THE
PREACHER AN3D THE IKING;
OR,
BOURDALOUE IN THE COURT OF LOUIS XIV.
-MEING
AN ACCOUNT OF THE PULPIT ELOQUENCE OF THAT
DISTINGUISHED ERA.
TRANSLATED FROM
THE FRENCTC  OF L. BUNGENER, PARIS, 12TH EDITION.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION,
BY THE
REV. GEORGE  POTTS, D. D.,
PASTORI OF THIE UNIVERSITY PLACE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, NEW YORK.
BOSTON:
GOULD AND LINCOLN,
69 WASHINGTON STREET.
1853.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
GOULD & LINCOLN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.




PAGE
INTRODUCTION.................  ix
CHAPTER I.
TIHE UNCLE AND NEPHEW.-COURT NEWS AND COURT MORALS.-FASHIONABLE PREACHERS. —FENELON'S VIEWS OF BOURDALOUE.....   27
CHAPTER II.
THE COUNCIL OF THE PHILOSOPHERS.-BOSSUET, RENAUDOT, FLEURY, LANGERON, CORDEMOY, FLECHIER, ETC.-COMMENTARIES OF O30SSUET.DISCUSSION OF THE STRUCTURE OF PULPIT DISCOURSES.-BOUrtDALOUE S
STYLE  AGAIN....................   48
CHAPTER III.
BOSSUET AND THE MARQUIS DE FENELON. —CIIARACTER AND GENIUS OF
THE ABBE DE FENELON.-DELINEATION OF PORTRAITS DANGEROUS
FROM THE PULPIT.-PERSONAL APPLICATION OF THE TRUTII DIFFICULT.
-ARNAULD.-DUTY OF BOSSUET TO THE KING.-SUDDEN SUMMONS
FROM THE KING................. 64




iV  --                     CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
PAGE
TIlE KING AND THE PHILOSOPI-IERS. -TIE ORIGINAL GROUNDS OF BOSSUET'S HIGI-I r0EPU'ATION.-CHANGE IN THIS RESPECT DULING TIIE SUCCEEDING CENTURY..............  5
CHAPTER V.
IMBPRESSION MADE BY VERSAILLES UPON A STRANGER.-INFLUENCE OF THE
COURT UPON THEI WHOLE OF FRANCE.-IMPORTANCE GIVEN TO TRIFLES.
-ABSOLUTE POWER OF TI KING............ 82
CHAPTER VI.
THE KING'S DISPLEASURE. —MONTAUSIER AND IBOSSUET IN THE CABINET OF
T-IE KING.-MADAME DE MONTESPAN REFUSED ABSOLUTION....  89
CHAPTER VII.
BOSSUET ALONE WITH LOUIS XIV.-UNUSUAL BOLDNESS.-" THOU ART
THE MAN. -HESITATION OF THIE KING.-BOSSUET GAINS A SLIGHT
ADVANTAGE................... 97
CHAPTER VIII.
BOSSUET WAITS UPON MADAME DE MONTESPAN. —COURT PIETY.-UNEASINESS OF MADAME DE MONTESPAN.-MIADAME DE LA VALLIERE.ROYAL CONFESSORS. — APPEAL TO ]BOSSUET'S AMBITION.-APPEAL TO
AMIADAMIE DR MONTESPAN'S CONSOIENCE. —-BOSSUET LOSES WHAT HE HAD
GAINED.                                                      105




C ONTENTS.                           V
CHAPTER IX.
PAGE
BOSSUET'S LETTER TO THE KING... 122
CHAPTER X.
BOSSUET VISITS BOURDALOUE.-CLAUDE'S LETTER. —BOSSUET COMMAIUNICATES THE STATE OF THINGS IN THE CHATEAU TO B3OURDALOUE.-TIIE
LATTER AGREES TO ALTER HIS SERMON FOR THE FOLLOWING DAY. —BEGINS TO READ IT TO BOSSUET..............126
CHAPTER XI.
ARRIVAL OF CLAUDE. —MUTUAL SURPRISE AND E~MBARRASSMENT.-ARRIVAL OF THE MESSRS. FENELON.-NEW. SURPRISE.-JANSENIST AND
PROTESTANT.-SPIRIT IN WHICH SERMONS ARE COMMONLY HEAR,_,D AND
CRITICISED.-CLAUDE S STRICTURES ON COURT PREACHERS.-BOURDALOUE IN GREAT DISTRESS..'133
CHAPTER XII.
THE LIGHT IN WHICH PREACHERS WERE REGARDED.-CHARACTER OF
LoUIS XIV.-INFLUENCE WITH THE POPE AND WITH THE GALLICAN
CHURCH..................... 150
CHAPTER  XIII.
LETTER FROM CLAUDE TO BOURDALOUE. —-SEVERE REPROOFS POR FLATTERY TO THE KING...                  160




