I done, that thou ^' shouldest favour me with poverty, with ignominy, with " suffering, with all this internal and external woe." In this afflicted and rejected state, he remained seven years : at length, his heroic patience attracted the at- tention of some considerate persons : they began to re~ mark, that nothing specific was laid to his charge; and that if he had been guilty of any real crime, it must, considering how^ long accusation of him had been invited, have appeared, and its existence proved beyond controversy : but that nothing of the kind had been charged on him. This induced them, to think that there was, at least, much exaggeration in what was said to his disadvantage : and that led them to inquiry, and everj'^ inquiry proved favourable to Boudon. It happened, about this time, that one of his most violent adversaries was detected in an odious crime : in his distress, the unhappy man had recourse to him, whom he had so grossly traduced. Boudon received him with open arms, comforted him, put him into a suitable course of penance, watched, as his guardian angel, over him, till the work of his conversion was complete; and then procured for him admittance into a religious order. Previously to his entering into it, he presented himself before the bishop of Evreux, and acknowledged his slanders of Boudon. Astonished beyond description, the bishop sent for Boudon, and commanded him, by virtue of holy obedience, to justify himself, at a large meeting of the bishop and clergy of the diocese, which the bishop convened for the purpose. Then, for the first time, Boudon entered on his defence, and completely convinced the prelate, and every person present, of the 138 LIFE OF absolute falsehood of every charge which had been brought againat him. From that time the innocence of Boudon was uni- versally acknowledged ; and he was an object of universal veneration. He was consulted from every part of France, and some of the most illustrious persons of the age put themselves under his spiritual direction. Among them, his biographers mention, Henrietta-Febronia, princess of Bouillon, a niece of Turenne, and as illustrious for her piety, as her uncle was for his military talents. The reputation of Boudon was not confined to France. The duke and duchess of Bavaria prevailed on him to spend some time with them at their palace at Munic, that they might confer with him, at leisure, on their sph*itual concerns. They showed him the greatest honours, but he would receive no present from them ; and, on the second day, after he quitted them, he was, as usual, pennyless, and had nothing but Providence to trust to for his support; but wherever he went he was received as an angel of God. In the latter part of his life, his infirmities made it necessary for him to confine his exertions to preaching, and. his archdeaconal functions. He was never melan- choly ; but was blessed in a high degree with the gift of holy compunction. From the general tenour of his life, it may be thought that his failings w ere not greater than those into which holy writ informs us, that even the just man falls seven times a day. But to a mind so enlightened as Boudon's on spiritual subjects, every such faihng appeared in the nature of an act of rebellion to the divine will ; and therefore a crime which could not be too greatly deplored. On the other hand, his humility made him apprehensive that he was guilty of sins which he did not discover. Thus he lived in constant HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON. I39 awe of the divine judgments; and his feelings, even when he most exulted in the mercy of God, were those of a contrite and humble heart. His humility also made him distrust his apparent good: and, when he thought of the Gospel truths, that " death will come " on us ai . lie lime when we least expect ; that man dies " but once ; timt no one knows, whether he be an object " of love or of hatred ; that, after death cometh judgment, " and after judgment, eternal bliss or eternal misery," he was seized with holy fear. This I'ear for himself extended to his neighbour, when he contemplated the general forgetfulness of God. ^' When I consider,'^ he used to say, " the churches in towns, I see many persons " in them : but I see too many who behave irreverently; " and I see several who make them mere thoroughfareSo ** How can they forget, that God, though invisible, re- " sides in every church, in all his majesty, and all his " power, and that he most severely punishes every pro- " fanation of his sanctuaries. When I consider the ** churches in the villages, I scarcely see any person in " them, except on a Sunday, so that Jesus Christ, as he " describes himself, is as solitary in them, as the sparrow " on the house top, or the pelican of the wilderness. " Yet the holy tabernacles, in which Christ universally " resides, should be the refuge of all who are afflicted, " the treasure of all the poor, the asylum of all the per- " secuted, the spiritual food of all the hungry — No " guards prevent our approach to him, ail avenues to " him are open, he invites all to him : but how few "accept the invitation! Those that accept it well " know, that an hour passed at his feet, is better than " a thousand spent in the tabernacles of sinners/* This spiritual blindness of mankind he bitterly deplored; it sometimes made him feel a wearisomeness of life, and 140 LIFE OF breathe his soul in pious aspirations for another and a better world. But his piety was neither morose nor selfish — his ad- vice was always given in the most soothing terms ; and> however absorbed he might be in any of his devotions' he quitted it without reluctance when his neighbour's good required it. He used to say, that a troublesome or unwelcome interruption, and the person who causes it, should be received with cheerfulness. A clergyman complained to him, that he was oppressed by crowds of disagreeable persons, who did not profit by his in- structions. '^ My dear friend," Boudon said to him, " do not lose courage. Never abate of your endeavours " to serve your neighbour. We have not laid down " our lives for him, as Jesus Christ, who should be our *' model, did on the cross. Be assured that God is often " more glorified by tlie patient exertions of those who *' labour without effect, than by those, whose labours " are crowned with the greatest success. After all, it is " our labour in the service of God, not the fruit of '' that labour, which God requires of us, and has pro- " mised to reward." But, though Boudon wished that persons should be most zealous and active in the service of God, he wished their zeal and activity to be of the gentlest kind. " When you are obliged," he used to say, " to advise or admonish, never use injurious, con- " temptuous, or offensive terms. Remember that you '^ speak to persons who are members of Jesus Christ, " and that he has announced to us, that at the last day " we shall be judged as we have judged others. Speak '^ to every one with gentleness ; be rude to none ; listen " with patience to all who speak to you. When you *' cannot do what is required of you, do not refuse it " abruptly; refuse it civilly and humbly." This advice HEXRI-MARIE DE BOUDON. 1 4I is certainly excellent; and it was given by one who uniformly practised it. " Figure to yourself," says Collet, the latest biographer of Boudon, ^^ a man who " never appeared sensible of the bad temper or way- '^ wardness of his neighbour, who received harsh treat- ^^ ment as another would kindness; who, in every " occurrence, and even under the severest trials, was '^ always serene and affable; whose language was uni- " formly civil, unaffected, full of piety, prudent and " charitable; who was ever attentive to avoid saying " anything which tended to bis own advantage; who *^ always listened with modest attention, and interrupted " no one, unless the glory of God, or the defence of his " neighbour, made it necessary." — How justly does this description of Boudon verify the golden axiom of St. Francis of Sales, " That a good christian is never out- done in good manners ! " Boudon now touched on the eternal years, which, from the earliest dawn of his reason, he had always had in his mind, and for which his whole life had been a constant preparation. He beheld their approach with pious resig- nation and firm confidence in the mercy of God. To pre- pare himself for his last hour, he secluded himself, for sometime before his death, wholly, from the world. This he describes as the happiest part of his life: " Oh what a ^* grace is it to be entirely separated from the world ! The " world is full of infection ; it is difficult to remain, even ^' for a short time, in it, without being infected with its " contagion. It is good for me to attach myself to God ! " In Him 1 have ever trusted, and will ever trust." In this awful hour, four things gave him humble joy — the poverty in which he had lived, the slanders he had borne without reply, his constant devotion to the imma- culate Virgin-mother of God, and the ridicule to which il had exposed him. His sufferings were great; when 142 LIFE OF HENRI-MARIE DE BOUDON". the physician asked him how he dio t " Very ill," was his answer, "blessed be God! his holy mother! the " angels and saints !" At length, the physician told him, that there was no longer any hope: He received the information, with visible satisfaction; he thanked the physician for the attention which he had shown him ; he thanked, in like manner, all other persons, who had assisted him in his illness : he desired that his friends might be informed of his approaching dissolution, and that he requested their prayers. This was his final Adieu to every thing earthly. '' It is now," he exclaimed in a transport of holy joy, " that I am in the hands of divine " Providence! My holy mother through life ! All human " means now desert me! This is my comfort ! My joy ! " I now can truly say, God Alone ! and God Alone, for " all eternity, in union with my Saviour." He received the sacrament of Extreme Unction, and then, for the last time, received the Holy Communion. He soon after expired. '^ God Alone," were the last words he was heard to pronounce : He was in the seventy-ninth year of his age when he died. A few minutes before he expired, observing his room full of persons, he desired an ecclesiastic to say to them from him, *^ that he exhorted them most earnestly, to " serve and love God with their whole soul : and, to " remember, that, in the region of God Alone, into *' which he was then rapidly advancing, and in which " all of them would, sooner or later, find themselves, it " was always discovered, (but often too late), that to '^ LOVE AN D SERVE GoD WAS ALL THEY HAD TO DO "ON Earth." ( 143 ) THE LIFE OF ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. ( 145 ) THE LIFE O F ST. VINCENT OF PAUL INTRODUCTION. ABELLY, the bishop of Rodez, begins his history of the life of our saint, by observing, that " the wisdom " and power of God, in the conduct of his church, never '* appears more admirable, than when he takes occasion, ^^ from the calamities which afflict her, to exercise his '^ greatest mercies towards her; making her acquire gain " from her losses, glory from her hmTiihations,and abund- ^^ ance from her sterility ; so that, according to what he *' himself says by his prophet*, when, for a time, he " seems to forsake her, he afterwards shews that it was " only to fill her with new benedictions, and to favour ** her with more particular graces. This," continues the prelate, " made the great saint Hilary say to the Arians, ^^ who, in his time, kept truth in bondage to injustice, " that it is peculiar to the church of Jesus Christ, to " triumph, when she is wounded, to make herself more " known, the more she is disfigured by the calumnies of " her adversaries, and then to obtain the most powerful *^ succours from God, when she appears most destitute ^* of his protection." *v Is, 54. 14t) THE LIFE OF Exemplifying this observation, tlie prelate proceeds to exhibit a frightful picture of the deplorable state of the church of France, at the time of the birth of the holy man, whose life he undertakes to write. He repre- sents her, at that time, as just beginning to breathe after the horrors of the league : but still presenting, in every part of the kingdom, the melancholy spectacle of tem- ples in ruin, altars overturned, the pillage of religious houses, the spoliation of the clergy ; the people, in most provinces, a flock without a shepherd, without the sacra- ments, and without instruction ; some exertions making to remedy these evils : the effects of them beginning to appear in some towns, but not seen, in the country. " While France was in this lamentable state, it pleased " the Almighty," says d'Abelly, '' that a child should be " born of very obscure parents, in the swamps of Bour- " deaux, who was to render the most signal services to the " church: to fill the house of God with faithful ministers, " to shut the door of ecclesiastical dignities against the '' unworthy ; to establish a numerous congregation of " clergj^nen dedicated to the observance of holiness, " and the instruction of their poor neighbours; — another " congregation, equally numerous, of pious women, dedi- " cated to the relief of the distressed poor; to raise, in '* times of great national calamity, greater sums for the " relief of distress, than have ever flowed from a royal " treasury; to distribute an abundance of spiritual bless- " ings, not only over the large territory of France, but " over every country of Europe." — D'A belly ventured to prognosticate, that there would not be a single page in his work, which would not record some action, on which the reader would pronounce, — that the finger of God was on it. In his Life of Bossuet, the writer of these pages has described a prelate endowed with the most profound ST. VINCF.N'T OF PAUL. 147 learning, and the most sublime eloquence, and making both subservient to religion; — in his Life of Fenelony a prelate of the most exalted soul and the tenderest piety, prostrate at the feet of the cross, and humbly bowing his neck to the authority of the church; — in his Life of the abbot de Ranee, a holy monk, whom God raised in the latter ages to revive the spirit, the sentiments, and the practices of monastic discipline, when it was in its perfection and full vigour ; — and in his Life of Henri Marie de Boudon, a pious priest, at once contemplative and active, and humbly confining his exertions to the duties of his sacred ministry : — he now attempts to re- cord the principal actions of St. Vincent of Paul, or the Saint, as he was usually called in France, of mo- dern times :— At the day of retribution, when every child of Adam will have to account for his works, it may be doubted, whether one will appear, with more numerous deeds of useful and heroic charity. The publications which the writer has principally used in this composition, are. La Vie du Venerable Servi- teurde Dieu, Vincent de Paul, Instituteur et Premier Su- perieur General de la Congregation de la Mission. Divisee en trois livres, par Messire Louis Abelli, Evesque de Rodes, 4to. Paris, 1654.— U Esprit de Vincent de Paul, Svo. Paris, 1780. — Vie complete de St. Vincent de Paul, Instituteur de la Congregation de la Mission, et des Filles de la CharitS. Par M. Collet. Nouvelle edition, 4 vol. Svo. Paris, lyiS. — And the Life of St. Vincent of Paul, in the Lives of the Fathers, Martyrs, and other pri^icipal Saints, by the Reverend Alban Butler, Murphy s edition, vol, vii. p, 242. L 2 14S THE LIFK OF CHAP. I. fHE LIFE OF SAIi\T VINCENT OF PAUL, FROM HIS BIRTH, TILL HIS CAPTIVITY IN ALGIERS. 1576—1604. In one of the beautiful prayers, with which the golden book of the Imitation of Christ abounds, its pious author beseeches the Almighty *, to preserve him both from a state of too great solicitude, and from a state of too great ease. It was the will of God, that our saint should be born in a much lower condition of life. WilHam of Paul, and Bertrande de Moras his wife, were owners of a cottage, and some small fields at Pouy, within the diocese of Acqs, not far from the Pyrenees. They had six children, four boys and two girls. Vincent, their third son, was born on the 24th of April 1576. The parents gave a virtuous education to all their children, and inured them, in their earliest years, to hard labour. Vincent guarded the sheep and the swine: he was soon remarked for his piety, sobriety, and love of the poor. He frequently gave them some of his own cloaths, and when he met them in extreme distress, he some- times bestowed on them, a portion of the corn, which he was carrying home ; but he did this with great dis- cretion, and with the connivance of his charitable father. On one occasion, having saved thirty sous, no incon- siderable sum for a person in his very humble lot, he gave the whole to a poor object, who begged alms of him. As he grew up, he discovered a turn and capacity for learning. In the neighbourhood of Pouy, the son of an * Lib. iii. ch. ^6, v. 2. ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. lz|9 humble peasant, had taken to the church, obtained a priory, and supported, from its revenues, some of his relations, and advanced others in the world. This made an impression on the father of Vincent: he thought his son as well qualified for the ecclesiastical state, as the successful prior, and as likely to obtain preferment. This, he considered, would enable him to assist his family. With this view, he placed his son at a poor grammar-school, of a convent of friars. His diligence and modesty, attracted to him the esteem and good will of his masters, and they held him up as a model to his school-fellows. M. Commet, a magistrate of distinction in the town of Acqs, was so struck with Vincent's merit, that he took him into his house to assist his sons in their studies, allowing him, at the same time, to attend his own : Vincent was then in his twelfth year: his reputation continued to increase, and, in 1596, being in his twenty-first year, he received the tonsure, and the four minor orders, from the bishop of Tarbes. He prosecuted his studies, for some time at Toulouse, Arragon and Saragossa. His worthy father contributed towards his support; but, to supply the deficiency of the charitable exertions of his father, Vincent established a school at Buset, in the neighbourhood of Toulouse, still pursuing, in that university, his course of study, under the public professors. He was generally esteemed; the duke d' Epernon, at this time one of the most powerful men of the court, was equally struck with his piety and his talents, and expressed a willingness to advance him in the church : But Vincent resiled from these flattering offers. After he had studied theology, he took the degree of batchelor in that sacred science : in 1 598, he was ordained successively, deacon and sub- deacon; and, iu 1600, received the order of priesthood, L 3 150 THE LIFE OF from the hands of the bishop of Peregueux.— Before this time, Vincent lost his father. So bent had the good man been on his son^s embracing the ecclesiastical state, that he enjoined his family by his will, to assist him with the means of pursuing his studies. CHAP. II. ST. VINCENT IS TAKEN CAPTIVE AND CARRIED TO TUNIS: HE ESCAPES. 1605 1607. Vi N c E NT now became generally known and esteemed : " But," to use the language of the pious author of the Lives of the Saints*; '^ there remained a new science " for him to learn, which was to cost him much more " than bare study and labour. This consists in perfect " experimental and feeling sentiments of humility, " patience, meekness and charity ; which science is only " to be learned by the good use of severe interior " and exterior trials. This is the myster^^ of the cross, " unknown to those whom the Holy Ghost has not " led into this important secret of his conduct, in pre- " paring souls for the great works of his grace. The " prosperity of the wicked will appear at the last day to " have often been the most dreadful judgment, and a " state in which they were goaded on in the pursuit of " their evil courses ; whilst, on the contrary, it will then " be manifested to all men, that the afflictions of the " saints have been the greatest effects of divine mercy. *' Thus, by a chain of temporal disasters, did God lay in ** the soul of Vincent, the solid foundation of that high " virtue, to which by his grace he afterwards raised him. ♦ In hit Life of St. Vincent, vol. vii. p. 244, Murphy's edition. ST. VINCENT OF VAVJL. ^ ^l *' The saint went to Marseilles in 1605, to receive " a legacy of 500 crowns, which had been left him by " a friend who died in that city. Intending to return " to Toulouse, he set out in ti felucca, or large boaty " from Marseilles to Narbonne : but was met in the way " by three brigantines of African pirates. The infidels^ '^ seeing the Christians refuse to strike their flag, charged ^^ them with great fury, and on the first onset killed three *' of their men, and wounded every one of the rest ; " Vincent received a shot of an arrow. The Christians. " were soon obliged to surrender. The first thing the " Mahometans did, was to cut the captain in pieces, bc- " cause he had not struck at the first summons, and in the '^ combat had killed one of their men, and four or five "slaves. The rest they put in chains; and continued " seven or eight days longer on that coast, committing " several other piracies, but sparing the lives of those that " made no resistance. When they had got a suificient " booty, they sailed for Barbary. Upon landing, they " drew up an act of their seizure, in which they falsely " declared that Vincent and his companions had been " taken on board of a Spanisb vessel, that the French " consul might not challenge them. Then they gave to " every slave a pair of loose breeches, a linen jerkin and " a bonnet. In this garb they were led five or six times " through the city of Tunis, to be shown ; after which, ^* they were brought back to their vessel, where the mer- " chants came to see them, as men do at the sale of a " horse or an ox. Thc}'^ examined who could eat well, " felt their sides, looked at their teeth, to see who were " of scorbutic habits of body, consequently, unlikely for " very long life ; they probed their wounds, and made '^ them walk and run in all paces, lift up burdens, and " wrestle, to judge of their strength. Vincent was bought '' by a fisherman, who, finding that he could not beai* " the sea, soon sold him again lo an old physician, a L4 152 THE LIFE OF " great chymist, and extractor of essences, who had " spent fifty years in search of the pretended philoso- " pher's stone. He was humane, and loved Vincent " exceedingly : but gave him long lectures on his al- " chymy, and on the Mahometan law, to which he used " his utmost efforts to bring him over ; promising, on " that condition, to leave him all his riches, and to com- *' municate to him, what he valued much more than his " estate, all the secrets of his pretended science. Vincent " feared the danger of his soul much more than all the " hardships of his slavery, and most earnestly implored ** the divine assistance against it, recommending him- " 8elf particularly to the intercession of the B. Virgin, " to which he ever after attributed his victory over this *' temptation. He lived with this old man from Sep- " tember 1605, to August 1606, when, by this physician's " death, he fell to the share of a nephew of his master, ** a true man-hater. By resignation to the divine will, " and confidence in providence, he enjoyed a sweet re- *' pose in his own heart, under all accidents, hardships, " and dangers ; and by assiduous devout meditation on " the sufferings of Christ, learned to bear all his afflic- " lions with comfort and joy, uniting himself in spirit ** with his Divine Redeemer, and studying to copy iu " himself his lessons of perfect meekness, patience, " silence, and charity. This new master sold him, in a " short time, to a renegado Christian, who came from " Nice in Savoy. This man sent him to his temat or " farm, situate on a hot desert mountain. This apostate " had three wives, of which one, who was a Turkish '* woman, went often to the field, where Vincent was " digging, and, out of curiosity, would ask him to sing " the praises of God. He used to sing to her, with tears " in his eyes, the psalm. Upon the rivers of Babylouy^c. " the Salve Regina, and such like prayers. Slie was so " much taken with our holy faith, and doubtless, with ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 153 " the saintly deportment of the holy slave, tlmt she " never ceased repeating to her husband, that he had " basely abandoned the only true religion, till, like an- " other Caiphas, or ass of Balaam, without opening her " own eyes to the faith, she made him enter into himself. *^ Sincerely repenting of his apostacy, he agrees with " Vincent to make their escape together. They crossed " the Mediterranean sea in a small light boat, which the " least squall of wind w^ould overset ; and they landed " safe at Aigues-Mortes, near Marseilles, on the 28th of " June 1607, and thence proceeded to Avignon. The " apostate made his abjuration in the hands of the vice- " legate, and the year following, went with Vincent to '' Rome, and there entered himself a penitent in the " austere convent of the Fate-ben-FratcUi, who served " the hospitals, accordinsr to the rule of St. John of " God." CHAP. III. THE OCCUPATIONS OF ST. VINCENT, BEFORE HIS LABOURS FOR THE SLAVES IN THE GALLIES. 1607 — 1618. While Vincent remained at Rome, he endeavoured to sanctify every moment, spent by him in that cele- brated city, formerly the most splendid seat of the pagan worship, now the centre of the christian faith. The superb monuments, which still attest its ancient magni- ficence, and the wonderful productions of modern art, with which it abounds, did not attract his attention ; " but/' to use his own words, '* it was an unspeakable " comfort to him, to find himself in a city, which was " the mistress of Christendom, the head of the church. 154 THE LIFE OF "militant of Christ, and which possessed the bodies of " so many martyrs and saints, who had spilt their " blood, and employed their lives for Jesus Christ. '' To walk on land, so often trodden by the saints, gave " him a consolation, which often drew tears of joy " from his eyes." He now resumed his theological studies. The vice- legate gave him an apartment in his house, and a place at his table. Thus he became known to several distin- guished natives of France^ who frequented the house of the vice-legate. The more they knew, the more they admired him ; and a negociaiion of great importance taking place, betv/een the Roman see and the French monarch, it was entrusted to Vincent, and he was deputed to the sovereign. Having arrived at Paris, he fixed his abode in the Fauxbourgh St. Germain, near the Hopital de la Cha- rite, afterwards illustrated by the labours of the cele- brated M. Bernard, called the poor priest. Vincent employed all his time, not spent in devotion, in attend- ing the sick in the hospital ; administering, in the most edifying manner, both to their spiritual and their tem- poral wants. About this time, his virtue was put to a severe trial. Having occasion to travel in the Bourdelois, he lodged at Sore, near the capital of that province. A magistrate of a neighbouring district occupied the same apartment : he was robbed, accused Vincent of the robbery, and was generally believed. Vincent bore the humiliation in silence and patience, and trusted his defence to God ; confiding, that, whenever it was agreeable to his divine will, he would make the truth appear. Year after year, the calumny had its believers, and Vincent met with insults in many quarters. Still he possessed his soul in patience ; at length the real thief being imprisoned ibr another oiFence, confessed the crime. The judge himself ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. I55 asked pardon of our saint ; and made him a public reparation. In one of his conferences, Vincent related the circum- stance, as having happened to a third person. " I knew '^ one," he said, " who was accused by his companion, '* of having robbed him of some money; he said, simply, " that he had not taken it. Finding that the other per- " sisted in the charge, he turned his heart to God, and " said, * O Lord what shall 1 do f Thou knowest the " truth.