Vi                       CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XIV.
PAGE
CLAUDE ALONE WITH BOURDALOUE.-THE LATTER ACKNOWLEDGES IIIMSELF WRONG, AND REQUESTS CLAUDE'S ASSISTANCE IN HIS SERMON.READS IT TO CLAUDE.-THE LATTER BEGINS TO DICTATE A PERORATION. 168
CHAPTER XV.
ARRIVAL OF FATHER LA CHAISE.-IE GIVES HIS OPINION OF THE SERMON. —BOURDALOUE'S UNEASINESS...........   175
CHAPTER XVI.
FATHER LA CHAISE STARTLED.-HE DEPARTS, AND CLAUDE CONTINUES
HIIS DICTATION......183
CHAPTER XVII.
BOURDALOUE REMAINS ALONE. —COMMITS TO MEMORY AND RECITES HIS
PERORATION. —BOSSUET HEARS AND APPROVES OF IT....         187
CHAPTER XVIII.
LOUIS XIV.-MADAME DE MONTESPAN. —THE DUIKE DU MAINE.-BOSSUET AGAIN WITII TIE KING —DEPARTURE OF MADAME DE MONTESPAN. 191
CHAPTER XIX.
BOURDALOUE AND BOSSUET.-DISTINGUISHING PECULIARITIES OF THE
PROTESTANT PULPIT.-PULPIT ELOQUENCE... 211




CONTENTS.                             Vii
CHAPTER XX.
PAGE
INFLUENCE OF THE PRIVATE CHARACTER OF THE PREACHER UPON HIS
HEARERS.-MEMORIZING. —EXTEMPORIZATION.......   220
CHAPTER XXI.
THE LIFE, ELOQUENCE, AND REPUTATION OF BOURDALOUE.-MASSILLON.ABBE MAURY.-BRIDAINE....... 232
CIAPTER XXII.
SECOND COUNCIL OF THE PHILOSOPIERS.-CLAUDE ON THE STUDY OF THE
SCRIPTURES AND THIIE CHOICE OF TEXTS.-POETIO BEAUTY AND SIMPLICITY OF THE BIBLE..................  249
CHAPTER XXIII.
CLAUDE ON THE SUBLIMITY OF TIlE SCRIPTURAL IDEAS OF DEATHI AND THE
NOTHINGNESS OF MAN.-FOURTEENTH CHAPTER OF ISAIAH.            265
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE UNEASINESS OF BOURDALOUE AND BOSSUET...         278
CHAPTER XXV.
THE ROYAL CHAPEL OF VERSAILLES............ 285




viii                      CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXVI.
PAGE
THE STRUGGLES OF BOURDALOUE AND THE VACILLATION OF THE KING.. 291
CHAPTER XXVII.
BOURDALOUE'S SERMON.......... 295
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE SERMON IS AT LENGTH OVER.8.                               303
TWO EVENINGS AT THE HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.
CHAPTER I.
BOSSUET.                                                       311
CHAPTER II.
COTIN..................... 326




INTRODUCTION.
IN complying with the wish of the translator of this
work, that I should preface it with a few remarks, to
indicate its character and purpose, I greatly regret that
I am not in possession of more particular information
as to the author. HIe is a minister of the Reformed
Church of France, but, I believe, has not held a pastoral charge, and although-as his works prove-a man
of truly original powers, and with clear conceptions as
to the dignity and duty of the Pulpit, has not for some
reason attracted much attention as a preacher. In this
respect, he is only another example of a fact not uncommon, that the ideal and the actual are not always
combined in the same person, and that an admirable
power of criticism does not ensure an equally admirable
power of execution.
The following work has attained a wide popularity
among those who use the French language; having
reached the 13th edition. Another work of the same
character, the subjects of which are taken from the subsequent reign of Louis XV., has even a greater popularity; and coming down into the age of the Encyclo



ZX               INTRODUCTION.
pedists, has afforded the writer an opportunity of employing the graphic power he possesses in so eminent a
degree, in presenting strong portraits of the men who
figured in that age of enfeebled superstition, systematized
infidelity, and shameless corruption of manners. Should
the present work meet the favor of American readers
which it deserves, the other will be laid before them in
due time. The'"History of the Council of Trent," by
the same author, is a work of a different kind but of
*great merit, as a succinct narrative of the essential
characteristics of that period.
The book now presented to the public might well be
left to speak for itself. Its objects and merits will need
no endorsement when they are examined by the class
of intelligent readers for whom the work is intended.
It is substantially a work on eloquence, especially sacred eloquence, and none the less worthy of respectful
attention, because its criticisms are embodied in a spirited narrative, embracing occurrences and persons which
belong to the actual history of that extraordinary era.
The slight thread of fiction by which the disquisitions
are held together, instead of injuring the effect of the
work as a contribution to sacred rhetoric, imparts a
life-like air of reality to the whole; and, as a reproduction of the men and manners of the time, will entitle
the author to rank with other great masters in this line.
He has diligently studied not only the written prod-uctions of that wonderful age (justly called the Augustan
age of France), which have come down to us in the form
of works in divinity and' general literature, but he has




INTRODUCTION.                   xi
made a careful use of thle "I iemoires,'  which abounded
in that, as they have in every other period in the history
of the French people. Some one has remarked, that
there is a strong individualism in the French character,
which inclines every man to regard himself as a centre
of his own times and of sufficient importance to warrant
a record of the relations between himself and public
events and persons. To this feeling, probably, is owing
the fact that no nation is so rich in those biographical
memoirs which are the materials for general history, and
out of which a judicious writer may cull notices of incidents and individuals, which, when well arranged, reproduce the " time" more effectually than can be doneby
those stately generalizations which often pass under the
name of history. As in individual, so in national history,
details are necessary to accurate knowledge: they are
the strands which make the web. Our author has evidently made himself well acquainted with the depositories
of these details, and is indebted to them for many facts,
which, if I am not mistaken, will modify the common
judgment in respect to some points, concerning which
a sort of traditional but not well-authenticated notion
pervades our literature. The letters of Mad. de Sevigne,
the memoirs of the Duc de St. Simon, Cardinal Bausset's memoirs of Bossuet, Saint Beuve, and many others,
well sifted and compared, furnish the best data for an
estimate of that most remarkable age, some previous
knowledge of which is necessary to a satisfactory perusal of this work.
The author has chosen, as a centre of movement, the




xii              INTRODUCTI ON.
circumstance of a sermon to be delivered by the Court
preacher 3Bourdaloue-then in the height of his famebefore Louis the Great, in the Court chapel, on GoodFriday. The narrative commences by a dialogue in the
garden at Versailles between the Marquis de Fen6elon
(one of the purest men of that day, and well known for
his partiality to the Jansenists of the Port-royal), and
his nephew, the Abbe Fenelon, afterwards celebrated for
his writings, some of which have secured a permanent
place in the literature of subsequent times. The conversation turns on the state of the Court morals; and the
Marquis, evidently no courtier, condemns severely the
evil example set by the monarch, then living in unconcealed adultery with Madame de Montespan. WVe must
refer to the memoirs of the time for the details; which,
however, are referred to in the narrative, no farther than
as they furnish occasion for the introduction of the subject of Court preaching and Court preachers, especially
Bossuet and Bourdaloue; the latter of whom is the next
day to preach before the King. The Marquis and his
nephew, while conversing- on the subject, overtake a
party walking in one of the avenues, which proves to
be "the Philosophers;" a term of very different meaning from that in which it was employed in the subsequent reign. In this case, "the Philosophers" were Bossuet, Flechier, Renaudot, Fleury, Langeron, and others,
chiefly ecclesiastics; but in the last instance, Voltaire,
ielvetius, Holbach and others, sworn enemies of all
religion.
When the Fenelons join the party, they are discuss