* Then, trusting in him, he resolved to give no " more answer to the accusation, though it was spread " far and wide. Behold the care which providence has '^ of those who place their trust in her ! At a distance " of six-and- twenty leagues from the place where the " event happened, the thief was discovered, and acknow- ** ledged the offence. — O my brethren ! let us acknowledge '' our sins, and when we are falsely accused, trust that " God will manifest our innocence in a proper time." " Son,'' says the teacher of true wisdom, in the Imita- tion of Christ*) " stand firm and trust in me; — What " are words but words ? They fly through the air, but " hurt not a stone. If thou art guilty, think that thou " wilt amend thyself. If thy conscience accuse thee '^ not, think that thou wilt willingly suffer for God's " sake. —Give ear to my word, and thou shalt not value " ten thousand words of men. Behold! if all should be *' said against thee, which the malice of men can invent, " what hurt could it do thee, if thou wouldst let it pass, '^ and make no account of it ?" — This is true philosophy. Happy, even in this life, are all who practise it ! In their patience they possess their souls. In i6ii, Vincent was appointed to the curacy of Clichy, a village at a distance of about a league from Paris, and discharged, in the most edifying manner, all * Book iii. ch. 4C. 156 THE LIFE OF the duties of his station. — By frequent sermons, con- veying the most soh'd instruction, in a familiar style; by catechetical discourses, regular attendance in the tribunal of penance, and punctual celebration of the holy mys- teries, he formed his flock to pious and moral duty. He visited the sick, comforted the afflicted, assisted the poor, pacified the litigious, reproved the wicked, and encou-. raged the good ; animating all by the undeviating rec- titude and sanctity of his own conduct. Thus he gained every heart. His poor flock looked up to him as their father; the Parisians, who had their villas in the vici- nage, revered him as a saint ; the neighbouring clergy considered him as their model. The good, which he did, was great. — " In the absence of Vincent," a doctor of the faculty at Paris said in a letter to one of his friends, " I officiated for him. I found the good people " lived, universally, the life of an angel. — When I preached *' to them, I could not but fee]j that I was carrying light y other prelates, and, by degrees, the houses of the congregation were open to all, who, with testimonials from their bishop, presented themselves to make a spi- ritual retreat, previously to their ordination. During ten complete days, they were lodged and boarded at the expense of the establishment. A succession of prayer and instruction occupied their time. The decalogue was succinctly, but accuratel}^ explained to them ; and they were minutely taught and practised in the cere- monial of the ritual. Almost all made a general con- fession. To their accommodation, Vincent habitually sacrificed the convenience of his own charge; and encouraged his disciples to make such sacrifice cheerfully and, afi'ection- ately. The expense was heavy : and more than once^ ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 185 prudence seemed to suggest the necessity of discon- tinuing the undertaking; but it was blessed by heaven ; and prospered to the last. VIII. 3. Clerical Seminaries. An object, which Vincent had much at heart, was to establish a permanent institution, for raising a numerous portion of pious, well-instructed, and zealous ecclesiastics for parochial duty. Two plans presented themselves. The first was recommended by the council of Trent : By this, youths of promising dispositions were to be selected at a very early age ; separated from the world, and, in a happy ignorance of its vices and vanities, to be brought up in piety, instructed in divine and human learning, and afterwards admitted, at a proper age, into the ecclesiastical state. According to the other plan, those were to be selected, who had finished the studies of humanity, and had discovered, in their conduct, confirmed habits of devotion, religion, and regularity, and an aptitude to acquire the learning necessary for a priest. For however Vincent preferred piety to literature; however, with the author of the Imitation of Christ, he might exclaim, " Of what im- " portance is science, without the fear of God ?" — he yet knew, that, as a priest is to instruct others, he must him- self be well instructed; and that an ignorant clergyman is little calculated to discharge with fruit, the duties of the sacred ministiy. After weighing both plans with atten- tion, he gave the preference to the latter ; it appearing, after great inquiry, that, of the boys who are educated for the church, from tender years, the number of those, l86 THE LIFE OF who embrace the ecclesiastical state, is surprisingly small. On this occasion, the archbishop of Rouen men- tioned, that though he had educated, with the greatest precaution, a multitude of young men from their tender years, in hopes of their afterwards taking to the church, he could not reckon more than six, who had entered its service. The plan being agreed upon, Vincent erected his seminary. Philosophy and theology were taught in it ; but not more of the former than was necessary to qualify the student for acquiring the latter: and the latter was confined to solid instruction in the history, the morality, and the dogma of the church, the exact celebration of its rites, and the administration of its sacraments. Year after year was spent in the acquisition of this useful knowledge. " What ! " he used to exclaim, with the celebrated M. Bourdoise : — *^ the lowest trades require " an apprenticeship ; and can five or six months be " thought sufficient to form men for a dignity, for which " they can only be qualified by having purified them- " selves from all vicious habits, from all inordinate love " of the creature ; by having made great advances " in divine love, by having acquired a feeling know- '^ ledge of the saving truths of eternal life, by having " established in their souls the reign of truth and justice, " and a constant habit of prayer, — what a sword is to a " soldier, prayer," he used to say, " is to a priest." Some objected to Vincent, that the erection of a seminary for the education of priests was beside his original plan, which was expressly confined to the in- struction of the poor. — " I hope," said the humble man, " that we walk, however immeasurable the distance " from Jesus may be, in his footsteps. At firsts he hid ^' himself in obscurity, then he announced his gospel to " the poor. Finally, he chose and instructed the apostles. ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 187 " Imitating him, we lived at first for our own sane tifica- " tion, then we evangehzed the poor, now we form " pastors for them. " O my Saviour ! " he sometimes exclaimed, " how " great is the importance of a priest ! The good he may " do, how great ! the evil he may do, how incalculable ! " How should the poor missioners exert themselves to '' form good ecclesiastics. No task is so difficult, so " suhlime, so weighty ; nothing contributes so much to " the salvation of souls, to the advancement of christi- " anity. No money is so well spent as that employed " in forming a good priest. To enrich the fold of " Christ with a good ecclesiastic, is to enrich the poor : ^' he will even be a father to them, and repay to them ^' an hundredfold what he himself has received from the " charity of the faithful." The good, produced by the seminary established by Vincent, was so visible, that the institution was adopted by every prelate in France, so that a seminary became as ordinary an appendage of a bishopric, as a palace: some were better regulated than others, but all did great good. VIII. 4. Spiritual conferences. To preserve the pious fervour kindled at the seminary, and to excite its holy inmates, after they should come into the world, to live up to the resolution which they had formed, Vincent established regular conferences among them and other ecclesiastics, on religious subjects, con- nected with their holy calling. He was led to this plan, by perusing the relations which have come to us of the pious conferences of the fathers of the deseit. l88 THE LIFE OF The ecclesiastics, who formed this religious association, were to continue members of it as long as they observed its rules. These were few : Every day the members of it were to rise at four, to meditate on some pious subject, during half an hour at the least, to celebrate the sacred mysteries, to read, on his knees and bare-headed, one chapter of the New Testament ; and to make an exami- nation of his conscience before dinner ; and after it, to give some time to the perusal of a pious book. Each of the rules was to give way to a pressing call of duty, but, with this exception, all were to be inviolably observed. The object of the association was to tender honor to the life of the son of God, his eternal priesthood, his holy family, and his love for the poor. These, in the chief employments of the day, they were to bring explicitly into their recollections. They were to assemble on a place, fixed for the purpose, on every Tuesday ; those who were so disposed, might speak on any subject re- lating to the functions and duties of ecclesiastics, the motives which incite them to virtue, and the dangers to which they were exposed. But the discourse was to be shorty without any gesticulation, or affectation of elo- quence. The members of the association were to have age and experience; others might attend, but those only were allowed to speak. The effects of the association were most edifying; the founders of the community of St. Sulpice, and of the community for foreign missions, twenty- three of the most distinguished prelates of France, a prodigious multitude of vicars-general, canons, curates, directors of semi- naries, and other persons who edified France by their piety and their zeal, were members of the pious asso- ciation. They were useful to every rank of life, but they chiefly attached themselves to the poor. In the poorest ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 1 89 quarters of Paris, in its hospitals and prisons, some were always to be found. At the time, of which we are speaking, the Fauxbourg St. Germain was the receptacle of whatever was most wicked, most lawless, most hardened, and most fihhy, in Paris. Even in the day time it was unsafe to pass through it, and at night none ventured into it besides its wretched inmates and their associates ; the process of the law could not be served without a military escort. Afflicted by this combination of wickedness and misery, but undismayed by its terrors, some members of the pious association of the conferences repaired, in their clerical dress, to the spot, and announced to the inhabit- ants that they were come to dwell among them, and that their object was to reconcile them to God, the best, and perhaps the only friend, who was left to them. At first they were viewed with astonishment, soon with fa- vour, and before long, as angels from heaven. Then they parcelled out the district among them ; a portion of it was assigned to each ; the missioners laboured without intermission, the grace of God worked with them, and, at the end of two years, industry, piety, and regularity were restored to the Fauxbourg St. Germain. A pious tradesman, in the neighbourhood, without a family, or any near relatives, was so struck with the change, that he offered the missioners his whole fortune, on condition they would form themselves into a distinct association, and continue their labours. His offer they refused; but they assured him, that, in those, or similar labours, they would persevere till the end of their lives. 190 THE LIFE OF VIII. 5. Spiritual retreats. In every age of Christianity, both the just man and the sinner have been recommended to make temporary separations from the world ; and to dedicate some days to prayer and pious meditation, in solitude and silence. The system, into which this has been introduced, by the spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius, is one of the many obligations which we owe to that great man and his dis- ciples. The good effected by these exercises did not escape the observation of Vincent ; after much delibe- ration, he formed an establishment for similar exercises, on a very large scale, at the House of the Congregation, at Paris, and it was imitated in several of their other houses. There, all who were known to any of the mem- bers of the community, or who presented themselves, with any thing like a recommendation, were received, lodged and boarded, during ten days, on making a solemn promise, on their admission, to observe the rules of the establishment, and remain in it, during the term of the retreat. If they offered a retribution, a small sum of money was received; but none was asked for, or dis- covered to be expected. No distinction of rank was shewn, either at the reception, or in the treatment of the persons who engaged in the retreat, so that the cordon bleu, the officer, the private, the ecclesiastic, the bar- rister, the tradesman, and the domestic, often met at St. Lazarus, were served in the same refectory, slept in the same dormitory, and knelt and prayed in the same rank. All rose at an eavly hour, and said together a morning prayer ; were employed in som.e spiritual exer- cise till they assembled for mass; after mass they break- ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. I9I fasted ; then assembled in the church, where a meditation on some important truth of Christianity was read to them ; but after each sentence, the priest who presided over the meditation, suggested the sentiments which it should raise, and then paused, for a few minutes, to let them make a due impression on the hearers. At the close of the meditation, he suggested the resolutions which the hearers should form, in consequence of the pious sentiments and affections which had occurred to them during the medi- tation. These, in the first instance, were general ; then, descended, as far as could be done in a promiscuous as- sembly, into particulars ; these, in a private conference with each individual, were still more minutely directed ; for Vincent frequently remarked^ that however proper it may be to begin with general resolutions, little good is to be expected, if the peVson who makes them does not apply them to his own particular case, to his own habits^ and to his own individual circumstances. A similar public meditation was made in the afternoon, and the day closed with an evening prayer. The other parts of the day, except the hours of meals, were employed in other spiritual exercises. The meals were taken in a public refectory; a book was read while they lasted; and, except for a short time after dinner, absolute silence was observed throughout the day. Almost all made to the priests a general confession of all the sins of their lives ; and, finally, received the communion. Some objected to these retreats, that the labour was great, the expense excessive, the good uncertain. '^ Many," Vincent replied, " very many are served by " them. But, after all, how many neglect to avail them- " selves of the passion and death of Christ. Yet, O " great and merciful God ! Though thou foresawest " all this, thou wouldst die for their salvation ! Grant " us grace to imitate thy example. Thou diedst for all ! ig2 THE LIFE OF " Let all be welcome to us ! Let there be no acceptation *^ of persons ! Let the poor be as dear to us as the rich." The disciples of Vincent caught his holy flame. It ap- pears from the accounts of the house, that during the twenty-five last years of Vincent's life, 20,000 different persons, or about 800 persons in every year, had made their spiritual retreats in the manner which has been mentioned, at the house of St. Lazarus. The good effects of them were great; cardinals, bishops, priests, and curates, addressed letters to Vincent, thanking him for the good which both the shepherds and the flocks had received from them. But it is idle to produce testimo- nials in favour of the good efi'ects of this institution ; every christian must be sensible how much good ten days spent in the manner we have described, must have produced, — how greatly they would '^ Remove the stony from the heart, " And make new flesh regenerate grow." Par. Lost, XI. 8, CHAP. IX. SAINT VIMCENt's OTHER ESTABLISHMENTS OF CHARITY. We pass to other acts of Vincent's charity. We shall premise some account of mademoiselle le Gras, his emi- nent co-operator in several of them; we shall then succes- sively mention the Institution of the Sisters of Charity, — of a religious community of ladies in support of the sick, in the hospital of the Hotel-Dieu ;-^and of an hospital for foundlings. ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. I93 IX. 1. Mademoiselle le Gras. The lady, whom we now introduce to the attention of the reader, was the daughter of Louis de Marillac, a member of a family equally distinguished in the robe and the army. She was eminently accomplished ; but from her tenderest years, she devoted herself to piety ; and once intended to enter into a religious house of the ri- gorous order of the capucines. Being withheld from it by weak health, she married M. le Gras, secretary of Mary of Medicis ; her kindness to all in want procured for her, in her neighbourhood, the name of mother of the poor '^ she rendered them, in sickness, all the ^rvices which an humble and industrious servant could shew them; she waited upon them, dressed their victuals, made their beds, comforted tliem in their sufferings, instilled sentiments of piety into them, instructed them in the truths of religion, prepared them for the sacra- ments, and disposed them, during their last illnesses, for their happy passage into eternity. Not long after her marriage, she lost her husband ; for some reason, un- known in the English law, she was called, till her decease, Mademoiselle le Gras. The bishop of Belley was her spiritual director ; his residence in his d iocese rendering his further care of her impracticable, he earnestly entreated Vincent to take charge of her ; and, though it was con- trary to his established rule of avoiding female direction Vincent, from his singular respect to the holy prelate accepted the charge. Mademoiselle le Gras soon an- nounced to him her resolution of abandoning the world, and consecrating herself entirely to the service of the poor, and co-operating, as far as circumstances permitted, O 194 THE LIFE OF in Vincent's charitable undertakings. He commended her design ; but, before he permitted her to engage in it, he tried her strength and good-will, during a period of four years, in different charitable employments ; par- ticularly, in visiting some of the confraternities, which he had established in several of the provinces of France. At the end of the fo^u* years, the trial ended, and she returned to Paris, and finally placed herself, with no vow, but with a firm resolution of obedience to him, under the direction of Vincent. — Seeing her ardour, he did not check, but regulate it. " Beware," he said to her, " of doing too much. It is a snare, by which the " evil spirit endeavours to deceive good souls ; he excites '^ them to attempt more than they can do, in hopes, that " when they fail to do all the good they wish, they will " do none. On the contrary, the Spirit of God breathes ** moderation, and prompts every one to do the good he " can, and to persevere in it to the last." IX. 2. The Sisters of Charity : or, Les Saurs Grises. To procure fox the sick poor, kind and intelligent attendants, who might essentially assist them, both in their spiritual and corporal wants, was the object of this institution. Its beginning was small. Vincent proposed the design to Mademoiselle le Gras, and suggested to her, that the only means of accomplishing it, was, collecting a certain number of young women, disposed to undertake such an employment, and to bind themselves to it by a serious, though not an indissoluble engagement; first proving, by a sufficient trial, their probable steadiness in the en- tcrprize, and giving them such instructions, as would ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. I95 enable them to discharge properly, the task to be assigned to them. Four innocent, active, and intelligent young women, were selected for this purpose, and placed under the tuition of Mademoiselle le Gras. They were joined b}^ others : by degrees, their modesty, their gentleness,, their zeal, and unpretending piety, gave general edifi- cation, and their number increased rapidly. In Paris alone, they had, at the commencement of the French revolution, thirty-four houses filled with sisters of the institution ; several in the provinces, some in Lorraine, and some in Poland. With their numbers, their duties increased : — at a mo- ment's notice, they were to be ready to attend the sick, the wounded, and the dying poor ; and for that purpose to seek the garret, the cellar, the hovel, the prison, and the hospital. They were taught to honour the sacred person of Christ, in all whom they attended ; to remind them- selves, by repeated acts of faith, of his holy presence, and to consider every discharge of duty, as an act of obedience to his divine will. Every day, they were to rise at four, to hear mass, to say the beads, to make two meditations and two examinations of conscience, to live abstemiously, never to taste any other liquor than water, and to receive the holy communion on every Sunday, and on the principal festivals; to attend the poor sick, to refuse no employment about them, however disgusting or painful. When it was necessary, one of them was to watch the sick or dying, through the whole night; to reckon for nothing, the foulness of the air, or the pestilential breath, which they must encounter in the discharge of their duty ; and to familiarize themselves, when such was the situation of those, on whom they waited, with the near approach of death. They were to instruct the poor in the doctrines of religion, to suggest to them motives of piety, to inform the priest, as soon as it began o 2 ig6 THE LIFE OF to appear, of their approaching dissolution : but, though watchful and earnest, they were not to be importunate or wearisome ; and never, either directly or indirectly, to receive even the smallest remuneration for their la- bour. When they quitted their rooms in the morning for the service of the day, they were to prostrate them- selves on the ground, and make an act of adoration of the Divine Being, on whom, in his poor servants on earth, they were to wait. They were to emulate the purity of the inhabitants of a cloister; to behave to each other with respect, and to avoid every thing that savoured of levity or familiarity. Their manners were to be grave. Their dress was grey ; this gave them the appellation of the Saurs Crises. They made three simple vows ot poverty, obedience, and chastity ; but those, they were not suffered to make till after a probation of seven years, and they were then only made for the term of the fol- lowing year. When Vincent first instituted this community, he con- sidered that it would be filled only with young women taken from the lowest conditions of life. " By degrees," says M. Collet, his biographer, " young ladies of the " highest birth wished to become members of it. Vincent « saw, — and we now see — young ladies, who have been " brought up in delicacy, richly dressed, and accustomed " to command, — renouncing all the conveniences of life, " embracing a state in which nature has much to suffer, " honouring, as their superiours, those whom once they " would not have been permitted to wait upon them ; " and wearing, with greater joy, a coarse and humble '' dress, than the children of the world find in their costly " garments." The institution was approved by John de Gondi, archbishop of Paris, legalized by letters patent of Lewis Xiy., and confirmed by cardinal Lewis de Ven- dome, legate a Latere, from pope Clement IX. " How ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 1 97 '' happy are these poor girls," said Vincent, " to con- '^ tinue the good which Christ did, while he resided oa *' earth. With all their good deeds, and their humble " reliance on the mercies of his God and the merits of " his Son, with what holy confidence may they appear *■ at the day of judgment ! It seems to me, that all the " crowns and empires of the earth, are only ^ dirt, in " comparison with the glory, with which there is reason " to hope, these poor girls will be one day crowned." An illustrious and intelligent foreigner, on a visit in this country, was shewn one of the greatest and best regulated hospitals : its order, its regularity, its cleanliness,''and its airiness, were remarked to him. To these, he did ample justice : " Mais," said he, " il vous manque quelque chose: — Un bon cure, et des soeurs grises." There was no part of Vincent*s labours, which he seems to have considered with more pleasure : — After the cele- brated battle on the downs of Dunkirk, so warmly and saably fought by the prince of Conde and Turenne, the sick and wounded of the victorious army of the latter, were taken to Calais, and placed in tents near the town. Anne of Austria, who was on the spot, was extremely affected at the sight, and immediately applied to Vincent for some of his soeurs grises to attend them. He sent four, and they commenced their labours : two sunk under them, almost immediately, and Vincent replaced them by two others. Mentioning this circumstance, in one of his conferences, — " Imagine to yourselves," he said, " four poor girls among 600 sick and wounded soldiers. " See the goodness of God, in raising, at the very time, " such a company ! — To do what? — to render every per- " sonal service, of which these objects stand in need ; — to " assist them spiritually, by speaking the words of salva- " tion to them all, and particularly to the dying ; — to ^* dress their wounds ; and while they dress them, to excite o 3 198 THE LIFE OF " them to patience, or prepare them for death. This is " truly an affecting sight. Don't you think, that in the " eye of God, it is an act of great merit for these sisters " to go with so much courage, among the soldiers, aiding " them in their wants, and contributing to their salva- ** tion ? To expose themselves to fatigue, and to illness, ** and even to death, in order/to serve these soldiers, who *< have deserved so well of the state ! V/e now see, how " full these poor girls are of the glory of God, and of *' charity for their neighbours. One called upon me " yesterday, and told me, that she had been informed " that two of her sisters were dead, from fatigue, at Ca- " lais, and desired me, if I approved of it, to send her *'■ there.