INTRODUCTION.                 Xiii
ing a grand passage in Isaiah, which furnishes occasion
for some excellent criticism; but ~the Marquis and Bossuet separating from the group, the former delicately but
firmly speaks to the latter of the private as well as publie fidelity due from the professed ministers of God, who
are called to deal with the royal conscience. In short,
Bossuet is roused to do his duty, and in the course
of his endeavor to persuade Bourdaloue to seize the
next day's opportunity of preaching before the King,
for the purpose of bold and faithful remonstrance, we
are presented with a number of well-drawn portraits of
men, and discussions of principle, which give the reader
a high opinion of the author's discrimination of character, and of his perception of the true uses of the sacred
office.
If the agitations of Bourdaloue at the prospect of
speaking directly to the conscience of the  King, be
thought exaggerated in the description, it must be
recollected that the monarch in question was regarded and addressed by those around him  as a sort of
demi-god.  In this adulation, alas! the clergy were
not the most backward: not even those whose discourses have come down to us as models of Christian
preaching. The English reader who knows Bourdaloue
and Massillon only by their traditionary renown, and
through the medium  of a translation, cannot fairly
judge either of their merits or demerits. Not of their
merits, for the English rendering of their sermons is
extremely poor (especially Bourdaloue's by the Rev.
A. Carrol, revised by the Rev. B. M'Mahon), while




:Xiv             INTRO D U CTION.
their chief demerit is carefully concealed by the om- -
sion of the false and misplaced flatteries which they
were not ashamed to address to the very face of the
King. When we know what this King was in morals,
how greedy in ambition, how wasteful in the expenditure of the treasures which were wrung from  his
oppressed people, how reckless of the blood he shed by
so many unjust wars, it seems difficult to reconcile the
fulsome adulations of a Bourdaloue with the supposition
of common honesty. In the English -translation these
destructive flatteries are omitted by the iRoman Catholic
translator, who says, " the ingenious compliments to the
KIing of France, which, in the original, are tacked to
some of these discourses, are here left out-and for this
the translator scarce need apologize."  With all the admiration of Bourdaloue entertained by the author of
the work now submitted to the reader, he cannot suppress this fact of a gross and almost inexplicable contradiction between the preacher's principles and his failure
to apply them. It cannot be denied that he lauds instead of smiting the image of pride and lust before him,
in the person of a bad King and a bad man. The very
sermon, which forms the centre of this narrative, and
the conclusion of which is, by a poetic license, represented as a triumph of fidelity, has come down to us
in the original, deformed by the shameful peroration
which the story represents him as rejecting with horror.
Let us make every allowance for the blinding influence
of the courtly glare which surrounded this King: let
us admit that, republicans as we are, we may be inca



INTRODUCTION.                  XV
pable of estimating the subtle influence of the princely
power and grandeur, which made Versailles a wonder
of the world; we must, nevertheless, feel an emotion
of shame, that the Christian pulpit, the only place
where truth had a chance of being heard, should have
betrayed its high  trust, and hesitated to condemn
" scarlet and purple sins when committed by a scarlet
and purple sinner." That the most eminent of the
lFrench preachers did this in the case of Louis XIV.
and his successor, admits of no doubt, and the fact
must always remain an example and a warning of the
weakness of human principle, even when professedly
engaged in enforcing Divine laws.
It is one of the author's chief merits in this book,
that he entertains high conceptions of the supreme dignity of the preacher's office, and of the obligations of a
wise but resolved fidelity in announcing and applying
the truth: and every reader will concede that his introduction of Claude, and the sentiments he puts into the
mouth of that noble Protestant, are worthy of the principles which evangelical Protestantism draws from the
only standard of truth and duty-the Bible. We can
also distinguish the principles of his ecclesiastical polity, in the sturdy tone in which Claude speaks of the
misdeeds of the King.
In regard to the questions of sacred rhetoric incidentally discussed in this work, it is needless to speak,
as they will speak for themselves. The discussions, to
say the least, are given in a fresh and lively manner.
Texts, divisions, Scripture quotation, the delivery of a




Xvi             INTR O DUCTI O N.
sermon, whether memoriterj extemporaneous, or by
reading —these and kindred questions are treated with
discrimination. Many of the hints are pregnant, and
may be suitably applied by the preachers of our own
day; for, imutatis rnutandis, human nature is one, as
truth is one, in all eras and nationalities.
The reader will find appended to this work an amusing narrative, by the same author, which he calls "Two
Soirees (or Evenings) at the HIotel de Rambouillet."
The incident on which it turns, and which is historical,
is interesting, because it presents a curions picture of the
frivolous engagements of the great of that era, who could
turn the solemn function of preaching into an amusement
for the saloon-and because it was the first occasion on
which the pulpit talent of Bossuet publicly revealed
itself.
As frequent. references are made in the following
work to persons and occurrences with which many
readers may not be acquainted, it may not be amiss
to give a summary notice of the principal, which will
serve to explain the allusions.
ARNAULD, who, is more than once alluded to, is
justly considered one of the most eminent of the celebrated school of Jansenism. By conviction, and, it is
said, impressed by the dying injunction of his mother,
he waged a long, but in the end, an unsuccessful war
with the Jesuits. Jansenism, an abortive Protestantism,
was the natural reaction of the more sober and devout
minds in the great Romanist corporation, against the
anti-christian  corruptions of faith and practice, of




INTRODUCTION.                 XVii
which Jesuitism was the triumphant advocate. Serious persons, who had any natural conscience left, and
who studied the Bible with any candor, could not but
revolt at the teachings of the Jesuit casuists.  The
event proved that Jesuitism was the most serviceable
ally of the Papacy (although Jansenism was not without its claims in that respect), and hence the oppressions which ultimately overtook and crushed the Portroyalists, of whom Arnauld was a great leader. Their
approaches towards the principles of the Reformation
were easily detected and magnified by their enemies the
Jesuits, and their too free exposure of the internal corruptions of the Romish body naturally called forth the
animosity of all those (and they were many and strong)
who profited by those corruptions, and of those who
could not brook that men of their own Church should
thus uncover its nakedness to the eyes of Protestant
Christendom. It is no small testimony to the sincerity
of these semi-Protestants, that they could so long resist
the cajolery which was tried to win them from their
purpose; and, on the other hand, the persecutions
which assailed them when they were found unconquerable by argument. Their own severity toward the
Ieformed Church is by no means justifiable; but it is
in part explained by the consideration that some such
course was necessary to defend themselves against the
suspicion of being at heart Protestants.
Notwithstanding his errors, the reputation of this eminent scholar, philosopher, and divine, was the greater in
its influence upon the society, because backed by a life




XViii            IN TRO D U CT IO N.
of pure morals. WVith many, who were neither Jansenists nor Jesuists in name, his opinions were held in
profound respect. Hence the author's reference to him
in the course of his work. He died in exile, at Brussells, in 1694, at the great age of eighty-two.
CLAUDE, who fully deserves the honorable title of
the Champion of Protestantism, is introduced by our
author into the current of his narrative, not so much
for the purposes of dramatic effect, as to afford a channel for some doctrines and strictures, which could not
be so well put into the mouth of any of the other
actors in the book. He may be regarded as the representative of Protestantism in an age when it had many
noble men and martyrs to witness to the scriptural
character of its principles and ethics. The Protestantism of France was often made a tool of politics, and
men who loved liberty and hated priestly tyranny more
than they loved divine truth, arrayed themselves in its
ranks.  That many such, HIenry IV. at their head,
should have yielded their profession when it was their
interest to do so, is not surprising. Such cases were
not wanting  even in the apostolic era. The Edict of
Nantes, which gave a sort of toleration to the Reformed
religion, was always unsavory to the Papists, and, as
at this moment in France, vexatious interruptions and
prohibitions were frequently practised upon the Protestants. The Reformed needed champions to watch
and defend them, and they found one eminently qualified in John Claude. During his first settlement at
Nismes, as Pastor and Professor, he opposed himself to




INTRODUCTION.                 xix
the arts of a recreant of his Synod, who had been
gained over by the court to attempt a re-union of the
Reformed with the Papists. Claude, the Moderator,
detected and exposed this artful man, and, as a punishment, the government prohibited the exercise of his
ministry in Languedoc. He hastened to Paris to obtain
redress; but the attempt was vain. While detained in
Paris, he was not idle in the good cause. His enemies
found they had only given him greater notoriety and a
wider field, for during this interval he wrote a reply to
a celebrated work of Arnauld's, on the Eucharist, which
originated a spirited controversy.
Claude retired from Paris to Montauban, where he
again became Pastor. But, as Arnauld had replied to
his pamphlet, he employed himself in preparing a rejoinder, and had actually sent a portion of it to the
press, when the Port-royalists discovered the fact, by an
artifice which it would take too much time to describe,
and he was silenced at Montauban as he had been at
Nismes, and the publication of his workl suppressed.
Another triumph of the intolerance which is imbedded
in the very constitution of Popery, and which no compacts can long prevent from making itself apparent,
when it possesses the power to enforce its edicts. Honest
Romanists, in our own free land, are fain to admit that
such is its spirit and purpose.  Free inquiry is laid
under interdict.
Again he returned to Paris, and after in vain suing
for justice on the terms of the Edict, he boldly accepted
the call to the Presbyterian Church of Paris, which