— I told her, I would think of it ; and she came " to me, yesterday, to renew the request. See the cou- " rage of these women, to offer themselves, in this man- " ner, as victims to charity, to give their lives for the " love of Jesus Christ, and the good of their neighbours. '* Yes, — they will be our judges, if we are not disposed, " as they are, to expose our lives for the interest of " God ! " IX. 3. Religious Association of Ladies for the service of the poor in the Hotel Dieu at Paris. This most respectable association, originated with Madame la Presidente Goussault. — A widow, in the flower of youth, rich and beautiful, the world offered her, in a second marriage, every thing that could flatter a person of her rank : but grace was more powerful than the world. The imitation of Jesus in his love for the poor, she preferred to it, — and certainly did not lose b}' her choice. ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 199 The situation of the poor in the Hotel Dieu fixed lier attention ; she found that, in the course of every year, 25,000 individuals upon an average, of each sex, of every age, and of all religions, were received into it, and that much was wanting both for their spiritual and tem- poral accommodation. This, she represented to Vincent; she laid before him her plan for the reformation of the hospital, and conjured him, by his love of God and man, to preside over its execution. He consented, but not before it had been pressed on him by the archbishop of Paris. A first and second assembly of ladies was held ; at the latter, madame d'Aligre, the wife of the chancellor of France, and several other ladies of distinction, at- tended : the presidente Goussault, was appointed the the first superiour of the congregation; Vincent, its per- petual director. In a few years two hundred ladies of the first distinction joined the association. They obliged themselves to give regular attendance upon the poor of the hospital : and to do, or to see that others did for them, every office that suffering humanity requires. They were enjoined to enter the hospital humbly dressed, to speak to the poor, not with affected conde- scension, but with real kindness and affection ; to in- struct them, and excite in them sentiments of devotion and resignation: Each of the ladies was furnished with a book containing the prayers and instruction, which they were to suggest. Mademoiselle le Gras, and her soeurs grises were soon called in aid. Four priests were introduced into the house, a medical dispensary and a large kitchen esta- blished. Here, the incomparable soeurs grises worked from morning till night, and often through a great part of the night, in preparing the medicines and dressing the victuals of the poor. The expense amounted, upon an average, to 7,000 livres a year ; and the feiTor with o 4 200 THE LIFE OF which the ladies began the association, never diminished. Even when the immorality of the Parisians was at it3 utmost height, there were not wanting ladies of the first rank, who gave the same attention, to the inmates of the Hotel Dieu, as it had received from Vincent's first companions. The Hospital for Foundlings. In the middle of the 17th century, the city of Paris presented the lamentable spectacle of a multitude of children daily exposed, almost as soon as born, in the public streets, and left there to perish by inanition. The police interfered, and ordered the commissioners of the chatelet, to remove them and provide them with suste- nance. But little, if any, substantial good was eflfected by the order ; the children were deposited with a woman of the name of Landri ; she took little care of them, and few reached manhood. She confessed that none com- mitted to her charge were baptized by her, or by her direction. The miserable lot of these unhappy children came to the knowledge of Vincent : It was his constant rule, when he could noi do all the good which he wished, to do that which he could. A subscription was raised, a house hired,several babes transported to it; Mademoiselle le Gras, and some of the soeurs grises, took charge of them. Thus, something was done, and the Almighty was implored to bestow, from the treasures of his mercy, the means of doing more. After many prayers and many discussions, Vincent convened an assembly of the charitable ladies we have mentioned : a project of providing for all the children was embraced with ardour. The Court of France en- ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 201 tered into it ; and, at the prayer of Anne of Austria, the king settled on the establishment a yearly pension of 1,200 livres. For a while everything prospered; by degrees, the pension was suspended ; their other means began to fail ; fervour subsided, and ruin appeared to advance rapidly. In the afflicting state of the undertaking, Vincent convened another assembly of the ladies : the Marillacs, the Traversacs, the Miramions, — and many other names still held in benediction in France, attended it. Vincent exposed to them the situation of the institution ; the reasons for encouraging ; the reasons for abandoning it. '^ You have contracted," he told them, " no engage- " ment ; you are at full liberty to come to any resolu- " tion you think proper. Much has certainly been done " by you ; many infants who would otherwise have pe- " rished for time and eternity, have been saved through " your care ; many children now begin to know and " love God, and will soon be qualified to earn their own *' subsistence by their own hands ; the undertaking has " its perils, but certainly so happy a beginning promises " pleasing results." Here, for a moment, the feelings of the holy man subdued him, and his voice began to fail : Recovering himself, — " The time of deliberation," he said, " is now *' over : the hour in which the fate of these children is to " be decided, is arrived ; their natural mothers forsook " them, the grace of God gave them mothers in you : " you are now to say, whether you will abandon them ^ " cease, then, if you can, to be their mothers, and be- " come their judges ; their life, their death are in your " hands ; — you are to pass sentence upon them ; — let " us see if you will have mercy upon them, or not. If " you have mercy on them, they will continue to live, if " not, they must die ! — I proceed to the vote. — Madame 202 THE LIFE OF " de Nemours," addressing himself to the dutchess of that name, he humbly said, " What do you vote for ?" Madame de Nemours, and every lady in the room, cried out with one voice, that the good v/ork must be continued ; that, whatever should be its expenses, whatever privations they must endure to support it, the establishment must and would be continued. " The " fathers and mothers have forsaken their children," the assembly said, " but God has placed the children in our '' arms, and we never will forsake them." The resolu- tion was not embraced with more ardour, than it was executed with wisdom and perseverance ; it was sup- ported partly by public, and partly by private bene- ficence ; till the French revolution it ever flourished.— Surely the reader will exclaim, " How many thousand " children should bless the name of Vincent !" CHAP. X. SUCCOURS SENT BY ST. VINCENT INTO LORRAINE AND CHAMPAGNE, AND OTHER PARTS OF FRANCE, WHICH WERE A SCENE OF WAR. Every biographer of Vincent begins his account of this part of his life, by observing that, however his readers may have been astonished at what they had before read of Vincent's exertions of charity, they will find what remains still more surprising, and think it borders on prodigy. If the present writer should do justice to his subject, these too will be the feelings of his readers. ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 203 Charles IV ., the duke of Lorraine, at the time of which we are now speaking, caused that territory to be the theatre of one of the most cruel and desolating wars, recorded in history. The Austrian, French, Spanish, and Swedish troops, occupied different parts of it, and there was not one, which did not repeatedly ex- perience, in all their horrors, all the ravages of advancing and retreatino^ armies : nor did they suffer less from their own soldiers, than from the armies of their enemies. Some towns and several villages were absolutely de- serted : many, consumed by fire. In all the rest, there was more or less of pestilence and famine. The inhabitants, naked, pale, and disfigured, wandered in troops over the fields, supporting themselves by the leaves of trees, by wild roots, and often by grass alone ; thousands perished from inanition. Parents fed on their children, and children on their parents. Father Caussin, (the confessor of Lewis XIIL) a wit- ness of these horrors, observed, that " Lorraine was '^ the only country, which had presented to the universe " a scene more horrible, than had been displayed at the ^' siege of Jerusalem. Sola Lotharingia Jerosolj/man '^ calamitate vicit.'^ When Vincent was informed of it, he felt that there was a call on the wealthy portion of the community, for no ordinary exertion of charity : he announced it, at an assembly of The Charitable Ladies, and while the calamity lasted, they uniformly answered the calls of Vincent for charity, in the most edifying manner. Vin- cent began with his own community ; he reduced their subsistence to brown bread : on this, while this long calamity continued, they subsisted. It is admitted that twenty-five towns, and numberless townships and vil- lages, owed to him their preservation from famine. He procured clothing and medicines for those who were 204 'l'H£ LIFE OF in need of them ; restored the ornaments of the churches, and the furniture of the convents, which had been pil- laged. The ruined nobility, the destitute ladies of rank, he assisted, with every comforting attention and respect. All his charities were distributed wisely and thriftily, and, when they were narrowly examined, the measure of good, and the multitude of the persons benefited by them, became a matter of great surprise. Soon after his death, a calculation was made of the amount of the money, which had past through his hands, on this occasion ; and it was found to exceed two millions of livres; and that 15,000 ells of cloth and linen, had been sent by him into Lorraine alone, for the use of the poor. The advance of the Spaniards into the frontiers of France, in 1630, made those provinces, — Picardy and Champagne in particular, — a scene of equal and similar misery. At the entreaty of Vincent, the archbishop of Paris, announced it, by a mandement to his parishioners; and every curate in Paris and its environs, mentioned it from the pulpit, and called on the charity of the faithful to contribute to the relief of the sufferers. Large sums of money were thus raised, and placed under the direc- tion of Vincent. Collet says, that during the ten years, which this dreadful visitation lasted, Vincent regularly sent 30,000 livres in every month, for the relief of the sufferers. A new scene of calamity then presented itself. An immense concourse, particularly of the provincial nobi- lity, and their families, flocked in large troops from the desolations, which we have mentioned, to Pans; all in extreme misery, and many perishing by hunger, on the road. On the first intelligence of it, Vincent convened at Paris, an assembly of the nobility of France, to take their condition into consideration, and reliever this extreme misery. He placed the baron de Renty, ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 205 illustrious by his birth, but more illustrious by his virtues, at the head of the assembly ; an ample collection was made; and this, too, was placed under the direction of Vincent. At the sight of these calamities, the crimes, the blas- phemies, the licentiousness, the sacrileges, the desola- tion of whole provinces, the ruin of many families, and all the other results of this dreadful war, Vincent's heart was unspeakably moved. His long and serious reflec- tions upon them, determined him to hazard a step, the success of which was very doubtful, and which the wise of the world would not have recommended. He was known and respected by cardinal Richelieu. He re- quested an audience of him; on being admitted to that haughty and vindictive minister, Vincent represented to him, with respect, but firmness, the misery of the people, the sins, and all the other disorders, which are the usual horrors of war; he then fell at the feet of his eminence, and, in a voice, equally animated by grief and charity. '^ Sir," he said to him, " give us peace ; have compassion " upon us ; give peace to France." The cardinal was awed, raised Vincent from the ground ; he told him, with much apparent kindness, " that, the general pacification " of Europe was his great object, but, that unfortunately " it did not depend on him only; there being, both within *' and out of the kingdom, a multitude of persons who " sought the contrary, and prevented a peace." It is in this manner that the son of a poor and obscure peasant, in the Bourdelois, softened the horrors of these dreadful scenes of blood and desolation, — too often oc- casioned by the ambition of sovereigns, but oftener by the selfish views and crooked policy of their ministers. *' When one considers," says M. Collet, *' the large sums " of money procured by Vincent for the relief of the suf- '* ferersby these wars; his prodigious expense in restor* 206 THE LIFE OF " ing the churches, ruined by them ; and by providing " them with proper ornaments ; the communities supported *' by him; the convents which he repaired and furnished; " and the various and heavy incidental charges on all his " good works, it must be admitted that his Qxertions for " the countries thus depopulated by war, border on the " miraculous ; — and that it is utterly impossible to deny " to him the praise of having possessed the most active " and most persuasive charity." CHAP. XL VIRTUES OF SAINT VINCENT OF PAUL. The biography of Vincent does not turn on ecstasies, visions, or revelations, or even on shining displays of extraordinary virtue; it is wholly confined to an equable, unpretending, and undeviating tenor of humiUty, absti- nence, forbearance, patience, and charity. Uniformly? the grace of God was the principle of his conduct; Jesus, hving on earth, his model; the welfare of bis neighbour, his aim; the glory of God, his final end. We shall suc- cessively mention his faith, confidence in God, habitual sense of the Divine Presence, spirit of prayer, and love of his neighbour. XI. 1. Faith, The faith of Vincent was humble, simple, and devout; and therefore agreeable to God. It was sufl[ieient, that the church had spoken, to consider it an absolute duty. ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 207 to obe}^ without hesitation or reserve. " The church," he used to say, " is the kingdom of God ; his divine " providence signifies to the shepherds the road which '^ the flock should take; he never permits them to step " into a single path, which leads to error; it is for us to " hear, to be silent, and to obey." On every thing like disobedience to the church, he looked with horror. In his time, the heresy of Jansenism began to threaten the church. Vincent had become acquainted with Jean du Verger de Hauranne, the abbe de St. Cyran; who, divides with Jansenius, the misfor- tune of having laid its first stone. In perusing the writings of the abbe, his learning and his talents must appear to an impartial reader to have been very slender, his voluminous pages do not discover a single ray of taste, or elevation. On the other hand, the veneration with which he was viewed by many, and the absolute ascendant which he obtained over some of the first geniuses of the age, lead to the supposition that he pos- sessed no ordinary powers. But, if it be true, that strong minds often govern the w^eak, the experience of every day shows, that w eak minds too often subdue the strong. It is beside the object of these pag^s to give an account of Jansenism; the writer has attempted to do it in his Historical Memoirs of the Church of France in the reigns of Lerms XIV, XV, and XVI, and during the French Revolution, He concludes what he says on this subject by mentioning that '^ the examination of the " proceedings of the Jansenists, had made him think, " that they were uniformly wrong; — wrong in averring *' that the five propositions, extracted from the work of " Jansenius, were not contained in that work; wrong, in " maintaining that the church did not condemn them in " the true sense of the writer; wrong, in denying the " right of the church to pronounce on the true sense of 208 THE LIFE OF " the author*s writings ; wrong, in all their distinctions " and evasions ; and wrong in the excessive severity of " their morality. This/' continues the writer, " was the " decided and avowed opinion of Bossuet, Fenelon, " Flechier, and Fleury." This too was the opinion of Vincent. The apparent piety of the abbe de St. Cyran, and the severity of his life, drew Vincent to him; and, during some time, they lived as men who esteemed each other, loved the society of each other, and felt a pleasure in rendering to each other offices of friendship. By degrees, Vincent began to suspect the soundness of the abbe's religious opinions; on one occasion the abbe mentioned Calvin's predesti- narian sentiments with approbation, though he admitted that the language, in which they were expressed, was objectionable. On another, he argued in favour of some opinion condemned by the council of Trent. " Sir," said Vincent, " you are now going too far. What ! '^ would you wish me to believe an individual doctor, *' subject as you must admit yourself, to error, in pre- " ference to the universal church, which is the pillar of " faith." On another occasion, Vincent observing that the abbe had been writing, intimated to him, that " he " probably had been committing to paper something with " which God had inspired him in his morning prayer.' ^' I must confess," said the abbe, '^ that God has favoured " me with great lights. He has given me to understand " that there is no church." " What ! " Vincent ex- claimed, '' have you to learn that Christ built his church *^ on a rock ; and promised that the gates of hell shall " not prevail against her ? That she is the spouse of '* Christ, and that Christ will never abandon her." True it is," says the abbe, *' that Christ built his church on a rock ; but there is a time to build, and a time to destroy. — True it is that the church was his spouse; iC ST. VINCENT OF VAVL, 209 *' but she is now an adulteress, and he has repudiated ** her." ''Beware!" said Vincent, — " you seem to fail ^' greatly in respect for the church." " Do t/ou know," asked the abbe, " what the church is r" " She is an " assembly/' says Vincent, " of the faithful in Christ, '■^ under one head, their legitimate pastor." '' You are '' an ignorant fellow," repHed the abbe, ''you are not " worthy of being placed at the head of your congrega- " tion: you should rather be turned out of it. I wonder " they permit you to remain in it." "That they allow " me," said Vincent, " to hold the place, which I fill in " it, surprises me quite as much as it can surprise you." Here, the conversation ended : Vincent made afterwards some attempts to reclaim the abbe, — but they failed of success; and Jansenism gained too much ground. Vin- cent uniforml}" opposed it. This indisposed the disciples of Jansenius against him; they allowed him good inten- tions, and admitted that he did some good ; but they denied his talents: — "He was far," they said, "from *' possessing the loftiness of mind of the abbe de St. " Cyran ;" — but if he possessed, — (and this probably they did not refuse him), — a contrite and humble heart, he possessed that, which God does not despise. The lamp of faith directed Vincent in all his ways, and judgments. " Behold !" he used to say, " a poor peasant " or a poor working woman ! The world considers in " them nothing but their dirt, their coarseness, and *' their stupidity ! Contemplate them with the eye of *' faith : You will recollect, that Jesus chose to be born *' poor, and that the poar are therefore his images ; that ^' he vvas sent to evangelise the poor. Oh, how pleasing *' it is to behold the poor, when we consider them in '' God !" — In this holy spirit of faith, Vincent ever lived, moved, and was. 210 THE LIFE OF XI. 2. Confidence in God. No one appears to have united, in a higher degree, confidence in God, and prudent exertion. His mind was capacious, circumspect, not easily sur- prised, and equally able to seize a great outline and a minute detail. He was slow, in deciding ; but, on an emergency, ever equal to the occasion : he always list- ened with great attention, never interrupted, and gene- rally, repeated to himself the words, — " In the name of God,"— before he replied. An ordinary observer always thought himself Vincent's equal: in the greatest con- cerns, the greatest geniuses did not feel him their inferior. He was equally firm and modest, resolute and concili- ating. All these qualities he carried into business; and no person was a nicer judge of time, or place. His manner was at once imposing and gentle ; the calm.ness of his soul beamed in his countenance, and made him viewed and heard with equal affection and reverence. His confidence in God never failed him : "A person's *' faith," he used to say, '^ cannot be too firm : he cannot ** have too much confidence in God. One may expect " from God, what God has not promised ; — one may ex- " pectfrom God, without performing on our part, what " he enjoins us to do, to obtain from him the good which " we solicit: as, when a sinner expects the pardon of his ** own sin, who will not pardon his brother ; or, when we '' expect to conquer temptation, without prayer and re- *^ sistance: — In all these cases, our expectations will be " vain ; but a proper confidence in God never has been, " and never will be disappointed.'* ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 211 XI. 3. Love of Gody and conformity to his will, "Nothing," Vincent frequently said, ''proves a " person to be blessed with the love of God, so much, " as docility to his voice." So watchful over himself was Vincent, so mortified in his passions, sc equitable in his judgments, so measured in his words, so faithful in all his exercises, and so constantly united to God, that it was evident to all, that his soul overflowed with divine love. "O my Saviour! O my God!" he often ex- claimed, '* When wilt thou bestow 00 me, the blessing "of being wholly thine? When shall I live for thee " alone r — O Peter! how well didst thou live for God " alone, when, having recognized thy master, and the " beloved disciple having said, " it is the Lord!" thou " thoughtest not of thy net, thy bark, or even of thy life, " but plungedest thyself in the sea to embrace him." " Behold the blessings which attend him who loves " God, and conforms himself to his holy will. God " holds him by the hand ; he permits himself to be car- " ried wherever it pleases God. — Such as yau see him to " day, such you will see him to-morrow, such the follow- " ing day ; such through the month, through the year^ " through his whole life ; you will ever find him in tran- " quilhty, and in holy joy ; tending to God, and spread- " ing his holy peace over the hearts of ail around him. " God blesses his enterprizes, bestows his grace on all " his designs, and renders him a constant subject of edi- " fication to all who behold him." In these words, Vincent described his own love of God, his own con- formity to the divine will, and the corresponding senti- ments, which he produced in those, with whom he conversed. " Did not our hearts," said ie presidente p 2 212 THE LIFE OF Lamoignon, at the close of one of his discourses, " glow " with the love of God, when we were listening to him ? " For my part, though I am very insensible to spiritual " things, I feel my heart, embalmed as it were, with " what the holy man has said," " We must not," said the duchess of Mantua, to whom the discourse was addressed, " be surprised ; he is the angel of the Lord, " who has on his lips the divine fire, which burns in hii ' heart." — The discourses of Vincent which have reached us, shew that this was not exaggerated praise. XI. 4. Presence of God. — Prayer. " During a great number of years," said a virtuous ecclesiastic, " in which I lived with Vincent, and con- " stantly observed him, I always found him, like Abra- " ham, in the presence of his Maker. He saw him only ; '* nothing else made an impression on him. Company, " weight of business, good news, bad news, nothing " appeared to distract his habitual recollection of the " presence of God." It was his practice, to bring it formally to his mind four times in every hour. In every place, in every society, when the clock struck, he made the sign of the cross, and raised his mind to God : when he entered his room, or the room of any of the missioners, he knelt, and invoked the Holy Spirit. Sentences calling to mind the presence of God, were painted in large letters in many parts of his house. He used to observe, that the practice of frequently recollecting the divine presence, makes it at length habitual. Prayer, he assiduously practised and recommended to all: — pious meditation, he also recommended, and ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 213 that when the circumstances of the party allowed it, he should assign stated times to each. Affecting senti- ments, he preferred to dry consideration; good resolu- tions, particularly when they entered into details for immediate practice, he preferred to each. Fine expres- sions, or refined thoughts, he wished to be avoided. " The son of God," he used to say, " could have ravished *' the world by his divine eloquence : — but, so f^r was " he from it, that, in teaching the truths of the gospel, " he always used familiar expressions and w^ords of " common use." " Because, on some day," Vincent used to observe, '* you have omitted to repeat your stated prayers, don't " be discouraged, but, humbly confiding that God will " pardon the omission, say them with greater fervency " on the following. So, — if you break your resolutions, " do not despair, but renew them. — If you sin, and sin " ever so heinously, let it humble, but not dishearten " you, or lessen your confidence in God. Even though " some time should pass without any visible amend- " ment, continue to pray for his divine grace; and be " assured, that, if you persevere, you will obtain it." Though he went late to bed, and seldom slept more than two hours, the second toll of the morning bell al- ways