:xX              INTRODUCTION.
assembled at Charenton. This was the metropolitan
Church of the Protestants, and MI. Claude's influence and
usefulness to his brethren were greatly increased by this
important position, which he owed, in one sense, to the
injustice of his enemies. While here, he engaged in his
famous conference with Bossuet, the acknowledged giant
of the Romanists. Of this man, at first Bishop of Condom and afterwards of Meaux, it cannot be denied that
he possessed genius and character; but neither can it
be denied that he was an unscrupulous controvertist.
His most celebrated work is " The Exposition of the
Catholic Faith," of which, one hardly knows which to
admire most, the absence of candor, or the skill with
which he appears to approximate to the doctrines of the
Reformation without really doing so. The book was
written to reconcile the Protestants, and everything is
done, which can be done, by denying that Popery is
what it is, and affirming that it is what it is not. It has
been often and ably exposed, and by none more than by
Claude. In the conference before alluded to, each party
claimed the victory. Romanists of our own timesButler and Eustace for instance -have declared that
Bossuet then put an end to Protestantism in France.
But if the logic of Bossuet were so potent, why the resort to the logic of bribes, exile, prisons and dragonadles?
As to the consideration accorded to the character and
abilities. of Claude, even by his enemies, the following is
an extract from  "Butler's Life of Bossuet:" "Bossuet
speaks of Claude's learning, polite manners and mildness,
in high terms of praise. He mentions, that throughout




INTRODUCTION.                  xxi
the conference, M. Claude listened with patience, expressed himself with clearness and force, pressed his
own objections with precision, and never eluded an
objection made to him which admitted of an answer."
Protestantism  survives the logic of M. Bossuet, the
heavier blows of the ".Bartholomews," and the still more
destructive " Revocation."
We owe Claude's most celebrated work, "'A Defence
of tMe Reformation," to the period of his residence at
Charenton.  But his time was largely employed in
watching and counteracting the growing schemes of
the Romanists, who had long been preparing the way
for the "Revocation," IHe met and foiled their arts
for a time; but the thing was determined. Le Tellier,
Pere la Chaise, and (if his subsequent praises of the act
of Revocation be evidence) Bossuet, all employing the
personal arts and influence of Madame de AMaintenon,
succeeded in inducing the King to sign the order for
the forcible conversion of his Protestant subjects. The
methods used to enforce this flagitious act are too familiar to be detailed here. The result was the unspeakable
misery of two millions of honest citizens, the forcible
exile of the Presbyterian ministers, and the voluntary
but prohibited flight of a vast number, in effecting
which thousands perished.
This noble man died in exile at the tIague, at the age
of 67. Calling for the senior minister of the Church, he
said, in the presence of his family, " Sir, I was desirous
to see you, and to make my dying declaration before you.
I am  a miserable sinner before God-I most heartily




xxI1            INTRODUCTI ON
beseech him to show me mercy for the sake of the Lord
Jesus Christ. I hope he will hear my prayer: he has
promised to hear the cries of repenting sinners. I have
diligently studied Popery and the Reformation: the
Protestant religion is the only good religion. It is all
found in the Holy Scriptures: from this as from a fountain, all religion must be drawn.  Our Lord Jesus
Christ is our only righteousness; I need no other: he
is all-sufficient."
The sentiments which our author puts into the mouth
of Claude, the reader will acknowledge as worthy of
that eminent servant of Christ.
FINELON, more distinguished by his personal and
literary excellencies than as the Archbishop of Cambray,
is happily introduced by our author, in company with
his eminent uncle, the Marquis de Feneflon, a man celebrated in the annals of the French wars, and remarkable in that corrupt age for his devout and pure character. The Archbishop's history is a tangled web of
court favors mingled with court frowns. His success
as the preceptor of the Duke of Burgundy, one of the
Dauphins, was acknowledged by all as extraordinary,
considering the natural temper of that Prince. "He
was born terrible," says St. Simon, " his behaviour
made all who beheld him tremble."  As a reward for
his success, he was made Archbishop at a period later
than that of our story. Coincident with his elevation,
began that series of persecutions which embittered the
days of Fene'lon, and in which the envy of Bossuet for
the growing reputation of the Archbishop, is declared




INTRODUCTION.               XXiii
to have had a large share. From the whole kingdom
the latter was receiving the applause due to the man
who, by training the Dauphin, was preparing for a wise
and useful reign. This, the "' eagle of Meaux," could not
bear. He found, says a historian of the time, "that if he
did not pull down F6nelon, he must see himself eclipsed;
and hence he became his unrelenting persecutor. The
disgrace of F6n6lon was his real object, but the interests
of religion was the shallow pretence: no tie, human
or divine, restrained the prelate of Meaux: but conscience, honor, decency, were all set aside, that the ruin
of his rival might be effected. In order to effect this
plan, Louis XIV. must act the. part of an abject tool,
and Mad. de Maintenon be guilty of base treachery:
prelates must contradict their solemn acts, and degrade
and dishonor themselves: the Abb6 Bossuet, the prelate's nephew, and another ecclesiastic, must circulate
the grossest falsehoods and the foulest calumnies: the
Court must sacrifice and throw. on the wide world most
meritorious characters, in order to terrify Rome and influence it in its judgment against FEn6lon: the empty
pompous monarch must bully the Pope, to ensure a
nefarious triumph to the Bishop of Meaux over the
Archbishop of Cambray."
The history of the contest cannot be given here.
Posterity has vindicated F6n6lon, in giving to him not
only praise for his genius, but admiration for his simplicity, humanity, moderation, and charity. While yet
an Abbe, he was persuaded to be one of the preachers
sent among the Protestants of Poictou; but he con



xxiv             INTRODUCTION.
ditioned that all the military should be removed from
the theatre of his labors. But he himself states, that distrust, and considerations purely human, occasioned most
of the conversions; and that it was to no purpose that
he had caused all the apparatus of war to be removed
out of sight of the terrified multitude, since the relations
of violence in the other provinces filled them with alarm.
It is not wonderful that to his gentle spirit such occupation was disgusting; he asked to be recalled.
PELISSON, a name not so well known  as some others
by the general reader, was that of one of the most bitter and effective agents of the Court in its schemes for
extirpating the heresy of Protestantism. It may be
questioned whether this man and Mad. de Maintenon,
were not more responsible for the horrors of the " Revocation," and the atrocities which preceded it, than
any other two of the whole number who were employed in smiting this blow at religion, and, as the
event proved, at France. But Pelisson and Mad. de
Maintenbn were apostate Protestants, and we need not
be surprised at their malignity towards the faith they
had abandoned. The first, a lawyer of eminence, a fine
scholar, and a plausible writer, is called by Bayle, " one
of the greatest geniuses of the age." He felt the converting influence of court favor, renounced his religion,
and not long after the period at which our story opens,
viz., the temporary dismissal, followed by the subsecjuent restoration of Mad. de AMontespan, he was employed in disbursing a large sum, extorted at the confessional from the King as the price of his sin, for the




INTROD UCTION.                 xxV
conversion of Protestants. In this work, the apostate
rejoiced: glad, no doubt, to vindicate the selfishness of
his own conversion by proving that money could buy
others as well as himself.  As is commonly the case
with interested proselytes, he also wished to establish
the sincerity of his conversion by the vigor of his zeal.
He was subsequently implicated in the affairs of
Fouquet; and his reputation tarnished by evidences of
interestedness.  HIe left his accounts at his death in
great disorder. Although he took orders in the Church
of Rome, it is doubtful whether he did not die professing the faith he had once abjured and persecuted. His
talents, as we see in our story, raised him to companionship in the circle of " the Philosophers."
A more infamous apostate and persecutor is found in
Mad. de Maintenon, the grandchild of Theod. Agrippa d'Aubign6, and mistress or wife of the old KIing,
whom she made her tool; herself being the tool of
others.  She was the unrelenting foe of the people
whom  she abandoned.  At first the teacher of the
King's illegitimate children by Mad. de Montespan,
she afterwards became his counsellor, in what relation
is doubtful. Her letters tell the share she had in persuading the King to yield to the persuasions of Louvois,
Le Tellier and others, and extirpate heresy. In the
first instance, she blames the severity used, but subsequently bravely surmounted her scruples. That she must
have been fully aware of the severity practised, is evident from the advice she gives to her spendthrift brother,
to whom  she sends a grant of one hundred thousand
2