found him on his knees in prayer. He was one of the first in the church ; he then made his meditation and celebrated mass : he said it slowly and distinctly, but without affectation, — and with an air of reverence, and devotion that inspired piety. He joined in the psalmody of the church, and paid the strictest attention to its being well executed : the eyes of all were to be fixed on the book ; the chaunt was to be grave, not sluggish, rigidly adhered to, without ornament or flourish. His devotion to Christ in the cucharist, was most r 3 214 THE LIFE OF edifying. He always placed himself before the blessed sacrament on both his knees, in an attitude so reverent, and with a countenance so humble, as shewed how con- fidently and feelingly he believed the real presence of the Son of God, under the sacramental veil. He never permitted himself to speak a single word in a church, — if any person spoke to him, whatever his rank was, he rose, and, to hear what he had to say, led him out of the church, but with so much respect and modesty, as made it impossible to be offended with him. When he travelled on foot, or on horseback, he stop- ped at the parish church of every village, through which he passed ; and, if he stayed to dine or sleep, he visited the blessed sacrament in the church, if it was open ; and if the church was shut, he offered his homage, on his knees, at the door. He was a strenuous advocate for frequent commu- nion, and thought the contrary practice very blamable. He used to mention the case of a lady of great piety and regularity of life, whose custom it was to approach the sacred table, twice a week. Meeting with a doctor of the new school, he reduced her communion succes- sively, to one in eight days, a fortnight, a months and at length, to one on each of the four great festivals of the year. The consequence was, that all her imperfec- tions, her vanity, her impatience, her dissipation, visibly increased. At length she became sensible of her mis- fortune : " Unhappy me !" she exclaimed : — " This, I " see, comes from my giving myself up to these new " masters, and abandoning my frequent communion. " O my God ! who hast opened my eyes, give me grace " to quit them, and to return again to the frequent use " of the bread of life." She did so, and her calm, her regularity and her piety returned to her. His devotion to the mother of God was great; "It ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 215 " is a devotion so antient," he used to say, " and so " authorized by the churchy that it is a great fault to at- " tack or weaken it. — Let us honour her every day of " our lives ; her humility, her purity, her grandeur, " her favour with the Almighty, her compassion for "sinners. Infinitely beneath God, she is infinitely above " all created beings. Mother of God ! to her alone, that " title belongs." He always wore the beads, appended to his girdle: — In catholic countries, the bell tolls at morning, at noon, and at evening, to invite the people lo the recollection of the mystery of the incarnation ; and to say three Ave Marias in remembrance of the annunciation of it, to the virgin : — It is called the prayer of the Angelus: when the bell for it tolled,it was imma- terial to Vincent, what he was doing, or where he was ; he fell on his knees, made the sign of the cross, and pro- nounced the hol}^ prayer. His zeal for the glory of God, was great, but it was always discreet, gentle, and considerate ; his reproofs were those of a friend and a father ; seeking to sooth, not to irritate ; to heal, not to wound. The least angry expression was never heard from his lips; it is probable that his pen never wrote one bitter word. He frequently checked the excessive zeal of superiors. Substantial and permanent improvements, on a sudden, could not, he told them, be expected, and should not therefore be required. A superior boasted of his incessant exertions to mortify the self-love of his pupils. " Do it," he said, " by degrees, and with great patience. No virtuous " habit, without an extraordinary grace, is to be instan- " taneously acquired; it must be attained, step by step.'* P 4 €t 2l6 THE LIFE OF X[. 5. Charity towards his Neighbour. " Give me one/' he said, in one of his conferences, " who fixes his affections in God alone ! A soul, who rapt in divine contemplation, finds nothing amiable " but God ; and rests in him in an ecstacy of delight, " without troubling himself abouthis neighbour: — Then, " give me one who loves God w^th all his heart, and who, " for love of him, loves also his neighbour, though rude, " though coarse, though imperfect, and who employs " himself in his service, and does all in his power to lead " him to God. — Which is to be preferred? O Jesus! *^ co-eternal Son of the Father, true God of true God! " What brought thee from heaven, to suffer the male- " diction of the earth, — the punishment of the cross^ — to " take on thee the form of a sinner, — to lead a painful " and lowly life, and to close it by a cruel ignominious " death ? Had we, my brethren, a single spark of his " divine love for us, how should we exert ourselves for " our neighbour? Should we sit still, while he is perish- " ingr — No, we should give up ourselves to God, and " our neighbours, without reserve/' Thus Vincent spoke, and thus he acted. — It is to be observed, that on more than one occasion he shewed his loyalty to his king. " Vincent," said Anne of Austria, " is true to his God, and true to his king." No child of the church was more respectful or sub- missive to the chair of St. Peter. He seemed to be as obedient to his bishop, as if he had vowed obedience to him ; he came, and went, and stopped at the command of his prelate. He appeared to consider even the se- cond order of the clergy as his masters. Every religious community, secular or regular, could dispose of his ser- ST. VI X CENT OF PAUL. 21 7 vices at their pleasure. It was his standing rule to give to every labourer in the vineyard of Christ the post of honour, and to seek for himself and the members of his community, the roughest and humblest duty. 'Jo the sick he was most compassionate; and never murmured at the expense or trouble which they occasioned; "a "community,'' he used to sa}^ "should consider their " sick, not as a charge, but as a blessing." Finally, there w^as not, in the church of Christ, either a public body,or an individual, whom in the largeness of his heart, he did not embrace; and to whom he was not most ready to render every service in his power. We shall only add, that he was never surpassed in gratitude. It sometimes happened that his benefactors fell into want; he then, with the greatest joy, and with the warmest and most grateful acknowledgment of their favours, not only returned what he had received from them, but was even profuse in his kindness to them, never losing them from his sight, when he could be kind to them. CHAP. XII. HIS CONDUCT IN THE ROVAL COUNCIL OF CONSCIENCE. 1643. Soon after the commencement of her regency, during the minority ofLcAvis XIV, Anne of Austria established an ecclesiastical council, in which all the concerns of religion were to be examined. It w as composed of the cardinal Mazarin, the chancellor Seguier, Charton, the grand penitentiary of Paris, and Vincent himself. He was constituted its president; in this employment he con- tinued ten years. His humility, equanimity, and patience never forsook him ; he did not make a single sacrifice to 2l8 THE LIFE OF human respect; his secrecy was inviolable; his profound respect for the prelacy, his affection for the religious orders, and his tender charity for secular and regular communities, were unremitted. The only religious concern which he appeared to neglect, was his own con- gregation : for them, and for himself, he never solicited a single favour. Two men, more different than Mazarin and Vincent, never entered into the same chamber of council. Maza- rin had power on his side; but Vincent's character enabled him often to elude, and sometimes to overturn, his projects; — it is not a little vemarkable, that notwith- standing all the talents of the cardinal, and the great partiality of the regent to him, the influence of Vincent was always on the increase. His unpretending simpli- city of manners was admired by all. The grand Conde once made him sit down near him: "Your highness,'* said Vincent, "is too condescending to the son of ahog- " driver." " Manners," said the illustrious prince, "not " birth, ennoble the man." " Moribus, haud ortu, nobilitatur homo.''^ A long conversation between them followed ; the prince was so pleased with what Vincent said in it, that he proceeded immediately into the apartment of the queen, and congratulated heron her acquisition of a man so capable of advising her. — It is certain, that, though he was counteracted by Mazarin, he rendered essential services to the church. Fifty years after his decease, Flechier, the celebrated bishop of Nismes, than whom there could not be a better judge, mentions in one of his letters, that " the splendor and the glory of the clergy of " France, during the reign of Lewis XIV, were owing " to Vincent." On all matters, in which religion was concerned, he was uniformly consulted. The house of St. Lazarus, ^t ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 2ig Paris, was a kind of centre, into which every person found his way, who could render any considerable service to the church, or his neighbour. Prelates, magistrates, doctors, curates, abbots, superiors of communities, — all consulted Vincent. St. Francis of Sales, placed the Monastery of the Visitation, at Paris, under his pro- tection; Lewis XKI. died in his arms; the chancellors Seguier, and le Tellier, spoke in terms of the highest praisp of the undeviating rectitude of his intentions, the solidity of the principles upon which he acted, his pene- tration, and unshaken constancy in every good purpose. Both the Lamoignons, — presidents successively of the parliament of Paris, — than whom, the magistracy of France, never produced greater men, — had the highest esteem for Vincent. The son, in his deposition on the canonization of Vincent, deposed, that, " his father had ** the highest veneration for him, and often consulted *' him, not only on matters of conscience, but because " he considered him a man of excellent judgment, and " very superior to others. I myself,'' he continues, "had " the happiness to live on terms of familiarity with the " holy man, during several years. His presence alone ** inspired piety. His mild look, modesty, conciliation <' and total freedom from affectation, attracted all, who *' had any concerns with him ; his goodness and humility, " placed him on a level with all with whom he treated ; *' while the greatest geniuses did not find hiui below " them, when they had to discuss with him even the " most important affairs." Such was Vincent : — The imperfect account given of him in these pages, we shall close by transcribing the conclusion of a life written of him by a much abler pen. 220 THE LIFE OF CHAP. xiir. LAST YEARS, AND DEATH OF VINCENT. 1658 — 1660. ''In the year 1658," says Mr. Alban Butler, in his Life of St. Vincent, which we have already cited, " St. •^ Vincent assembled the members of his congregation '•' at St. Lazarus, and gave to every one a small book " of rules which he had compiled. At the same time " he made a pathetic exhortation to enforce the most " exact and religious observance of them. This con- " gregation was again approved and confirmed by " Alexander VIL and Clement X. St. Vincent was " chosen by St. Francis of Sales, director of his nuns " of the visitation that were established at Paris. The " robust constitution of the zealous servant of God, " was impaired by his uninterrupted fatigues and auste- " rities. In the eightieth year of his age he was seized *' with a periodical fever, with violent night sweats. '' After passing the night almost without sleep, and " in an agony of pain, he never failed to rise at four in '' the morning, to spend three hours in prayer, to say " mass every day (except on the three first days of his " annual retreat, according to the custom he had esta- *' blished), and to exert, as usual, his indefatigable zeal " in the exercises of charity and religion. He even re- " doubled his diligence in giving his last instructions to " his spiritual children ; and recited every day after mass *' the prayers of the church for persons in their agony, " with the recommendation of the soul, and otherprepa- '' ratory acts for his last hour. Alexander VIL, in consi- " deration of the extreme weakness to which his health *' was reduced, sent him a brief to dispense him from re- f ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 221 " citing his breviary; but before it arrived, the servant of " God had finished the course oPhis labours. Having re- " ceived the last sacraments, and given his last advice, *' he calmly expired in his chair, on the 27th of Sep- " tember 1660, being fourscore and five years old. He " was buried in the church of St. Lazarus, in Paris, " with an extraordinary concourse and pomp. An ac- " count of several predictions of this servant of God, *' and some miraculous cures performed by him whilst " ahve, may be read in his life written by Collet (L. 9.), " with a great number of miracles wrought through his " intercession after his death, at Paris, Angiers, Sens, in " Italy, &c. Mr. Bonnet, superior of the seminary at " Chartres, afterward general of the congregation, by " imploring this saint's intercession, was healed instanta- " neously, of an inveterate entire rupture, called by the " physicians Ew/ero-ep/p/oce/Ze,* which had been declar- " ed by the ablest surgeons absolutely incurable : this *' miracle was approved by cardinal Noailles. Several " like cures of fevers, hemorrhages, palsies, dysenteries, " and other distempers, were juridically proved. A girl, " eight years old, both dumb and lame, was cured by a " second novena, or nine days devotion performed for '* her by her mother in honour of St. Vincent. His body " was visited by cardinal Noailles in presence of many " witnesses, in 1712, and found entire and fresh, and the " linen cloths in the same condition as if they were new. " The tomb was then shut up again. This ceremony is " usually performed before the beatification of a servant " of God, though the inconuption of the body by itself " is not regarded as a miraculous proof at Rome, or else- " where,asColletremarks(T.2.p.546). After the ordinary ** rigorous examinations of the conduct, heroic virtues * This consists in a prolapse both of the gut and the omentum, or <'aul, together. 222 THE LIFE OF " and miracles of this saint at Rome, pope Benedict " XIII. performed with great solemnity the ceremony of " his beatification, in 1729. Upon the publication of the " brief thereof", the archbishop of Paris caused the grave " to be again opened. The lady marechale of Noailles, " the marshal her son, and many other persons were " present : but the flesh on the legs and head appeared " corrupted, which alteration, from the state in which " it was found twenty-seven years before, was attributed " to a flood of water which twelve years before this had " overflowed that vault. Miracles continued frequently *^ to be wrought by therelicks and invocation of St. Vin- " cent. A Benedictin nun at Montmirel, afflicted with '^ a violent fever, retention of urine, ulcers and other '^ disorders, her body being swelled to an enormous size, *' and having been a long time paralytic, was perfectly '* cured all at once by a relick of St Vincent, applied to " her by Monseigneur Joseph Languet, then bishop of " Soissons. Francis Richer, in Paris, was healed in a no *^ less miraculous manner. Miss Louisa Elizabeth Sack^ " ville, an Enghsh young lady at Paris, was cured of a " palsy by performing a novena at the tomb of St. Vin- " cent : which miracle was attested in the strongest man- " ner, among others, by Mrs. Hayes, a protestant gentle- " woman with whom she lodged. Miss Sackville be- '* came afterwards a nun in the French abbey called " of the Holy Sacrament in Paris, lived ten years with- *' out any return of her former disorder, and died in " 1742. St. Vincent was canonized in J 737, by pope « Clement XII." ST. VINCEXT OF PAUL, 223 CHAP. XIV. DESTRUCTION OFTHE HOUSE OF ST. LAZARUS, ATTHE COMMENCEMENT OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 1789. The spirit of Vincent and his first disciples, was per- petuated, among their successors, without the slightest variation or diminution. From his death, till the time of which we are now speaking, the same zeal, the same humihty, and the same prudence, directed the steps ot the congregation ; they seemed to be unknown to all, except those whom they served ; the silent benedictions which they received from those were boundless; but the world in general knew them not; they had little, there- fore, of its applause. Still the congregation increased. In 1 789, they had seventy-seven establishments in France, twenty-seven in Poland, and all of them numerous, they had fifty-six in Italy, Spain, and Portugal ; and they pos- sessed different colleges at Manheim, in the Palatinate, Heidelberg, and Neustadt. They had missions in Algiers, Tunis, Constantinople, Madagascar, and Pekin. The house of St. Lazarus, generally contained about 400 individuals; there was not, among them, a single servant; but its administration was perfectly organized; every thing proceeded in silence and regularity, none sought to govern, all wished to obey. The chapel and refectory, had an imposing appearance: all the other rooms, with the exception of two, had bare v/alls ; the two, were covered only with a common paper. The room of the superior was a little larger, but not better furnished than a common cell : He had no servant to wait upon him, no one convenience, nor a single mark of distinction, except that, in imitation of the practice 224 "^^HE LIFE OF of St. Vincent, a poor person, sat and took his meal, on each side of him, when he dined. Such was the situation of the congregation when the project of un catholicising France began to be carried into execution. At two o'clock in the morning of the 1 3th of J uly 1 789, about two hundred men, armed with daggers, guns, pikes, hatchets, and clubs, assembled, tumultuously, before the gate of the house of St. Lazarus. Soon after, a second band, more systematically arranged, made its appearance. The gate was forced, the mob rushed in, proceeded to a part of the house in which twenty lunatics were confined ; and in which four youths of family were secreted, at the request of their parents, to conceal their enormities from the public eye. All these they set at large, and it is shocking to add that not one of them was ever heard of afterwards. It is useless to enter into any detail of the scene which followed. It is described at lensfth in the Memoire sur la Devastation de la Maison de St. Lazare^ dans la nuit de 12 AM 13 Jui/lety 1789; published in the Memoire pour servir a CHistoire de la Religion^ a la fin du XP III Steele, 2 vol. 8vo. Paris, 1803, torn. i. p. 260: — A work containing much interesting matter, — the perusal of it, and of some other works, has convinced the writer of these pages, that the horrors of the French revolution are still little known in this country. Suffice it to say, that the ruffians whom we have men- tioned, were in possession of the house of St. Lazarus during fourteen hours ; during which time they destroyed the library, the account books, the documents of title, the beds, bedding, chairs, tables, the contents of the dis- pensary, every article of furniture, and every pane of glass in the house, so that the whole was completely gutted, and formed one wreck. They then set fire to the granaries. Such of the liquors and proviMions as ibey ST. VINCENT 0F PAUL. 225 could not consume, they burned. They also destroyed the fruit in the garden, sawed several trees, and killed the sheep and other animals within the precinct. Amid the horror, with which the ruin was surveyed on the fol- lowing day, a sentiment of astonishment at the rapidity with which it was achieved, was very general. One room contained several articles which had been used by Vincent, — the chair, on which he died, his coarse hat, the stockings he had last worn, a poor rusty candle- stick, and part of the candle which burned in it when he breathed his last; his breviary, his beads, and the stick, with which he supported himself in his eighty-fifth year. These the mob unmercifully threw out of the window. The chapel, however, was respected ; and it is very remarkable, that in each oF six hundred rooms which were pillaged by these artificers of destruction, the prints or images which represented Jesus Christ, were uniformly respected. We have mentioned the twenty lunatics and the four youths who were let loose, and heard of no more : — No other inmate of St. Lazarus was missing, or materially injured. About one o'clock, a detachment of the national guard was at length sent to the house of St. Lazarus, and delivered it from the ruffians. By degrees, the mem- bers returned to it, and wept over its ruins. But not a murmur against the authors of their calamity was heard : no eye could behold them indifferent or unmoved. A subscription of 100,000 livres was raised for them. The king and the archbishop of Paris contributed to the sum with great liberality. They restored the house in the best manner they could ; and discovered, with the great- est joy, most of the memorials of Vincent, which had been flung from the window of his room in the manner which has been mentioned.— They continued in an alter- Q 226 THE LIFE OF nation of hope and fear, till the fatal loth of August, 1792, which banished them from France. The reader will naturally be solicitous to know the situation of the Smirs GriseSy during this scene of cala- mity. Their principal house was immediately opposite to that of St. Lazarus. At eleven -o'clock of the day on which that Jiouse was attacked, about fifteen of the mob demanded to enter the house of these edifying women ; the doors were accordingly opened to them, and they made an exact visit of the greater part of the house ; the multitude remaining in the street, and vociferating the most offensive and blasphemous expressions. But those, who had entered the house, conducted themselves with decency, and after they had finished their visit of it, retired. At five o'clock, about two hundred of the ruffians forced themselves into the house; about twenty seemed to lead the others, and direct their operations. These, too, appeared to have a leader ; and there seemed to be some reason to think he was a concealed friend, as he uniformly dissuaded his followers from violence. When they entered the chapel, the sisters were found on their knees. Terrified by the appearance of the visitors, several of the youngest ran to one of the mistresses, and clung round her for protection; several fainted. On this, the banditti retreated ; — some, however, remained in the house. During two days and two nights, the community continued in this dreadful situation; but not a single offensive word was uttered before them by their visitants, or a single article of the house injured. Some of their visitors afterwards acknowledged that they had entered the house with the most wicked intentions. In 1799, the SoPMTs Grises were recalled by the French government; their house was restored to them, and ST. VINCENT OF PAUL. 227 they resumed their charitable employments. At a subsequent period, the surviving members of the con- gregation of St. Lazarus, returned to France; where, dear to God and man, they now exercise their very hol}'^ and very useful functions. The room in which Vincent died, is still shewn; and some articles, which belonged to him, are yet preserved in it. The house at Pouy, in which he was born, was converted into a chapel; it contains two paintings, one of Vincent in his cradle, the other of Vincent in the fields, keeping his flock. An oak, near the chapel, is shewn, under which, Vincent, it is said, used to sit. It is often visited, by pious persons, on the 24th of April, the day of Vincent's birth : — they have a pleasure in contemplating Vincent, sitting under its shade, — cor- responding with the first impressions of grace, and de- serving by it, to increase, as the evangelist says of Vin- cent's model, in age and wisdom. Q 2 C 229 ] A LETTER ADDRESSED TO A LADY, ON ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. Madam, T SIT down to perform my promise, of committing to paper, some observations on music. With this view, I shall have the honour to offer you some miscellaneous observations, — I. On the Greek and Roman music: 11. On the music of the middle ages : in which, 1st. its notation ; 2ndly, the stave ; sdly, the gammut and hexa- chords of Guido; 4thly, the division of notes; 5thly, musical bars; and 6thly, music in parts, will be succes- sively mentioned : III. Advancing to modern music, 1st, the Flemish ; 2ndly, the Italian; 3dly, the German ; and 4thly, the French schools of music, will be noticed ; 5thly, your attention will then be called to a dispute, •which arose in France, in the time of Lewis XIV. on the lawfulnesss of stage entertainments; 6thly, — after which, the English style of music will come under con- sideration, adverting to tlie anthem, the serious glee, and the oratorio: IV. Some account will then be given of the Gregorian song, the restoration of which, in the Roman-catholic chapels, you and I most devoutly wish. S 3 230 A LETTER ON V. The epistle, which, I fear you will find long, shall close, with a short historical view of Roman-catholic music in England, since the reformation. I. Greek and Roman Music, The Greek music consisted of consecutive tetra- chords. In their nomenclature, a tetrachord denoted a series of notes, each of which was a tone, or a half tone. Two consecutive tetrachords are generally exemplified by supposing two serieses of them; the second placed im- mediately after and immediately ascending above the first: the lowest note of the lower series being w^; its highest fa: the lowest note of the upper series, being 50/, its highest ut. The two serieses, thus placed, compose the modern octave. The tetrachord was divided into three scales : the dia- tonic, chromatic, and enharmonic. In each, ut and fa, and sol and ut, were permanent or stationary. In the diatonic, the notes, as in the modern scale, were ut, re, mi and fa; or so/, la, si, and ut; and thus consisted of two full tones, and a semitone; in the chromatic, the notes w^ere ut, ut sharp, re and fa ; or sol, sol sharp, la and ut; and thus consisted of the first note, a semitone, a second semitone, and a minor third. In the enhar- monic, the notes were ut, ut raised by a quarter tone, ut raised by a further quarter tone, and /a ; or sol, 50/ raised by a quarter tone, sol raised by a further quarter tone, and ut ; and thus consisted of the first note, the first note raised by a quarter tone, the first note raised by a further quarter tone, and a major third. They were thrown into numerous subdivisions ; but these, probably, were rather objects of mathematical research, than rules for practice. ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 23I The author of the Young Anacharsisj — (a better scho- lar than myself would cite a graver authority), — tran- scribes a passage, from a Greek musician, which seems to indicate, that the Greeks found it very difficult to sing in the enharmonic scale. At present, it is considered a great difficulty: few voices can rise or fall, without some intermediate gradation, to the quarter tone of a distant note. One of the most scientific musicians in England told me, that he thought it doubtful, whether any per- former could sound, at once distinctly and rapidly, two consecutive tetrachords in the enharmonic scale. But, the difficulty, however great, was subdued by the Greeks, as the quarter tone regularly occurs in their scale. This, it is extremely difficult to comprehend ; and it has been found impossible to adapt a frequency of quarter tones for any practical purpose. The work, in which the Greek system of music appears to be best explained, is a paper of Sir George Shuck burgh, (No. 441), in the Philosophical Transactions. But, with- out intense study, it is impossible to comprehend it. A few months before he died, Doctor Burney said to me, that " he himself never understood the Greek music, or found any one that did understand it.'* The Romans adopted from the Greeks, the diatonic scale ; and, partially, at least, the chromatic : but they rejected the enharmonic, and many of the subdivisions of the two other scales. All modern music is in the diatonic scale, with the oc- casional admixture of the chromatic semitone, and the enharmonic quarter tone : but the last is very seldom introduced. One is naturally led to suppose, that the Grecian music admitted a similar admixture; but it seems to be agreed, that their airs, were either altoge- ther in the diatonic, the chromatic, or the enharmonic e 4 232 A LETTER 0?f scale. To every modem ear, this must appear impos- sible. The first of the following diagrams represents the teinichord in the diatonic scale ; the second represents it in the chromatic ; the third, in the enharmonic : 0T I p:«"p-. ^ But here we must take care to attend to an impor- tant distinction in semitones ; — particularly as those, whose experience in music does not extend beyond keyed instruments, and practising the voice by them, seldom understand it ; though, for accurate singing, or accurate performance on a stringed instrument, parti- cular attention to it, is absolutely necessary. In keyed instruments, the short key between the two long keys, serves to represent both the sharp of the note below, and the flat of the note above : but there is a material difference between them; the interval from lit natural to re flat, being greater than that, from ut natural to ut sharp. Thus, if we suppose a tone to be divided into eight commas, fwhich is sufficiently accu- rate for the purpose under consideration), the interval between ut natural and re natural, will consist of all the eight : and then, the interval between ut natural and re flat, will comprehend five of the eight, and the interval between ut natural and ut sharp, will comprehend three. But we have seen, that, in keyed instruments, the same key serves both for ut sharp and re flat. To remedy, in a certain degree, this imperfection, the tones from so/ to/«,and from re to mi, are divided in the Temple organ, and on some other organs, into three parts, by two dis- tinct keys, one for sol sharp, and the other for la flat; and one for re sharp, the other for mi flat. ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 233 This general imperfection of keyed instruments has made some professors think that persons, whose singing it is intended to carry to the utmost perfection of which it is susceptible, should be taught by a violin, and not by a forte piano. Mara, it is said, was instructed in this manner. It is to be observed, that, the only keyed in- strument, which expresses a quarter tone, is the clavi- chord, an instrument scarcely known in this country; but, frequently found on the tables of foreign professors, and in the cells of nuns. It is very portable, and does not disturb the inmates of an adjoining apartment. II. The Music of the Middle Jges, Few things show more than the gammut, how greatly art enters into combinations, apparently natural. Most persons, who have not attentively considered the subject, suppose that the gammut consists of sounds naturally of the power, and naturally rising and falling in the order in which they now stand : so that a child, as soon as his voice is formed, would, of himself, and without the least tuition, sing the gammut both in the ascending and de- scending series ; and make the lowest note of the octave, or, which is the same, the lowest note of the tetrachord, if he sang in the descending series, and the highest of either, if he sang in the ascending series, its ultimate or final note. But, to form the gammut, great mathema- tical research, and many experiments were necessary. It was not till the 9th century, that the hexachord was raised to a septenary, and it was not till the 17th, that the 7th note received an appropriate name. The former was preceded by the discovery of notation and of the staff or stave. 234 A lETTEll OK 11. 1. Its Notation' For their system of musical notation, the Greeks adopted the letters of their alphabet ; the Romans used for it their own capital letters A. B. C. D. E. F. G. These formed the first septenary; H. served for the be- ginning of the second, and this closed with O. But as, without the final octave, a septenary is imperfect in theory, and unsatisfactory to the ear, the octave note was insensibly added to the series, and formed its regular close: H. serving both for the end of the first and the beginning of the second octave : this ended in P. To show to which of the three scales, the diatonic, the chromatic, or the enharmonic, the note belonged, and, where the scale was raised above the first series, to describe the degree of its elevation, the Greeks varied the form of the letter. Each variation formed a note, and the whole formed 1620 notes. These constituted the Greek scale; to acquke the knowledge and ready use of it, prodigious labour was necessary. It has been observed that the Romans rejected the enharmonic scale, and many of the Grecian subdivisions of the diatonic and chromatic scales. This reduced their notation, comparatively speaking, to a very small number of notes. They are supposed to have been limited to xv. Pope Gregory the Great, reduced them to the seven first letters of the alphabet. The sounds in the gravest or lowest octave, he expressed by the capi- tal letters, A. B. C. D. E. F. G. ; the sounds in the oc- tave next above it, he expressed by the minuscules, a. b. c. d. e. f. g. ; the sounds in the octave above this, ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 235 he expressed by double minuscules, aa. bb. cc. dd. ee. ff-gg- The letters of Pope Gregory were afterwards aban- doned for notes or points. II. 2. The Stave, A CERTAIN number of parallel lines, rising one above the other, forms what is called, by some writers, the stave ; by others, the staff. These musical lines were unknown to the Greeks and Romans. They first came into use in the tenth century. The letters or notes were placed sometimes on the spaces only, and sometimes on the lines ; but it seems probable, that, before the timeofGuido, the spaces and lines were never used together in the writing of the same piece of music. Thus it required eight lines for the notation of the octave. Afterwards, notes were placed both on the line and the space; the lines were then reduced to four* We shall see that the Guidonian system of hexachords, made it expedient to increase them to five. As the sci- ence and practice of music extended, occasional addi- tions were made to them. These, from their beine placed under particular notes only, and not drawn out through the whole length of the line, were originally called Ledgers, that is, Legers or Light. At present, (particularly since the insertion of the additional keys on the forte piano), a complete, and more than a complete staff of notes, is occasionally inserted in musical compo- sitions, over the highe&t line of the stave. Formerly keyed in^ruments seldom contained more than five sep- tenaries, as they did nor descend lower than SOL SOL, or ascend higher than RE RE. At present the grand 236 A LETTER ON forle piano embraces forty keys, or nearly six complete septenaries. II. 3- The Gammut. It is known that the Gammut was invented, or at least brought into fashion and use, by Guido, a monk of the Benedictine monastery of Pomposa, born in 999, at Arezzo, a small town in Tuscany. Hearing the Monks sing in a church at Rome, a hymn in Sapphfc verse, in honour of St. John, he observed, that the first syllable of the first word of each hemystich, rose regularly a tone, or a half tone higher, than the first note of the first sylla- ble of the last preceding hemystich ; so as to form a com- plete Greek hexachord, beginning with the key note and ascending to the sixth. The words of the hymn are, Ut queant laxis Eesonare fibris, Mira gestorum Famuli tuorum, Solye poUuti Xabii reatum, Sancte Joannes I In the tune or melody of the hymn, as it was then sung, the tones of the syllables ut, re, mi, fa, sol, and la, were sounded exactly on the note, in which those syl- lables are now sung in the gammut. Guido, therefore, supposed four parallel lines to be placed, and the lowest line to represent the sound ut ; the space between this and the parallel line above it, to represent the sound re ; the second parallel line to repre- sent the sound mi ; the space between it and the parallel line above it, to represent /« ; the third parallel line to represent 50/; and the space between it and the parallel ^ine above it, to represent la. This formed a complete ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 237 hexachord, or an ascending series, consisting of the first note, a full tone, another full tone, a half tone, a full tone^ and another full tone. But, as the human voice ex- tends to a greater compass, he supposed a second hexa- chord to begin at fa^ and to rise, through soly la^ si flat, andt^^, to re; and a third to begin at G. and to ascend through la, si natural, ut and re, to mi. To effect this, he adopted the gamma of the Greek alphabet, as a sym- bol for ut, so that, wherever it was placed,, it was to re- present ut. It is to be observed, that the hymn, which suggested the gammut to Guido, is not now sung by the Romish choirs, in the melody, in which he heard it. But this melody has been discovered in the library of the cathe- dral church of Sens. A copy of it, and of the represen- tation given by Sir John Hawkins of the hexachords of Guido, is inserted in the plate opposite to this page. It must be observed, that, in the second hexachord, 51 natural is to be admitted, and si flat rejected ; and that, in the third hexachord, si natural is to be admitted, and si flat rejected. Thus the hexachord, which begins with ut, is the first, or natural hexachord; that, which begins with /a, is the second, or so/> hexachord ; that, which begins with sol, is the third or harsh hexachord. The representation given by Sir John Hawkins of the hexachords, will be found to comprehend twenty notes, and to contain six generations of hexachords. Such is the supposed improvement of Guido. His contemporaries speak of it, in terms of the highest praise. They say, that it enabled a boy to learn in one year, what, before that time, he could scarcely learn in ten. Some assert, that he received the knowledge of it by divine inspiration. Your correspondent begs leave to say, that to him, the merit of Guido's system of hexa- 23S A LETTER ON chords has ever appeared incoinprehensible. Surely the diatonic tetrachords of the Greeks, afforded a scale much more simple, and much better constructed, both for prac- tice and theory. It must be obvious to every one, that the final note of a tetrachord, both in the ascending and descending series, sounds to the ear, as a regular close of the preceding series ; and that the final note of a hexa- chord in the ascending series, sounds more as the begio- ning of a new series, than as a close of a former. Whatever may be the merit or defects of the Guido- nian system, it remained in universal use, till the close of the seventeenth century, when Le Maire, a French musician, is said to have assigned the syllable si, to the final note of the septenary, or the note between la and ut. This completely restored the Greek diatonic scale of tetrachords ; and, by appropriating different let- ters or syllables to express the second tetrachord, was an improvement upon it. It must be added, that the labours of musical begin- ners were considerably shortened by the introduction of the si. Your correspondent was one of the unfortunate beings, who learned the musical notation, by ^ re, B mi, Cfa ut, D sol re, E la mi, Ffa ut, G sol re ut ; and the rest of that gibberish. In those days, masters were not fonder than they now are, of giving explanations. Had they told us, that the reason for there being more than one syllable added to the literal name of a note, was its appertaining to more tlian one hexachord, and shewed the different places of these syllables in the different hexachords, it would have been food for the mind, and assisted the memory. But, speaking generally, no such explanation was given. It is surprising how late it was in the last century, before the very intricate solmization by the hexachord was abandoned^ and the use of the si - 'I 1 1 1 , ][ 1 5^ \ -S p : . \ ^ -c 1 '^ ... ^' ' Sl\ \ '■^ '-i I 5 ir ^ "^ 1 § ^5 ( \ \ % - - £ V ^, ir =; « V -^ ^ \ J- ^ ■ ^ ^ \ -, h- i T \ "V H 1 \ - - 5 s, s I \ ^ J ~ '-r. ^ t. 1 > 1 ■5 \- rs x^ ." +- t\ ~ " " '"S^ *— l\ \ lT^ '«S( 3 t - - ^ ^ rh '\ \ \ 1 S 5 S 1 Ci «- *— 1 .s ] 1 1 i \ l| IE V " " \ "^ ^ fS •^ c J" ^^ C ^. 3- 1 l\ \ '~^^' i[ 1 h ^ ' ^ b r / "v. r- \ ^ i~ Ph (> W C >*, >-i ^*» \ 4 ^ ][ g ■ ^ 1 O Hi + !C. (; i '< S: < 1 ^ 1 (- > '^ J ■-|+ 1 - 1 U ^ i ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 239 became general. In England, the si was adopted later than in any other part of musical Europe. This puts me in mind, that, till within these few years, the accounts in some departments of the exchequer were kept in the Roman mode of numerical notation, though the Arabic mode is so greatly its superior ; and the practice of a single quarter of an hour, must convince even the dullest understanding, of its infinite superiority. II. 4. Division of Notes. We now come to the Cantiis mensurabilis, as it was termed in the middle age, — or the invention of musical notes of different durations in time. Till the period, of which we are now speaking, the only division of notes, was into the lo7cg and the s^or^ note ; the latter being half the duration of the former. But sometimes, in conse- quence of a point's being added to it, a preceding note was lengthened by one half of it's regular duration ; and that proportion of it was taken from the following note. The further division of musical measure seems to be generally ascribed to Magister Franco, who died in 1083; it was extended by him, to the minim ; our countryman, Morley, says *' that the ancient musicians esteemed this, the shortest note singable." By degrees it was extended to the demisemiquaver, or a note with three hooks. But, even in the beginning of the last century, these subdivi- sions were little used. At present we have notes with iiye hooks, or quarter demisemiquavers. 240 A LETTER ON II. 5. Musical Bars. Every musical piece is divided into equal portions of time, called measures. These are ascertained to the eye by straight lines, called bars, drawn down the stave ; so that all the notes contained between two bars, constitute one measure. In the canto fermo of the Romish church, two bars were used; one, that went down the whole length of the stave ; the other, that went down half its length. They were introduced for the purpose of allow- ing to the singer a greater or less space of time for taking his breath. But, both in some manuscript and some printed books of the canto fermo, a bar is placed by mis- take, at the end of each word. The use of bars is not of great antiquity, as a higher period than the middle of the 16th century cannot be assigned to them ; and it was not till the middle of the 17th, that they became general. They are con- stantly used in the " A^/res and dialogues of Henri/ Lawesj' published in 1653. This, it is supposed, gave them fashion and currency in England. It is probable that Milton, in the sonnet, which he addressed to Lawes, alludes to this circumstance in the lines, with which it begins; " Henry ! whose tuneful and zoell-measured song First taught our English music, how to span Words, with just notes and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long!" It is observable, that, within these fifty years, Martian published in Italy, in elegant characters, a set of canons without bars. So much are v/e now accustomed to bars, that several vocal performers of great eminence, into ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 24I whose hands your correspondent put these canons, could not sing them at sight. If. 6. Descant, or Music in Tarts, " Cecilia's world of sound," as the organ is happily termed hy Mr. Collins, in his ode, intitled " The Pas- sionsy" is an instrument of considerable antiquity. The water organ seems to have been invented in the time of the second Ptolemy Evergetes. The wind organ is mentioned in a Greek epigram in the Anthologia, attri- buted to the emperor Julian, and seems to have become common in the time of Vitiges, a Gothic monarch, who i-eigned in the beginning of the 6th century. All wri- ters agree that, the first organ seen in France, was sent, in 757, by Constantine Copronimus, the Byzantine em- peror, to Pepin, the founder of the Carlovingian dy- nasty; and that soon afterwards, it was introduced into churches, in every part of the western empire. It then began to be used in accompanying the voice. ^ Whether, before this time, either in Greece or Rotne, or during the middle ages, music in parts, or simulta- neous harmony by settled rules, was known, has, more than once, been a subject of profound discussion. The better opinion appears to be, that, till this time, it was altogether unknown; and that at first, the organ was played in unison ; but that, by degrees, the facility, of extracting from the organ different sounds at the same time, caused ^' the concord of sweet sounds" to be re- marked, and practised both upon the instrument and with voices, and in an union of one to the other. The minor third, seems to have first caught the ear ; and it became customary for two voices to sing in unison till 242 A LETTER ON the penultimate or antepenultimate syllable; then, to divide these into a minor third, and to close in unison. Even after the middle of the last century, this was thought an accomplishment, in places at a distance from the capital. It was termed organising. After the ac- companiment of the organ to the voice, in a different note, became common, the accompaniment generally moved in fourths, when it was above the voice; and in fifths, when it was under it. At first, harmony was confined to two parts, and called Descant, or Deux-chants, from the two performers. It was successively increased, and in proportion to its in- crease, was called organization in triploy quartuplo, and quintiiplo. To Magister Franco, whom we have already mentioned. Descant, or music in parts, had great obli- gations, and it was considerably advanced by John de Muris. But all preceding writers on the theory of music were eclipsed by Fanchino Gaffurio, elected, in 1484, Maestro di Capella of the cathedral church of Milan, and professor of music in that city. He left five treatises; that, in the greatest request, is his Frattica Musicay pubhshed at Milan in 1496. The term Descant, made way for those of Faux bour- don and Contrepoint. Both were at first extremely sim- ple ; each note of each part of the harmony being set against the other. Generally speaking, in Faux hourdoiij the air was the highest part, and the parts forming the harmony, were under it. In Contrepoint it was the re- verse ; the air being the lowest part, and the notes which formed the harmony being raised upon it. In the com- position of each, particularly the latter, there was learn- ing and contrivance, but little melody. Into counterpoint, and particularly into one place, where a person would least expect to meet with it, — the ANTIENT AND MODERN" MUSIC, 243 seiTice of the church, — impromsitory harmony was in ge- neral use in France, Flanders and Germanj^ Taking the chant, as a ground, these strange performers raised upon it an extempore accompanient of two, three, or even four parts. It is obvious, that, from the ignorance which each performer must have of the notes, which his companions would sing, the faults against harmon}^, even when such an exhibition was made by the most scientific performers, must have been frequent, and often of the most disgusting nature. Some general rules for avoiding them were laid down: but many cases oc- curred, to which they did not apply : and, in general, they were altogether disregarded. The consequence was, a cacophony, which no one, who has not heard it, can imagine. Every performer sung, or rather bawled out, as loud as he could, any notes, or any divisions, which appeared to him to bear any relation to the note of the chant ; and, at the same time, a wind instrument, called the serpent, roared throughout the whole. The enraged musician, in Hogarth's engraving, never heard any thing more horrible than these extemporaneous counterpoints of French, Flemish or German choristers. It remains to add, under this head, that the word " counterpoint*' has long ceased to have the appropriate meaning, which we have mentioned : it is now synony- mous with harmony. By a contrapuntist, we now un- derstand a person skilled in the laws of musical hartnony? or addicted to the study of them. III. Modern Music. To present you with some view of this part of the subject, on which your correspondent has the honour to 244 A LETTER ON address you, he will trouble you with some miscella- neous thoughts,— 1st, on the Flemish; 2dly, on the Italian ; 3dly, on the German ; and 4thly, on the French school of music ; 5thly, he will then endeavour to give you a short account of a controversy which took place in France respecting the lawfulness of stage entertain- ments ; 6thly, a short account of the English school of music, with a succinct notice of the anthem, the serious glee, and the oratorio, will then follow. III. 1 The Flemish School of Music. This school occupies, in point of time, an interme- diate aera between the music of the middle ages and modern music. The w^ars between the Guelphs and Ghibellins, and the irruption of the French into Italy, drove many musicians of distinction into the low coun- tries. At this time, these were in the height of their prosperity. The wealth and splendour of their com- mercial towns, placed the Dukes of Burgundy, their so- vereigns, on a level with the greatest monarchs, and enabled their principal merchants to display such mag- nificence in their dress, their buildings, and their mode of living, as excited the envy of the noblest princes of Europe. In 1301, when Joanna of Navarre, the wife of Philip le Bel, the king of France, was at Bruges, she was so much struck with its grandeur and wealth, and particularly with the splendid appearance of the wives of the citizens, that she was moved, by female envy, to cry out with indignation, '' I thought that I had been the only queen here ; but I find that there are many hun- dreds more." To this scene of magnificence and gaiety, the fugitive ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 245 musicians of Italy repaired, and founded a school of music, which for half a century, gave law to Europe. Their pre-eminence is noticed by Gukcardini, in his '' Account of the Low Countries'' Its style of music may be termed the Florid Counterpoint, It partook much of the antient counterpoint : but was more scientific, more varied, and more extensive. Neither the notes of the different parts, nor the syllables, nor even the words were, as in that music, kept in strict opposition to each other; divisions on a single syllable, and occasional pauses, were admitted ; the contexture of the parts was more simple, there was more air, and the whole pro- ceeded with more rapidity. At the head of the contra- puntists of this school, was John de Muris, who has been mentioned. It may be added for the honour of the harmony of our Island, that there is some reason to con- tend that he was of English birth. But, as a composer, he appears to have been excelled by Josquin de Pres. Soon after the revival of letters, counterpoint found its way into Italy. Under the hands of the immortal Palestrina, it became simple, elegant and grand. To this moment, no compositions for the church, are at once so proper and so fine. . This style of music attained its perfection under Luca di Marenzio, One of the greatest pleasures, which a person, who has real taste for harmony, and is skilled in it, can receive, is to hear the madrigals of Marenzio and some of his contempo- raries, well executed. Through the favour of the late Doctor Bever, of the College of Advocates, this felicity was often enjoyed by your correspondent. A circum- stance, which took place during these, his very pleasant musical hours, he begs your leave to mention. — Among his other merits, the Doctor possessed the highest degree of Orthodoxy. It happened, that a motett of Stefl^ni in R 3 2^6 A LETTER ON honour of the Virgin Mary, was to be performed. It began with the words "Qui diligk Mariam, inveniet Ditamf it certainly is one of the noblest compositions for single voices, thac ever came from the pen of man. But the Doctor was shocked, at its high attribution of honour to the virgin mother of God, and therefore scratched out^ both in the score, and in all the parts^, the word " Mariam,'' and inserted the word " Filium,'' in its place. This, on account of the different prosody of the two words, was not an improvement on the strain. The circumstance puts me in mind of Father OXeary's reply to a protestant gentleman, who good-naturedly told him, " that, he hated to hear the Virgin Mary treated with irreverence ; that she truly was a respectable venerable woman ; " just such a woman,'' continued the gentleman, " as my mother.'' — " True/* replied O'Leary ; " but yon must allow there is some difference in the children.'' III. 2. The Italian School of Music, Beautiful as the florid counterpoint, under the hands of the great masters, whom we have mentioned, most certainly was, still it constantly laboured under this great imperfection, that, in all such compositions, the melody was altogether overpowered by the harmony, so that it was calculated to satisfy the eye more than to please the ear. From this state of thraldom, melody was emanci- pated by Leo, Scarlatti, Durante, Steffani, Clari and Marcello. Allowing to harmony its due measure of importance, they assigned to melody its just pre-emi- nence. With these composers, the golden age of mu- sic began. Several duets and fuller pieces of Steffani ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 247 have come in my way ; the published Madrigals of Clari, the Psalms of Marcello, are familiar to me ; but the Duets of DURANTE ! — there are not in music more highly finished compositions. The late Miss Seward used to say, that if she wished to put a young man's taste for poetry to trial, she would place in his hands the Ly- cidas of Milton, — (would not his Comus be a more pro- per work ?) — and ask him his opinion of it. To try the taste of a young person for music, he should hear the Duets of Durante. If he be not pleased, or even, if he do not feel something more than pleasure, when he hears them, he may make a respectable amateur ; but it will be quite clear that he has no real soul for music. It has seldom happened to me to mention the name of Durante to an Italian professor of decided eminence, whose eyes have not glistened with admiration and de- light at hearing it. Sacchini has been seen to kneel, and kiss with reverence the wonderful volume. To Durante, StefFani is second, but is not his rival. Our late queen, while she cultivated music, was very partial to Steifani, and took great pains to procure his works. Her majes- ty's was supposed to be the best collection of them in existence. It is much to be lamented that the compo- sitions of Durante and StefFani are not more generally known. The immortal Stahat Mater of Pergolesi, has rendered the name of that composer famous in Eng- land. The resemblance between the first bars of its first movement, and the first bars of the celebrated trio in Acis and Galatea, is very striking. As Acis and Galatea was performed in 1732, and the Stahat was not per- formed before 1737, the probability is, that, if there were plagiarism, the Italian was the plagiarist. The year 1597 *^ generally assigned for the com- mencement of the Opera. The invention of recitative, R 4 248 A LETTER ON or simple musical tones raised above speech, yet below singing, preceded it by a century. It is ascribed to Pulci; it is said, that, in this kind of simple melody, he sung, after the manner of the antient rhapsodists, his Morgante Maggiore, in 1450, at the table of Lorenzo di Medici. About 150 years after this time, some Floren- tine noblemen employed two of their countrymen to write and set to music, a drama of Orfeo, performed in 1597. It was a perfect Opera, the dialogue being mu- sically recited, the airs sung, the actors dressed in cha- racter, and accompanying both their recitatives, and their airs, with theatric action. But the instrumental accompaniment was not very considerable. We know, that, in another opera, composed about this time, the accompaniment consisted of a harpsichord, played behind the scenes, a large guitar, a large lute, and a viol de gamba. Dancing, which has now acquired so much importance in musical representations, obtained a place in the musical drama by slow degrees. It seems to have obtained a complete ascendancy, in 1781, when, — horresco referens, — the house chatted, while Pacchie- rotti sung; and, was perfectly silent, when Vestris danced. To obtain a general view of the music of Italy, it may be proper to follow its geographical division into its higher, central and lower regions. The first, includes the Venetian and Lombard schools, the second, those of Rome and Bologna ; the third, includes the Neapolitian. The first is said to be distinguished by energy; the se- cond, by science, purity and simple dignity ; the third^ by vivacity and expression. Much of this may be thought imaginary. Generally speaking, the music of Italy may be said to have been first expanded into gran- deur and copiousness by Vinci and Pergolesi, and to ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 24g have reached its summit under Jomelli. Since that time the Itahan School has never been without most respec- table composers; but they have been rather pleasing than imposing. For elegance and fancy, they may be justly mentioned in the highest terms of eulogy; but the praise of sublimity or pathos, they have seldom merited. III. 3. The German School* Ti LL Haydn and Mozart appeared, Hasse was certainly the first of German composers. He chose Vinci and the other early Italian masters for his models. In ele- gance, simplicity, and grandeur he equalled them, and excelled them in grace and effect. But his character is better known in this country than his compositions. Considering his acknowledged reputation, and that the style of his music is particularly adapted to the taste of an English audience, it is surprising that we should know so little of his musical compositions. Haydn, and, till lately, Mozart were principally known to us by their instrumental music. The full pieces of the former were thought to be unequalled, till Beethoven attracted the public attention. On account of its greater simplicity, colloquial cast, good nature and incessant epigram, the music of Haydn will always be more popular ; but, in the opinion of some judges, Beethoven is more sublime. Some assert, at least plausibly, that the public ear is not yet sufficiently in- formed, to appreciate his music ; but that the time will come, when he will be thought, at least equal to Haydn and Mozart. His oratorio of Christ on the Mountain oj Olives, is a work of extraordinary pathos, and abounds with terrible beauties. a^O A LETThU OX It may be observed that both Haydn and Mozart wrote for instruments, rather than the voice. The con- sequence is, that the melody seldom continues long in one part, but is distributed through all the parts ; so that it cannot be seized by unlearned hearers ; or even by the learned, unless they are accustomed to the symphonious arrangement of melody. In the celebrated Don Giovanni of Mozart, this is very observable. It may, therefore, be thought to admit of doubt, whether there be not as much of fashion as feeling, in the loud and long-continued applause, which is bestowed on that elegant, fanciful, and sublime, but very scientific composition. III. 4. The French School. Most sincerely subscribing to the anathema, which Rousseau has pronounced against French Music, and to which all Europe, except Prance herself, has assented by acclamation, you will not be troubled with any account of it, in these hnes. But you will not perhaps be displeased to find in them, the following short his- torical outline of the history of the French Drama. The scenic exhibitions of Rome did not survive her : the theatres themselves, and all their pride, pomp and circumstance, perished in the general wreck, to which, the irruptions of the barbarians reduced the arts and sciences of the Roman world. The first glimmering of the restoration of the drama is descernible in some exhibitions, which generally made a part of the national feasts of the Carlovingian mo- narchs. These feasts were opened by a grand high mass ; the deliberation followed, and was succeeded by ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 2^1 a sumptuous dinner. After dinner, shows of foreign beasts, and of animals trained to particular tricks and exercises, were exhibited ; and balled singers, harpers and jugglers, the rude forefathers of the modern drama, also attended, and contributed their share to the festi- vities of the day. Chivalry introduced into them, magnificence, order and refinement. It is probable that the tilts and tour- naments of the feudal ages excelled, whatever ancient or modern times have produced in the form of public spectacle; and to these, we owe the revival of the scenic art. The proven cal bards often appeared at them, in companies, and recited tragic or comic poems. By degress, they formed them into dialogues ; and to make their dialogues more interesting, put on a dress and gait suitable to those of the persons, whose characters they assumed. From this, the passage to an exhi- bition, possessing all the substantial requisites of a scenic entertainment, was easy ; and as nothing could be more congenial than these exhibitions, to the taste and manners of a chivalrous age, they soon attained a high degree of order. But there was more of pageantry in them, than of dialogue, and every thing about them had a military air. Devotion, however, had some share in them; so that there were both secular and religious dramas. They were distinguished into mysteriesy m which, remarkable events in the scriptures, or in the lives of the saints, were represented ; allegories, in which faith, hope, charity, sin and death, and other mystic beings, were introduced to speak and act in personifica- tion ; and moralities, in which, sometimes real, and sometimes fictitious characters were brought into scenic action, and a general moral was drawn from the exhi- bition. Of these entertainments, the mysteries were 252 A LETTER OK most popular : they were sometimes performed m churches. " We cannot sufficiently wonder," says the president Renault {Remarques particulieres sur Vhistoire de France, troisieme race), " that these mysteries were represented under the sanction of the most respectable magistrates. Jesus Christ, the Holy Virgin, whatever is most sacred in religion, was brought on the stage in a guise of familiarity, to which we cannot reconcile ourselves. But the difference of the times solves the enigma; and while it shows the ignorance and simplicity, proves the good-humoured innocence of the age, which was fond of such exhibitions. We must not suppose that they were profanations of religion ; they were spec- tacles, which, by placing religious subjects before their eyes, in a manner highly calculated to impress them on their conceptions and feelings, conveyed instruction to a gross and ignorant people. And after all, are we not fallen on times, which make us regret this age of sim- plicity, in which there was so little of false reasoning, and so much of honest belief!'' A confraternity, under the appellation of the confra" iernityofthe Holy Passion, obtained from the parliament of Paris, a patent, which conferred on the members of it, the exclusive right of representing dramatic exhi- bitions in the city of Paris ; but the disorders to which they gave rise, induced the parliament, in 1541 and 1548, to forbid their representing sacred subjects. At a much earlier period, the exhibition of them in churches had been absolutely prohibited by the clergy. When these sacred exhibitions were interdicted to the confra- ternity of the Holy Passion, they assigned their privilege to a troop of comic actors, called the ' enfans sans souciJ There were other companies, but the enfans sam souci were always the favourite performers. Theii ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIO. 253 privilege was revoked ill 1584. They were succeeded by a company called * the Gelosi;' and these, by the company called ^ F elite roj/fl/, which, in 1641, was in- directly sanctioned by an edict of Lewis the XIII, the Magna Charta of the French theatre. This company afterwards divaricated into two branches; one established itself at the Hotel de Bourgogne, and the other at the hotel d'Argent aux Marais. The abolition of tilts and tournaments, the revival of the arts and sciences, the merit of some dramatic writers, the great extension of the city of Paris, the increase of its wealth, and of the number of its idle inhabitants, and the consequential diffusion of gallantry, produced, in the capital, an uni- versal passion for stage entertainment. It rapidly per- vaded every part of the kingdom, so that, towards the end of the reign of Lewis the XIV. there scarcely was, in his dominions, a town of any consequence, which had not its theatre. The introduction of the Italian opera in France, in 1633, carried dramatic song and dance to their utmost pitch of refinement. Such was the rise and progress of the French stage. It was always viewed by the state, with a considerable degree of jealousy. A capitulary of Charlemagne, of the year 809, ranks theatrical performers among discre- ditable persons. In 1181, Philip Augustus banished actors from his court ; St. Lewis would never admit them to it. Lewis the XIII. subjected the theatre to severe regulations: — these were adopted, and others provided by a legislative enactment, which, in 1680, Lewis the XIV. addressed, in the form of a letter, to the lieutenant-general de police. It seems to carry pre- caution, for the prevention of improper representations on the stage, and repressing immorality among the actors, as far as practical precaution, in these respects. 354 A LETTER ON can be carried. Lewis XIV. placed the opera on a magnificent establishment, and gave the direction of it to Lulli, a musician of learning and genius. His instrumental band, called his 24 violins, were once renowned over Europe, But to uge an expression of Doctor Burney, their abilities were not of a kind to continue the miraculous powers ascribed to Orpheus and Amphion. III. 5. Dispute in France on the lawfulness of Stage Entertainments, It will be readily conceived, that the church of France was more severe on scenic exhibitions, than the state. A multitude of French provincial councils are mentioned by French writers on this subject, which speak harshly of them : their censures of ecclesiastics, who frequent the theatre, are pointedly severe. The passages against the stage, which are cited from the rituals of particular churches of France, are numerous. Among the writers against the stage, its adversaries are proud to mention, one of the royal blood of Fiance, Francis Lewis, Prince of Conti. The uniform practice of the curates of the Galilean church, was, to refuse the sacraments to theatrical persormers, even in their last moments, unless they made a public promise that they would not appear again on the theatre ; and if they did not make this declaration, Christian burial was denied to their remains. Still the theatre was always frequented ; and among those, who frequented it, persons of the highest character, for prAbity, honour, and an exemplary discharge both of moral and rehgious duty, were always found. This ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 255 was admitted by Bossuet, the celebrated bisbop of Meaux, and perhaps the ablest of all the adversaries of the drama. " Great examples," he told Lewis the XIV. " may be cited in defence of the theatre; but the reasons against it are still stronger than the examples/' It is related that a lady mentioned, in confession to father Bourdaloue, that she had been to the play, and asked him^ if she had sinned ? " That," said the good father, " I am to hear from you." In this conflict of example and argument, on the lawfulness of stage entertainments, father Caffaro, a Theatine monk, undertook their defence, and proved himself an able advocate of their cause. The successive examples of Corneille, Quinault and Racine, who had quitted the theatre to lead a life of religious retirement, and who had publicly expressed repentence of their dramatic performances, (and whose example was followed, in 1760, by Gresset, the author of the immortal Vert Vert) — awakened similar sentiments of compunction in Boursault, a dramatic writer of some eminence in his day, and he confided his scruples to father Caffaro. The father's reply to Boursault first appeared with the title " Lettre d'nn Theologien, illustre -par sa qualiU et par son merite, consulte, pour scavoir si la cortiedie pent etre permise, ou doit etre absolument def endue ;" but after the first edition of it, the words, " Theologien illustre par sa qualite;' were dropt in the title, and the work was announced as the letter '^ dhin homme d'erudition et de merite.'' It is generally prefixed to the " Theatre de Boursault -r in the edition of that work in 1725, it is now before the writer's eye. Father Caffaro begins his letter with an acknowledg- ment, which may be thought to make the defenceof the stage an avduous undertaking. " The more I examine 256 A LETTER ON the holy fathers/* these are his own expressions, " the more I read the works of theologians, the more I con- sult the casuists, the less I feel myself able to form any conclusion. The school divines are somewhat less hostile to the theatre ; but I hardly find a passage in them, which sounds in its favour, when I feel myself overwhelmed by a torrent of passages from councils and fathers of every age, who have thundered against the theatre, and employed all the fervour of their zeal and powers of their eloquence, to make it an object of horror to christians." He eludes the sentence, which these high authorities seem to pronounce against the istage, by bringing before the reader, the abominations with which the theatrical representations of Rome abounded, and from which the theatre of his and our times is certainly free. " But, you must read the fathers very carelessly," Bossuet indignantly replies, " if you find that, in the theatrical exhibitions of their times, the fathers condemned nothing more than their idolatrous representations, or their scandalous and open impurities. They equally condemn the idleness, the enormous dissipation of spirit, the violent emotions go little becoming a christian, whose heart should be the sanctuary of the peace of God ; the desire of seeing and being seen, the criminal occurrence of looks, the being engrossed with vanity, those bursts of laughter, which banish from the heart, all recollection of God, of his holy presence, of his awful judgments. In the midst of all this pomp and agitation, who, they ask, can raise his heart to God? Who would be bold enough to address himself to the Deity, and say to him, O my God, I am here because it is thy holy will ? In the midst of the silly joy, and silly tenderness of the stage, who can preserve a spirit of prayer? St. John(Ep.I. ch.ii. 15. 16.), ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 2.57 cries out to all the faithful, * Love not the world, nor that which is in the world : for every thing in it is con- cupiscence of the flesh, concupiscence of the eyes, or the pride of life." In these words, the world and the theatre, which represents the world, are equally repro- bated. In the theatre, as in the world, all is sensuality, ostentation and pride ; in ihe theatre, as in the world, nothing but a love of thesefwretched things is inculcated. — All this and much more is ,said by the holy fathers, and all of it is applicable to the theatres of the present day." Father Caffaro cites, in favour of the theatre, several passages in the works of St. Thomas of Aquin, St. An- toninus, Bishop of Florence, St. Charles Boromeo, and St. Francis of Sales. In answer to the arguments, drawn by him from these passages, Bossuet observes, that, in all of them, comedies are mentioned abstractedly ; that is, not as they actually exist, but as, by possibility, they might be constructed. In respect to the passages cited from St. Thomas, Bossuet particularly observes, that St. Thomas cannot be understood to speak in them of comedies, in the actual acceptation of that word; as comedies, in that acceptation of the word, did not exist in St. Thomas's day. " At all events," Bossuet says to Father Caffaro, " you confess that the writers, whom " you cite, allow no scenic representation to be inno- '^ cent, which contains any thing contrary to good " morals. Now, whether the scenic representations of " the present times are contrary to good morals, is the " point in discussion between us ; your citations, there- " fore, prove nothing." In reply to an argument, which Father CalTaro urges in favour of theatrical representations, from their being tolerated by the civil government of every country: s 258 A LETTER ON Bossuet observes, that, " if the state permits them, it is not " because the state approves them, but because the state ^^ is apprehensive that the absolute interdiction of them, " might, in great cities, always abounding in vice and '^ luxury, occasion still greater disorders." After thus endeavouring to remove, what he insinu- ates to be an unwarrantable prejudice against the the- atrical representations of modern times, in consequence of the harsh terms, in which the ancient fathers con- demned the stage, — Father Caffaro proceeds to state, that the theatre of his day contained nothing contrary to decency or morality. " Can you," exclaims Bossuet, ■— " Can you then really assert, in the face of heaven, that dramatic compositions, in which the virtue and piety of a christian are generally held out to ridicule; in which, what the gospel pronounces to be criminal, is generally defended and made agreeable; in which virgin purity is so often blurred by impudent acts and words : Can you really assert that such compositions are free from crime ? — Does it become the habit or name of a priest, to defend the silly gallantry, the maxims of love, the in- vitations to enjoy the gay hours of youth, which for ever resound in the operas of Quinault, whom I my- self have seen a hundred times bewailing these follies? — Is it for you, to recal him to compositions, which, since he has begun to think seriously of his salvation, he laments so bitterly? " You say, that stage entertainments only excite those passions, indirectly, distantly, and accidentally. But, what is the direct object of those, who compose, of those, who act, and of those, Avho attend these representations ? The wish of the author and the actor is, that the spectator should be enamoured of the heroes and divinities of the theatre ; that he should be taught the duty of sacrificing ANTIEXT AND MODERN MUSIC. 2.59 all but glory, and even glory itself, to love. Is it their wish that this should be tatight indirectly, distantly, and accidentally? " You are sensible that immodest paintings are uni- versally condemned. But, bow much more horrid is the indecency of theatrical representations .? There, it is not an inanimate marble, it is not a dry tint ; all is action itself. The persons are alive; the eyes, the tongue, the gestures are real, — and while they seduce every imagination, and inflame every heart, talk not to me of passions which they excite, indirectly, distantly and accidentally. What are those speeches, which excite youth to love, (as if youth of itself were not sufficiently inconsiderate), which make them envy the very birds, whom nothing disturbs in their loves, and which prompt them to rebel against the laws of reason and modesty ? — Do these, and a hundred lessons of the kind, only ex- cite passion, indirectly, distantly and accidentally? If they do not excite it instantly and outrageously, the author, the performer, and the spectator, are equally disappointed. " After this — do you dare say, either that the end and aim of the theatre is not to excite directly, and, by its own very powers, the fire of concupiscence ? Or do you dare say, that concupiscence is not evil ? Can you say that the virgin modesty of a well educated daughter, is only distantly and accidentally offended, by the drama- tic heroines, who talk over their combats, their resist- ances, and their defeats. The modest, amiable, virtuous heroine of the theatre, confesses her failings, the seduc- tions of her heart, and the whole theatre applauds her. What a lesson does she give. — How well does she en- force it?" Father CafFaro then remarks, that he did not discover^ S 2 260 A LETTER OK from what he heard in confession, the wonderful malig- nity of the theatre, or the crimes, of which it is said to be the source: " Probably," says Bossuet, " when you say this, you are not thinking of what actresses, and singers have to confess, or of the scandals of their loves. Is it nothing to sacrifice the sex to public sensuality, in a manner still more fatally dangerous, than is done in places which cannot be named ? What christian mother, or, if she were a pagan, what decent mother, would not behold her child in the grave, sooner than behold her on the stage? — Was it for this disgrace, she would sar, tliat I reared her, with so much tenderness and care ? Did T preserve lierday and night under my wings for this public prostitution ? Who does not look on these chris- tians, if, living in a profession so opposite to their bap- tismal vows, they may yet be called christians ; who, 1 sav, does not look on them as slaves exposed to sale, -in a public market ? Their sex consecrated them to mo- desty, to the retirement of a well regulated house; and how do they appear on the theatre ? Do they not appear vyith all the parade of those sirens in the temple of Vanity, so well described by Isaiah, whose looks are deadly, and who receive back, in the applause, which is given them, the poison which they fling among the spectators? Is it no crime, for a spectator to pay for this luxury ? none, to nourish this corruption ? — none, to teach them or learn from them, what ought never to be known ?" " But," says Father Caffaro, " you can't take a step, open a book, or even enter a church, without meeting with something which excites your passions ; — it is, therefore, no objection to the theatre, that you find in it objects which excite them." — " The reasoning is excellent," says Bossuet : — " the world abounds with unavoidable dangers; therefore, you should multiply ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 261 them. Every creature you meet with is a snare to man ; you may therefore invent new snares for bis ruin. Every object that meets your eyes, may excite your passions ; you may therefore add to your dangers by seeking ob- jects, whose elegance and refinement make them more dangerous, — Rather say, — the dangers of the world are ah'eady too great, let us not add to them : — God vouch- safes his assistance to us, in dangers inseparable from our condition, but he abandons us in dangers of our own seeking; he has assured us that all who love danger shall perish in it." Such is the general tone of Bossuet's reply. It was communicated privately to Father Caffaro. He almost immediately answered it, by a letter, in which he pro- tested that the letter which he had addressed to Bour- sault, in defence of the theatre, was not designed for publication; and intimated, that it had been altered in some respects, in the impression ; but he seems to admit, that the alterations in it, were not of importance. He professes to be convinced by Bossuet's arguments, of the errors of the doctrines contained in it, and promises to retract them. This promise he performed by a letter addressed by him, a few days after, to the Archbishop of Paris. He expresses in it the great concern, which, his having written the letter in question, had given him; he retracts it unequivocally ; and concludes by saying, that, after a full examination of the subject, he was per- fectly convinced, that the reasons, urged in defence of stage entertainments, were frivolous ; and that the reasons, given by the church, for her condemnation of them, were solid and unanswerable. The dispute was renewed several limes in the course of last century. In the first year of it, the actors on th^^ French theatre presented a petition to the pope,, in 83 i262 A LETTER ON which, they represented to his hohness, that it was the year of the centenary jubilee of the church, and there- fore a time of indulgence, and benignity ; that, since the church had first passed her censure on theatrical exhibi- tions, they had undergone a complete alteration, and been purged from the indecency and ribaldry, which had provoked those censures; they prayed, therefore, for a removal of them. But his holiness was inexorable ; and by his direction, some works, to justify the severity of the church, were published. Towards the middle of the century, a contest, on the tendency of stage entertainments, took place between Rousseau and D'Alembert. — The latter, in an article in his Miscellanies, censured the magistrates of Geneva, for not permitting a theatre within that city : Rousseau undertook the defence of the magistracy, and replied to D'Alembert in a letter, which has been much admired, both for its eloquence and argument. The principal object of it, is to show, that the morality of the stage is not the morality of real probity ; that comedy places virtue in a ridiculous light, and makes immorality agreeable ; and that tragedy makes crime an object of admiration, by the splendour of talents and glory, with which she radi- ates it. D'Alembert replied to Rousseau: his letter, contains many sensible observations ; but, as a literary composition, sinks before that of his antagonist. In 1761, the celebrated Melle Clairon, professionally consulted M. Huerne de la Motte, a French avocat, on the reprobation of actors by the civil law of France, and the supposed excommunication of them by the Galilean church. M. Huerne de la Motte delivered his opinion, in a long dissertation, in which he attempted to show, that the laws both of the state and the church against he theatre, were founded in prejudice : and that the ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 263 supposed excommunication of the actors was an inva- sion of the liberties of the Gallican church. On the motion of M. Joly de Fleury, the procureur general of the king, the parliament of Paris ordered this disserta- tion of lV3. Huerne de la Motte to be burned by the hangman ; and, on a general requisition of the French bar, M. Huerne de la Motte was expelled from it. M. Desprez de Boissy, in his *^ Lettres sur les Spec- tacles/' (ed. 1774, 2 part, p. 673,) mentions that two in- dividuals having entered into an agreement to establish a new theatre, one of them, from motives of conscience, declined the adventure; that the other instituted, in one of the civil courts of Paris, a suit to compel him to perform his part ; and that the court held the contract was morally vicious, and therefore legally void. III. 6. The English School of Music. The venerable Bede infoims us, that when St. Austin and the companions of his mission had their first audi- ence of King Ethelbert, in the Isle of Thanet, they ap- proached him in procession singing Litanies ; and that afterwards, when they entered Canterbury, they sung a litany, and at the end of it, Allelujah; but he remarks that our ancestors had been previously instructed in the rites and ceremonies of the Gallican church by St. Ger- manus, and heard him sing Allelujah, many years before the arrival of St. Austin. He mentions two professors sent from Rome into England to teach music to our Saxon ancestors : he himself was an able musician. A Treatise, De Musica Theoretica, Practica et Memurata, has been ascribed to him. From this early time to the present, music always s 4 264 A LETTER ON flourished in England ; her contrapuntists resembled and rivalled those of the Flemish school. Henry VIII. was a judge of music, and is thought to have been a com- poser. His reign v/as illustrated by several contrapun- tists of great eminence, particularly Tallis and Byrd, — Both were Roman Catholics, but are supposed to have accommodated themselves to the changes, which in those times, successively took place in the national religion. They obtained from Queen Elizabeth a patent for the sole printing of musrc» and music paper. Luther v/as favourable to music : his hymn against the Turks and Pope, and the music to which he set it, are generally known. He composed several other hymns ; his catechism, and even the confession of Augs- burgh, were versified and set to music. Cahin was an enemy to music. Simple unadorned psalmody, he al- lowed ; but no musical instrument was suffered within the walls of Geneva for more than a hundred years after the reformation. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the choral music of the cathedral service was cultivated with great success. The names of Dr. Bully the first Gresham professor of music, and of Thomas Morley, his disciple, one of the gentleman of the chapel of Queen Elizabeth, are still remembered with respect. The pro- found skill of the former in harmony was known on the continent. Whilst he was on his travels, he met at St. Omers, with a French musician, who had composed a piece of music in forty parts, and defied the whole world to correct or add to it. Doctor Bull, in two hours, added forty other parts to it. — " The Frenchman," say Antony Wood, who relates this story, " burst into great ecstacy, and swore that he, who added those forty parts, must be the devil or Doctor Bull.'' Music was proscribed by the Puritans. The organ ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 265 and the surplice they held in equal horror. At the res- toration, music regained her honours. Orlando Gibbons belongs to the reign of Charles I. ; Matthew Lock, to that of Charles II. He composed the music for the restoration; — his music for the tragedy of Macbeth, is still heard with delight. He was organist to Catherine, the queen consort of Charles II. and lived and died a Roman Catholic. The immortal Purcell is the glory of the English school of music. That " worth and skill," which to use Milton's energetic phrase in his sonnet to Henry Lawes, '^ exempts the man of genius from the throng," few composers have possessed in a higher degree. — Most Englishmen, though with some hesitation, will allow Purcell's inferiority to Handel ; but few will acknow- ledge his inferiority to any other composer. On the other hand, i'ew foreigners feel Purcell's merit. If he had lived half a century later, he would have become acquainted with the Italian compositions of the school of Vinci, and witnessed the powers, and perceived the capabilities, of instrumental music. Had this happened, he would, in all probability, have been more elegant, more sublime, and more impassioned : but he would have been less English. This addition, therefore, to his glory, an Englishman can scarcely wish him to have possessed : — Such as he was, his compositions show how far, without resorting to continental aid, the passion andthe expression of English words, and English feelings, can be expressed by English music. For, with all their beauty, their contrivance, and their strength, Purcell's compositions have the true raciness of the English soil. In this respect, he has been without a successor. We must, however, observe, that two kinds of composition have, for nearly a century, been peculiar to this country : 266 A LETTER ON the anthem and the serious glee. The English anthem partakes of the nature of the motett of the Flemish school; but it is a considerable improvement on the motett, as it possesses all its harmony and tenfold its elegance, pa- thos and variety. Several anthems of Purcell, of Doctor Blow, of Doctor Croft, Doctor Green and Doctor Boyce are excellent : The anthem of Doctor Croft, " O Lord, thou hast searched me out and proved me," — which was performed on the king's recovery from his former malady, is entitled to particular praise. One of the greatest treats, which a real lover of music can receive, is to hear some of these anthems well performed: — but this seldom happens : Laissons a des chantres gages le soin de louer Vieu. BOILEAU. was certainly a practice, much too frequent on the con- tinent ; unfortunately, it is in England equally common. Wherever it prevails, it is a crying abuse, and loudly calls on the hierarchy of the country for redress. The musical compositions of foreign growth, which the English anthem most resembles, are the psalms of Mar- cello. The late Mr. Avison, placed these on a level with the oratorios of Handel : this was absurd ; but they certainly possess a high degree of excellence. English serious glees have long filled a larg-e space in the musical school of England. Several rival the best Italian madrigals: in some of Stafford Smyth's, Doctor Cooke's, and Mr. Webbe's (a younger writer would mention liv- ing authors,) — the higher chords are certainly sounded. The glee of Lord Mornington, " Return my lovely maid, return," is one of the most elegant compositions, that has come from a British pen. But, if favourable reception, and Jong and unvarying patronage of a composer, continued and almost exclu- ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 267 sive admiration of his works, veneration of his name, and eminent honours rendered to his memory, entitle a nation to claim a musician, not born within her territory, for a countryman, England may boast, in Handel, in his w^orks, and in their general diffusion, of a school, that yields to none. His genius beams with particular splendour in his oratorios. " All the Italian writers," says Doctor Burney, ^' agree that the sacred dramas called oratorios, had their beginning in the time of San Philippo Neri, who was born in 1515, and founded the congregation of priests of the oratory of Rome, in 1540. During the service, and after the sermon, it w^as usual for this saint, among other pious exercises, in order to draw youth to the church, and keep them from secular amusements, to have hymns, psalms, and other spiritual laudi, or songs, sung either in chorus, or by a single favourite voice, divided into two parts, the one performed before the sermon, and the other after it. The subject of these pieces was sometimes the good Samaritan ; sometimes Job and his friends, the prodigal son, Tobit with the angel, his father and his wife, &c. All these, by the excellence of the composition, the band of instru- ments, and the performance, brought the oratory into such repute, that the congregation became daily more numerous. And thence, this species of sacred musical drama, wherever performed, in process of time, obtained the general appellation of oratorio. The same writer informs us, that, in the church San Gerilamo della Carita at Rome, oratorios are still constantly performed, on Sundays and festivals, from All Saint's day, till Palm Sunday, as well as in the church of la Vallicellaj where they are likewise performed, from the first of November till Easter. Handel carried the music of an oratorio to the highest 268 A LETTER ON degree of perfection. Never did a character given of one person, apply to another belter, than does the character given by Dr. Johnson of Mihon apply to Handel. The doctor says of Milton, that " the cha- racteristic quality of his poem is sublimity. He some- times descends to the elegant, but his element is the great. He can occasionally invest himself with grace, but his natural port is gigantic loftiness. He can please, when pleasure is required; but it is his peculiar power to astonish. He seems to have been well acquainted with his own genius, and to know, what it was that nature bestowed on him, more bountifully than upon others ; the power of displaying the vast, illuminating the splendid, enforcing the awful, darkening the gloomy and aggravating the dreadful." Such was Milton ; such certainly is Handel. Something of a revolution, in the musical taste of this country, was effected by the queen's introducing into it several German performers of eminence. Unfortu- nately, it was not the music of the high German school of Hasse, and the elder Bachs; it was the light, elegant, and chaste, but generally unimpassioned school of John Christian Bach. A more elevated rank among musi- cians, than that, which Goldsmith holds among poets, should not be assigned to him ; — and perhaps he should be rather classed with Shenstone, — never offending against taste, always possessing sprightliness and grace, but seldom exhibiting a ray of genius. His finest per- formance, is the '* Chiari fonti," in Orpheo. A further revolution was effected by dementi's most scientific, but most classic performance on the forte piano; — equalled, but not surpassed, by Cramer, his excellent and unrivalled scholar. In the execution of the easy, the difficult, the fan- ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 269 tactic, the elegant and the sublime, both were supremely great; and when Cramer performed his own adagios, " Venus/' to use the words of Horace, " imbued them with the fifth essence of her own nectar/' Still the aspirant to perfect performance on a keyed instrument, should give days and nights to the practice of the lessons of Scarlatti and the elder Bachs. — What a degree of excellence on a keyed instrument, an amateur can attain, those, who have heard your, or Miss HulmandelFs finished performance; can imagine : Here, Madam, it was my intention to call to your recollection, one of the most interesting musical exhi- bitions, we ever witnessed :- — when Mr. and Mrs. Con- stable Maxwell, — who always seemed to come to London for the heavenly purpose of doing good, — accommodated Miss Trelawney with their house, for a concert, given in support of her excellent charity ; — and virtue, arrayed by the graces, sung, in the person of Miss Naldi, notes seldom heard from " Any mortal mixture of earth's mold," Milton. And all that heard her, blessed her I — But alas ! — while I am writing these lines, the friends of Mr. Constable Maxwell are informed of the loss, which they have sustained ! — Nothing of him now remains to us, but tlie recollection of his good works, of his religious pro- bity, his hospitality, his beneficence, and his numerous other estimable and amiable qualities ! — " Bonia multis flebilis occidit." HOR. - — From-^the middle of the last century, excellence on the forte piano, appears to have became the great object of female education. Yet, though so much of their time is given by the sex to music, how seldom is a 270 A LETTER ON • finished performer to be heard ! To what is this owing r May it not be that a desire to excel is often mistaken for genius ? " Young Artist/' says Rousseau, *' inquire " not what is genius. Do you possess it? you feel it. " Do you not possess it r you will never know what it is. " But do you wish to ascertain whether genius has "smiled upon you? Run to Naples! Listen to the " masterpieces of Durante, of Jomelli, of Pergolesi. '^ If, while you hear them, your eyes fill with tears, " you feel your heart beat, you shiver, you are suffocated " with a transport of delight, take Metastasio, and " compose. His genius will animate your own. Like " him, you will create. But if, while you listen to " these great masters, you remain tranquil, you feel no " transport, if you find them merely pretty, — Dare not " ask what is genius. Vulgar man ! profane not that *^ sublime word. What will it avail you to know what " genius is ? You will never feel it. Go, compose " French music." — In this, there is exaggeration, but there is truth. Let any one, who lives on terms of intimacy with a professor of real merit, ask of him, confidentially, his genuine sentiments of the real taste for music in this country; he will confess, that it has seldom occurred to him, to find, in a large boarding school, two, who had a real ear for music. After all, — supposing this high degree of musical ex- cellence attainable, — should a young lady, should her parents desire, that she should be stared at by all eyes, and fatigue most ears ? Yet this is generally the case at every musical *' at home" which aspires to a concert. This observation, however, does not apply to the cultivation of the art, or the practice of it, with mode- ration, — where the performer aims at no more, than to sing a simple melody, in time and tune, and to obtain ANTTENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 27I a general knowledge of harmony. When these are acquired, when the words of the song are well chosen, — (which should never be in a language, the perfect know- ledge and pronunciation of which the performer does not possess), — when they are sung with decent feeling ; and the songster, though pleased to diffuse pleasure among her friends around her, evidently retires from the observing eye, — it is one of the highest gratifications, which it is given to mortals to receive. Perhaps an Italian hypercritic would deny it to be music. — In fact it is something better. Virtue and pleasure alternately smile, — " There too, does Hymen oft appear, In saftron robe, with taper clear." - •- ■' MILTON. But beyond this, — unless where the performer is ' perfect, and the audience select, — all is distraction and intpatience: — it rains ennui. The subject seems to require some mention of our national melodies. — Most beautiful are Scottish melodies, . sung in their original purity, by Scottish ladies. But French music, sung by a Frenchman, is scarcely more unpleasing, than a Scottish air sung with English em- broidery. Several English ballads are highly pleasing. They are always deformed by florid song, — and lose all their effect when harmonised. The music of the Irish is remarkably pathetic. It is said, (Ursuline History of Ireland, zol. 1. p. 14.) that '^ a celebrated Italian, after listening to some of their airs, suddenly exclaimed, ' that must be the music of a people who have lost their freedom.' " 272 A LETTER ON IV. The Canto Fermo or Plain Song of the Roman Catholic Church. To this, you particularly wished me to direct my attention ; — and it was this circumstance chiefly, that occasioned my troubling you with the preceding pageg. My researches into the origin and variations of the plain song have not been very successful. All that has been said upon it, by Gerbert, the Abbot of Blaise, in his treatise de Cantu et Musica Sacra, 2 vol. 4to, i774> — by Sir John Hawkins and Doctor Burney, in their His- tories of Music; by Abbe Lebeuf, in his Traite historique et pratique sur le Chant Ecclesiastiqiie, i 'vol. Svo. 1741 ; — by Nivcrs, in his Dissertation sur le Chant Gregorien, 1 vol. Svo. 1683 ; and Feillee, in his Methode NouveUe pour apprendre parfaifement les Regies du Psalmodie, 1 vol. Svo, 1811, has been considered by your corres- pondent, and very little information derived by him from the perusal. The origin of the Canto Fermo is certainly involved in obscurity. To a certain extent, the Greek modes arc preserved in the 8 Gregorian tones; but all are in the diatonic scale. So too, are all the Hebrew airs, with which we are acquainted. But neither the Hebrew nor the Gregorian melodies afford a single instance of the chromatic or enharmonic scales. — We also know that the Greek melodies abounded in quarter tones ; now no such tone has ever yet found its way into a Gregorian chant. Rhythm was the essence of Greek music ; the Gregorian psalmody is heedless of it. Add to this, that the church came out of the synagogue, and from the first, repudiated ANTIENT AND MODERN MUSIC. 273 paganism and every imitation of it. These circum- stances seem to make it highly probable that the canto fermo originated in the music of the synagogue. All writers on the subject mention the Ambrosian chant, and the improvements of it by Pope Gregory the Great; but, what its state was, in the time of St. Ambrose^ or what were Pope Gregory's improvements, is far from being ascertained. We know little more, than that, in the time of St. Ambrose, it consisted of four tones ; that four were added by Pope Gregory; that the Ambrosian tones were called authentic, the Gregorian, plagaL But in what the difference consisted, it is difficult to say; perhaps the following observations will give some notion of it. There is an arithmetical and an harmonical division of an octave ; each is divided into two serieses ; but the arithmetical differs much from the harmonical. In the arithmetical, the first series begins with ut below, and ends with fa above ; the second begins with sol, (the following note), and ends whhut above. Each is a perfect tetrachord. In the harmonical division, the first series ends with sol, or the fifth note of the octave, the second extends from sol to the ut above. In every octave, ut is the key note. Upon this note, the first series of notes in the harmonic division depends, and the cadence in that scale being from sol, or the fifth ascending note, is perfect. On this account, this series is termed au- thentic. In the further series, sol is substituted for ut, and is the key note : the cadence is from ut, or the fourth above the substituted key note, which is an im- perfect cadence. From this substitution and imperfection, the second series has been termed plagal or collateral. Probably the Ambrosian chant was limited to the authentic series, and consisted of four melodies ; tht- T 274 -^ LETTER OX first, commencing with nt and ending with sol: the second, commencing with re, and ending with la ; the third, commencing with mi, and ending with 5/; and the fourth, commencing with / " appear a singular spectacle to every class of beholders, to see men, actuated by motives, dif- ferent from those of most human actions, quitting for ever their country and their connections, to devote themselves for life, for the purpose of changing the tenets of a people, they had never seen; and, in pursu- ing that object, to run every risk, suffer every perse- cution, and sacrifice every comfort ; insinuating them- selves,— by address, by talent, by perseverance, by 298 • HISTORICAL MEMOIRS liumility, by application to studies, foreign from their original education, or by the cultivation of arts, to which they had not been bred, — into notice and pro- tection ; — overcoming the prejudice of being strangers, in a country, where most strangers were prohibited, and where it was a crime to have abandoned the tombs of their ancestors ; and gaining, at length, establishments necessary for the propagation of the faith, without turn- ing their influence to any personal advantage. Every European," Sir George adds from his own experience, '^ was greeted by them, as countrymen, entitled to re- gard and service/* All the information, which the missionaries could acquire of the learning, the arts, and the sciences of China, they transmitted to Europe. It is principally to be found in their Lettres Edifianfes ei Cwieuses, of which Fontenelle said,, that " he had never read a work which answered better to its title." To the general accuracy of these letters, and of the works of Father du Halde and Father Gaubil, the interesting account published by Sir George Staunton of his Embassy to China, bears tes- . timony ; and the writer of these pages, has often heard him mention them, in terms of the highest praise. In his Histoire du Christianisme de V Ethiopie et de VArmtnie p. 26g, 402, ha. Croze mentions with prafse the account given of Armenia, in the third volume of the Nouveaux Memoires des Missions du Levant ; and, as Mr. Gibbon justly observes {Ch. 4y,note 148), the work of a Jesuit must have sterling merit when it is praised by La Croze. — Such was the conduct of the Jesuits in China. — May it not be confidently asked, whether history records an instance, in which science has heea made more subservient to the faith of Christ ? OF THE JESUITS, 299 vir. TJtelr Anti-christian and Anti-catholic adversaries. Such have been the services rendered by the Jesuits to religion, to letters, to civilized and uncivilized society. With such titles to gratitude, is it not surprising, that they should have had so many enemies ? But, — such has been the general fate of benefactors to humanity ! — how few of these have closed their labours, without " A sigh, to find " Th' unwilling gratitude of low mankind ! " Pope. Among the enemies of the Jesuits, several are found, whose hostility must be thought, by all christians^ to reflect honour on the society. When we open the corres- pondence of Voltaire and his intimates, and observe their furious and determined hatred of Christianity, and their schemes and efforts for its destruction, and find at the same time, their avowed enmity to the Jesuits, as their most formidable opponents, surely all, who invoke the name of Christ, must think with respect and gratitude, of the Jesuits, as the ablest defenders, in the opinion of its bitterest enemies, of their common Christianity I By the same principle, when a catholic finds the polemic hatred which the early disciples of Luther and Calvin discovered, in all their writings, against the Jesuits, it should elevate them in his opinion, as the hatred evi- dently proceeded, from its being felt by the Lutherans and Calvinists, that the Jesuits were at this time, the most powerful champions of the catholic faith. 300 HISTORICAL AJEMOIRS Great, however, is the force of truth ! — When anti- christian and anti-cathohc feelings have not guided their judgments, the atheist, the deist, and the piotestant, has equally done justice to the Jesuits. Ardent for their expulsion from every other kingdom, Frederick of Prussia, prudently preserved them in his own, and hear- tily laughed at the vagaries of the philosophers, who solicited their banishment. " I cannot," says Lord Bacon, ^' contemplate the application and the talent of these preceptors, in cultivating the intellects, and forming the manners of youth, without bringing to my mind, the expression of Agesilaus to Pharnabazus :r- Being such as you are, is it possible that you should not belong to us ?"— " I am persuaded," said Leibniz, the most universal scholar, and one of the most pro- found mathematicians and metaphysicians of his age, *' that the Jesuits are often calumniated, and that opinions, which have never come into their minds, have often been imputed to them." The Count de Merode, having informed Leibniz that he had purchased the Acta Sanctorum of the Flemish Jesuits, now filling eighty volumes folio, and still unfinished, Leibniz pro- nounced a panegyric on the work, and declared that, " if the Jesuits had published no other, that work alone entitled them to existence, and to be sought for and esteemed by the whole world." — We have already cited one passage from la Lande, the celebrated, but infidel astronomer. In another, after mentioning several ridiculous charges which had been made against himself, he speaks of the Jesuits, as follows : '< Among other crimes imputed to me, it is asserted, that, in my travels, I served the mass of a Jesuit. All this is too idle to answer ; but I must freely own to you, that the name of Jesuit interests my heart, my mind, and my gratitude; OF THE JESUITS, 301 and revives my regret for the blindness of the persons in power, in 1 762. — No ! the human species has lost for ever, and it never will regain, that precious and wonder- ful reunion of 20,000 men, unceasingly and disinterest- edly occupied in instructing, preaching, missions, reconciliations, attending the dying, and other exertions of the tenderest and dearest functions of humanity. Retirement, frugality, renunciation of pleasure, made this society a surprising assemblage of science and virtue. I have been a near observer of them ; they were a people of heroes, in the cause of religion and humanity; religion furnished them with means which philosophy does not supply. In my fourteenth year, I admired them : I asked to be admitted among them : I regret that I did not persist in my vocation : innocence, and the love of study, inspired me with it." VIII. Their Catholic Adversaries. Such were the anti-christian and anti-catholic adver- saries of the Jesuits : some adversaries, however, and these as terrible as any, they had within the catholic pale. But this leads to a variety of subjects. All the accu- sations which these urged against them, may be found in the Histoire gentrale des Jesuites of la Coudrette, — the Frovincial Letters, — the Rapports of Montclar, and la Chdlotais,— the Morale pratique des Jesuites, and the Extraits des Assertions dangereuses et pernicieuses en tout genre, que ks soi-disant Jesuites out, dans tous les terns et persevtrament soutenues, enseignees, et publiees dans leurs Hvres, avec approbation des Superieurs et Generaux. On 302 HISTORICAL MEMOIRS each of these works, we shall trouble our readers with a single observation. Those, who wish to see fuller answers to the charges brought against the Jesuits, should peruse the Jlpologie de I'lristitut des Jesuites, 2 FoL Svo. 1. With respect to la Coudrette; — that he was a party man cannot be denied. Like those of all party writers, his works should, therefore, be read with some distrust ; and nothing wresting on his single assertion^ should be admitted, without some hesitation. 2. With respect to the Provincial Letters; — few have read or meditated them, with more attention than the writer of these lines ; but he has also read and meditated the answers to them of Father Daniel, in his Dialogues de Cleandre et d'Eudoxe; and, previously to his perusing either, he placed himself in that perfect state of doubt and impartiality, which Descartes requires from a dis- ciple, who enters on his meditations. The result was, that Father Daniel appeared to him so often victorious in the combat, as to leave little that could be justly charged on the individual members, and nothing that could be charged on the body of the society. If any of his readers have proceeded in the same manner, and arrived at a different conclusion, far be it from the writer of these lines to question his sincerity : but he claims an equal allowance of sincerity for himself, and for all, — (they are both respectable and numerous),— who agree with him in opinion, that the author of the Provincial Letters is as often inaccurate or unfair, as he is witty or eloquent. '^ The whole of these letters," says M. de Voltaire, " is built upon a false foundation, as the extravagant " notions of a few Spanish and Flemish Jesuits, are art- *' fully ascribed in them to the whole body." This, to OF THE JESUITS. 303 etexy one, who peruses Father Daniel's answer to them, must appear evident. A better answer to them, how- ever, is supplied by the sermons of Father Bourdaloue- To the whole of his doctrine every Jesuit subscribes; from the whole of the doctrine, imputed to them by Pascal, every Jesuit dissents: — which should be thought the doctrine of the order ? 3. With respect to the Morale Pratique, the Rap- ports, and the Extraits de Assertions : —May the writer be permitted to observe, that no one should form any conclusion from these, if he has not read the Reponse anx Assertions, published in 1763, in three large quarto volumes. In this work, the Jesuits charge the author of the Assertions with 758 falsifications and alterations of the texts, cited by him. They produce from the text, every passage pronounced by them to be falsified or altered, and confront it with the corresponding pas- sage in the work of their adversary. Now, both in courts of law and out of them, it is a received axiom, that a person, who denies a charge, is to be reputed innocent of it, until it is proved on him by proper evidence. Surely, therefore, none, who have not examined a large proportion, at least, of these passages, and found them misrepresented by the Jesuits, should pronounce them guilty of the doctrines imputed to them by the author of the Assertions. It cannot be expected of many, that they should read the three ponderous volumes, to which the writer has referred ; if, however, any person should be disposed to give a serious consideration to the sub- ject, he should, at least, read the pages, not very nume- rous, that compose the Examen du proces verbal, which concludes the work. Greatly surprised indeed will the writer of these lines be, if a single person, who reads them, should not concur with him in thinking that the 304 HISTORICAL ^lEMOIRS persons, who drew up the Proces verbal, possessed no ordinary share of intrepidity. 4. One further charge against the Jesuits, requires notice. — It is objected to them, that the president de Thou discovers, in many parts of his history, a spirit of hostiUty toward them : but this does not prejudice them in the opinion of any person acquainted with the history of France during that period. While the pre- sident was employed on his immortal work, France wa& just delivered from the horrors of the league, and a nu- merous and powerful party fomented within the king- dom, by Philip II., still abetted its views. In the prosecution of them, the leaguers had availed them- selves, and their remaining partisans still continued to avail themselves, of the ultramontane doctrines on the pope's deposing power. To these, the regular clergy, were supposed to be particularly favourable ; now, among the regulars, the talents, activity and popularity of the Jesuits, had elevated them, both in merit and in ptiblie opinion, to a considerable eminence. This exposed them to the president's severities, from which the ob- scurer destinies of others protected them. But it has been proved to demonstration, that their conduct was more moderate than that of any other religious body engaged in the league; — and it is evident that they were soon taken into favour by Henry IV., and that he warmly protected them : but it is not so generally known, that the chancellor V Hopital,^ whose mind was as loyal, whose principles were as friendly to civil and reli- gious hberty as those of de Thou, and whose talents for business were greatly superior, was favourable to the Jesuits, and a decided encourager of their schools. * See the Life of the Oiumdlor V Hopitaf, by the writer of these pages. OF THE JESUITS. 305 IX. Ohjedions to the Jesuits from the extraordinary Privi- leges supposed to be conferred on them hy Papal Bulls and Briefs. A SHORT but complete answer may be given to any argument that can be drawn against the Jesuits from \hese. All their writers, particularly the author of the Apologie de V Institut des Jesuites, their standard work of defence, {Tom. II. c. 27.), declare most explicitly and without any qualification, that, with all the attachment, which the Jesuits profess for their institute, they resign without reserve, all claims to the exemptions granted to them by bulls or briefs, when these are repugnant to the laws of any country in which they are settled. Thus, in 1611, 1626, and 1713, the Jesuits of France recognised in solemn instruments, the absolute civil independence of the sovereign on the pope; signed these instruments with all legal formalities, and caused them to be entered on the records of the parliament at Paris. In 1682, the Galilean clergy universally signed four articles respecting civil and temporal power. The first proclaims, in the most explicit terms, the civil indepen- dence of the sovereign on the pope. Now these articles were taught in all the schools of the French Jesuits ; and in 1707 and 1761, they finally expressed their ad- herence to them. Finally,—'' In the year 1761," say the authors of the Reponse aux Assertions, vol. 3. p. 597, " at which time the Jesuits were most bitterly attacked for their institute and doctrine, — a model of a declaration was 306 HISTORICAL MEMOIRS sent to the five provincials of the Jesuits in France, by the chancellor Lamoignon ; and a copy of it was desired to be returned to hira, signed by the priests and young^ Jesuits of all the colleges and houses in the kingdom. All their signatures were accordingly given and trans- mitted to the chancellor." — ^The Declaration is thus expressed : *' First, that they hold and profess, and will ever " hold and profess, that, in no circumstance, in no place, " under no pretence of tyranny, or vexation from per- " secution, on no account of religion, under no other *^ possible pretence, is it lawful, or can it be made '^ lawful, for any person, whatever be his state or con- '^ dition, to make any attempt, directly or indirectly, on " the persons of sovereigns ; or to speak, write, insi- " nuate, favour, or do any other act, which can tend to " endanger their safety : — that they condemn and de- '* test, as pernicious and deserving the execration of " all ages, any doctrine to the contrary, which may be " found in any works, that may have been composed, '* either by any member of their society, or by any other " person, whosoever he may be. " Secondly, — That they hold and prof as, and will ever " hold and profess, the doctrine of the clergy of France^ " declared in their assembly of 1682 : — Consequently, " they teach, and always will teach, that the power, given '^ by Jesus Christ to St. Peter, to his successors, and to " the Church itself, is purely spiritual, and extends to *' that only, which belongs to eternal salvation; that '* they have no power over any thing that concerns -'- temporals ; and that thus the power of sovereigns in " temporals is so totally independent of every spiritual '^ power, that in no case, for no cause, and on no pre- " tence whatever, can they either directly or indirectly. OF THE JESUITS. 307 " be deposed by the power of the Keys, or their subjects ^' absolved, from their oath of allegiance. " Thirdly, — That they are, and always will be, sub- " ject to the laws, ordonnances, regulations, and usages " of the kingdom, in the same manner as all other " subjects of the king, either spiritual or lay: as also, ^^ to the rules of the discipline and the common law " of the church, in the same manner as these are '^ binding on the other religious persons in the king- '* dom; and that they cannot attempt any thing con- '^ trary to the rights of the bishops, curates, universities, " or others :-^or make any use of any 'privilege, what- '* ever it may he, except so far as it is conformable to *^ the import of the laws and maxims of the kingdom, *^ Fourthly, — That, if it should happen, — (which may " God forbid !), — that they should be ordered by their " general, or by any other person, invested with any '' authority, whatever it may be, to do, (contrary to the " declarations above expressed), any thing against the " laws of the church or the state, to their duty to their " sovereigns, or to the public welfare or tranquillity, " they declare, that they hold, and ever will hold, such " decrees or instruments, to be null, — on every ground " of right, {de plein droit) ; and that they would be, *' and would consider themselves obliged to disobe}?^ " them.t" f The Manila Secreta, or Prevate Instructions, — a publication sometimes brought forward against the Jesuits, — is a most infamous work, and wholly beneath notice. — It supposes, that the society- has a deliberate plan of subjugating the universe to its sway, with a settled determination that, where any villany would avail towards the accomplishment of this object, its members should adopt any villany : that this horrid project was reduced to system ; that this sys- tem is expressed in the Monita Secreta; and that these were put into the hands of the elect, to be used by them, whenever occasion should make it expedient. X 2 308 HISTORICAL MEMOIRS X. The Dissolution of the Society. It does honour to Christianity, that the first persecu- tion of her was set on foot hy Nero : it does similar honour to the Jesuits that the first persecution of them was set on foot by the Marquis de Pombal, the most sanguinary and remorseless minister of state, that ap- peared in the last century. The charge, which he brought against the Jesuits, was, that they were parties to a plot, for the assassination of the Portuguese mo- narch. Now, that such a plot existed, is very doubt- ful: — that the Jesuits were concerned in it, has not been shown by the slightest evidence. For their sup- posed participation in it, they were banished from Por- tugal in 1759. In 1763, Lewis the fifteenth suppressed them within his dominions. They were banished by the king of Spain, in 1767; by the king of Naples, the duke of Parma, and the grand master of Malta, in 1768; and, were wholly suppressed by Pope Clement the fourteenth, in 1773. Is this possible ? Has it entered into the mind of man to conceive such an internal plan ? — When the queen of France was charged with corrupting the morals of her son, she nobly appealed for the impossi- bility of the charge, to the feelings of every mother; — and the feelings of every mother absolved her. — For the impossibility of the genuineness of the Monita Secreta, the Jesuits may appeal, with equal confidence, to the feelings of every gentleman in the universe. — There does not live the Jesuit, or the scholar of a Jesuit, who, if any one of the doc- trines, which it inculcates, or any one practice, which it recommends, were proposed to him., would not spurn it with indignation. Neither the original, nor any certified copy, of this vile book was ever produced ; no circumstance respecting its discovery, ever proved ; no collateral fact to establish its authenticity, ever published. OF THE JESUITS. 30'9 " In general,'* says the author of the Vie privee de Louis XV, torn. iv. p, 61,— and he certainly cannot be accused of partiality to the order. — " the more numerous and respectable portion of the nation regretted the Jesuits. If this great cause had been heard, with the solemnity and gravity due to its importance, the Jesuits might have thus addressed the magistrates; — " You ! all you, whose hearts and understandings we have formed, answer, before you condemn us, these questions! We appeal to the judgment, which you formed of us, in that age, when candour and innocence reigned in your hearts. Now, therefore, come forward! And declare! — Did we in our schools, in our discourses, or in the tribunal of penance, ever inculcate to you, any of those abommable maxims, with which we are now reproached? Did you ever hear them fall from our lips? Did you ever read them in the books, which we put into your hands ? Did you ever observe, in our public or private conduct, any thing approaching to them? Is it upon a few passages* torn and twisted from books, long buried in the dust of libraries, that we should be judged .? Should it not rather be on the doctrine, which, when you filled our colleges, you heard from us, in our schools, our pulpits, and our confessionals? Is there among you, one, who has heard from us, even a single maxim, with which we are no\T charged? Why,*' — the Jesuits might have continued, ** did^OM send yowr sons to our schools, if you had been taught, or did seriously suspect us of teaching in them bad morality?" *' Alas I" continues the same writer, " the magistrates said all this to one another : — in private, they held no other language ; but they were no sooner seated on the bench of justice, than they were overpowered by their fanatical and louder brethren." X 3 310 HISTORICAL MEMOIRS At the time of its dissolution, father Ricci, of an illus- trious house in Florence, was the superior-general of the society. He, and several other of its most distin- guished members, were, on a sudden, imprisoned, by the order of pope Clement the fourteenth, and, after soQie change of prison, conveyed to the castle of St. Angelo, and closely confined. They underwent separate interrogatories. Two questions only in these interrogatories, seem to deserve notice. — The general was asked, " If there were abuses in the order?'' He re- plied, that, " Through the mercy of God, there were no abuses, that could, in any wise, be called general ; — on the contrary, there was great regularity, piety, zeal, and particularly, great union and charity ; this was demon- strated by the circumstance, that during fifteen years of extreme tribulation^ there was no internal trouble or tumult; and that all remained attached to their state, though excessively persecuted-. This did not prevent particular abuses from rising, through human frailty, — to which proper remedies were applied.'* The other question, which we shall notice, respected the wealth of the society. — Its enemies had foretold, that its dissolution would lead to the discovery of im- mense treasures. In no country, from which they were expelled, was this wealth, or the slightest vestige of it, discovered. This, the enemies of the society accounted for, by supposing, that, foreseeing the storm which was to burst upon them, the persons entrusted with the ma- tiagement of its funds, had transmitted them to Rome. '^ Their avidity for the good things of this world," says the author of the celebrated treatise, {Du Fape et des JesuiteSf 2 edit. p*77)j " is one of the greatest reproaches made to the society, in the brief of Clement the four- teenth ; and yet, at the moment of their dissolution, they OF THE JESUITS. Jll were encumbered by a heavy debt. This is an enigma, which can only be explained by a fact sufficiently known, that they were obliged to send, every year, to Rome, the fruit of their economy and savings ; that these sums were put under the disposition of the general; who, by their constitutions, was the sole proprietary in the order. By these means, a portion, not incon- siderable, of the revenues of the state flowed, furtively, through secret canals, to swell a Ibreign treasure, and often served suspicious purposes." The supposed treasures were, however quite as invisi- ble at Rome, as in any other place. — At the Interroga- tory which has been mentioned, the general was strictly questioned, respecting the amount of the wealth of the society, and his sending it from Rome to prevent its seizure ; — *' Neither I myself," answered the general, '' nor any person, within my knowledge, has sent a single penny of our property out of Rome, or placed it in any Bank. The persuasion of our treasures, either hidden or invested, is extremely false, — a popular ru- mour without a foundation; probably invented by oui' enemies, or arising from the splendour of our churches. The belief of it is a mere dream, — a delirium — a real mania. I am surprised to find, even honourable per- sons, give credit to this fable ; they should be convinced of its falsehood by the multiplied and strange searches, so fruitlessly made, both in Rome and other countries, to discover this imaginary wealth. The amount of the money, subject to my free disposition, was very incon- siderable." On the 19th of November, 1775, feeling himself near his end, the general desired to receive the sacrament of the holy eucharist. The chaplain of the castle brought it to him; and, just before he received the 312 HISTORICAL MEMOIRS salutary host, the general, in the presence of the vice governor of the castle, of Don John, his secretary, of the Brother Orlandi, an ex-jesuit, the Serjeant Vennini, the Corporal Piannarra, nine soldiers, and some other pei-sons, who assisted at the ceremony, — solemnly pronounced, from a written paper, which he held in his hands, a Peclaration, of which the following is an extract : " Considering myself on the point of heing presented before the tribunal of infallible truth and justice, which is no other than the divine tribunal, — after long and mature consideration, — after having humbly prayed my most merciful Redeemer, and terrible judge, not to permit that I sliould allow myself to be led away by any passion, particularly in one of the last actions of my life, — without any bitterness of heart, or any vicious motive or end, and only because I hold myself to be obliged to do justice to truth and innocence, — I make the two following declarations and protestations : " First, — I declare and protest, that the suppressed Society of Jesus has given no ground for its suppression. I declare this, with all the certitude, that a superior, well informed of his order, can morally have. *' Secondly ; I declare and protest, that I have not given any ground, not even the slightest, for my im- prisonment. I declare and protest this, with that rec- titude and evidence, which every one hath of his own actions. I make this second protestation, only because it is necessary to the reputation of the Society of Jesus, of which I was superior-general." That the society fell with dignity, is admitted even by their enemies. " Let not,'* — (wrote Father Neuville in a letter to one of his brethren), — " a word, a look, a single sigh of complaint or murmur escape you. A OF THE JESUITS. 313 respect, which should not fail you during an instant, for the holy see, and for the pontiff who fills it ; perfect respect for the rigorous, hut always adorable decrees of providence, and for the powers, whom she employs in the execution of her designs, — the depth of which it is not for us to fathom ; — these are our duties. Let our sorrows, our groans, our tears, never escape us, except in the presence of God, and in his sanctuary ; let our grief be expressed before men, no otherwise, than by the silence of modesty, peace, and obedience! Let us forget, neither the instructions, nor the examples, for which we are indebted to our society ! Let us show, by our conduct, that she deserved a better fate ! and let the words and actions of the sons vindicate the mother! This will be her most powerful and able defence: it is the only defence, which is permitted to us. We wished to serve religion, by our zeal and talents ; let us endeavour to serve her by our fall and sufferings ! You cannot doubt the painful feelings of my heart, in be- holding the humiliating destruction of the society, to whom I owe, whatever I possess, of virtue, talent, or reputation. I may truly say, that every moment, I drink the cup of bitterness: — But when we look on Jesus crucified, is it lawful for us to complain ?" The Epitaph of the Order might have been written in the following lines : — In humble hope of the Divine favour, The Society of Jesus nozv reposes : Education languishes; Irreligion and Insubordination increase : A Revolutiojif The horrors of wJiichy it enters not into the heart of Man to conceive. Advances rapidly ; God ! Abridge the sufferings of the Just .' 314 HISTORICAL m:emoirs XI. The Jiestoration of the Society/. I HAVE now to write, what most, I trust, of my readers will feel a pleasing line. In August 1814, the Pope re- established the Society of Jesus, by his bull, SoUcitudo omnium ecclesiarum. By this, he derogated from the brief of Clement the fourteenth. He mentions the numerous requests, for the re-establishment of the Jesuits, which he had received from persons of every class ; praises their zeal and conduct in the countries, in which they had been re-established; and authorises Thaddeus Borzozowski, their superior-general, to reunite them in community, to employ themselves on education, in colleges, and seminaries, and in the functions of the ministry, conformably to the rule of St. Ignatius. On the 6th of August, he communicated this bull to a consistory of cardinals: on the 7th, he repaired, in great state, to the church ot Jesus, in the ancient convent of the Jesuits; and, after celebrating the sacrifice of the mass, on the altar dedicated to St. Ignatius, and assisting at another mass, he went into a large chamber. There, seated on a throne, and surrounded by the sacred college, and many prelates, he ordered the bull to be read by the master of the ceremonies, and then delivered it with his own hands into those of father Pannizoni, a provincial of the order. Let us now suppose, that, we hear Bossuet addressing to the Jesuits, assembled on this occasion, the very words which he addressed to their fathers, in a sermon preached by him, in 1607, in their church at Paris : {CEuvrei de Bossuet j Ed, Ben, Vol. iv. p. 459.) — " You! OF THE JESUITS. 315 — O celebrated society, — you, who do with so good a title, bear the name of Jesus, — whom the grace of God has inspired with the important design, of leading chil- dren to him, from their infancy, to the maturity of man in Jesus Christ, — to whom God, in these last ages, has given doctors, apostles, and evangelists, in order to make known, throughout the universe, and even to the extremity of the earth, the glory of the gospel, — cease not in its service, (conformably to your holy institute), to exert all the talents of your minds, all your eloquence, all your politeness, and all your learning : — And the better to accomplish so great a work, receive with all this assembly, in testimony of eternal charity, the holy benediction of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost r It is, however, to be observed that the bull which we have mentioned, does not restore the order, or give it a canonical existence, even in the eye of the roman- catholic church, in any country, the sovereign of which shall not have previously recalled or consented to receive them.-— Rome herself has thus explained the bull. The writer hopes these historical minutes of this very interesting society will displease no enlightened or candid reader. No one can be more independent of its members, less connected with them, or have fewer calls on him to advocate their cause. — But, Pleased to spread friendships, and to cover heats. Pope. he cannot refuse himself the satisfaction of oifering, m this place, a few words in their eulogy. He concludes it^ by the following extract from Les Adieuij a poem 3l6 HISTORICAL MEMOIRS, &C. written by the celebrated Gresset, when he quitted the order. Je dois tous mes regrets aux sages que je quitte, J'en perds avec douleur I'entretien vertueux ; Et, si dans leur foyers desormais je n' habite, Mon cceur me survit aupr^s d'eux. Car ne leurs crois point tels, que la main de I'envie Les peint a des yeux prevenus : Si tu ne les connois que sur ce qu'en public La tenebreuse Calomnie, lis te sont encore inconnus : Lis, — et vois de leurs moeurs des traits plus ingenus : Qu'il est doux de leur rendre un temoignage Dont I'interet, la crainte, et Fespoir sont exclu8 ! A leur sort le mien ne tient plus : L'impartialite va tracer leur image. Oui, — -j'ai vu des mortels, — (j'en dois ipi I'aveu), — Trop combattus, connus trop peu ; J'ai vu des esprits vrais, des moeurs incorruptibles ; Voues a la Patrie, a leur Roi, a leur Dieu; A leurs propres maux insensibles ; Prodigues de leurs jours, tendres, parfaits amis ; Et souvent bienfaiteurs paisibles De leurs plus fbugeux ennemis ; Trop estimes enfin pour etre raoins hais. Que d'autres s'exhalant, dans leur haine insensee, En reproches injurieux, Cherchent, en les quitant, a les rendre odieux : — Pourmoi, — fidele auvrai, fidele a ma pensee, C'est ainsi qu'en partant, je leur fais Mes Adieux. THE END. Printed by Luke Hansard h Sons, near Lincoln's-Inn Fields, London. Date Due ^ , •2 ■ < ^-. 1 W ^ 2 9 i-di i 1 f BOSTON COLLEGE 3 9031 01379025 8 '71S29 BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY HEIGHTS CHESTNUT HILL. MASS. Books may be kept for two weeks and may i renewed for thp same period, unless re- be renewed for the same served. Two cents a day is charged for each book kept overtime. If you cannot find what you want, ask the Librarian who will be glad to help you. The borrower is responsible for books drawn on his card and for all fines accruing on the same. - ^