xxvi             INTRODUCTION.
livres, viz., to invest it in the purchase of lands in
Poictou: for she adds, "they will be had there for a mere
nothing, on account of the flight of the iluguenots."
Such were some of the actors in that wonderful age
of Louis, miscalled -the Great. It is enough to prove
how faithless to Christianity was the Pulpit, that it
should not have raised its voice to condemn the cruelties practised in the name of religion; that, on the
contrary, its talent and learning were so often subsidized to the mean purposes of King-worship. XMuch as
may be said of the eloquence of the Pulpit of that time,.
the fact that it omitted to discharge some of its noblest
functions, ought to deprive it of the super-abundant
commendation which it has received not only from Romanists but- Protestants. To this day France suffers
the penalties due to the national crimes of that and
the next reign, against which the ministers of God
ought, at least, to have publicly protested. When we
read the annals of persecution in that kingdom, we can
interpret the mystery of the successive convulsions
which have since agitated it. It is retribution. It is
the verification of the prophetic language of John Knox,
when the news of the St. Bartholomew's reached him:
"Sentence has gone forth against that murderer the
King of France, and the vengeance of God will never'be withdrawn from his house."




C HAPT E R I.
THE UNCLE AND NEPHEW.-COURT NEWS AND COURT MORALS.-FASHIONABLE
PREACHERS.-FENELON'S VIEWS OF BOURDALOUE.
ONE clay in the beginning of the month of April, 1675, two
men might have been seen walking in one of the avenues of the
park of Versailles, at a short distance from the Chateau. One
of them might have been about sixty-five years of age, the other
twenty four.  The former wore a sword, the latter an abbe's
robe. Not to delay longer the mention of their names, the elder
was the Marquis de Fendlon, formerly lieutenant-general in the
armies of Louis XIV., and the other his nephew, a young man
then unknown to fame, but to whose subsequent greatness alone,
is owing the mention made in history of his ancestors, or his
uncle.
The old Marquis de Fenelon was, nevertheless, a man deserving of high respect.  After having acquired the esteem of
the first generals of his time, by his talents and courage,* he had
devoted himself entirely to the observance of the most elevated
duties of religion and morais; —but, as his life had always been
pure, and as his piety was not the effect of one of those conver- The great Condd said of him, that he was " equally skilful in conversation, in battle, and in the council chamber."  During the period of the
greatest rage for duelling, he had dared to put himself at the head of an
association, the members of which made a vow never to accept nor to send
a challenge.




28                    THE PREACHER
sions so fashionable in that day,-it was destitute of the bitterness,
and of the littleness, which almost always characterized people
of rank, when after a life of dissipation they returned, or fancied
they returned, to God.*  A widower for many years, he had had
the affliction of losing a son of great promise, at the siege of
Candia in 1669.  From that time all his affections were divided
between his daughter, (afterwards Marquise de MontmorenciLaval,) and the youngest child of the Count de Fenelon his
brother.  The count was still living, but he was happy to resign
to such a brother some of his parental rights, and those of the
head of a family.
At court, where, however, he was but rarely seen, the Marquis
de Fendelon bore the reputation of a second Montausier.  This is
equivalent to saying that the courtiers disliked, although they
were forced to esteem him.
On this particular day, however, he was at Versailles. The
court had just arrived from  St. Germain, where it had passed
the winter.t  He had arrived from  his estates at PNrigord,
where he had passed his winter, and whither he intended returning in a short time,-as soon as he *had completed the arrangement of some business either at Paris or Versailles.  The
most important thing was to see his favorite nephew.
He was, however, neither so Perigordian a nobleman, nor so
stoical a philosopher, as to take no interest in the news of a court
which gave tone to all Europe; —particularly, as his nephew,
being attached to the chapel of the king, was in a position to
give him the most accurate information.
* See, in the history of F6n6lon, by the Cardinal de Bausset, book i.,
some letters from the marquis to his nephew. They are worthy of admiration for their gentleness and gravity, their philosophy and their faith.
f It was not until 1683, that Louis XIV. took up his residence for the
whole year at Versailles.




AND THE  KING.(                      9
They were now, accordingly, discussing the news as they
walked.  The Abbe told a story remarkably well, and many of
the courtiers would have been not a little astonished to find him
so well-informed in regard to everything.  Not that he took the
least part in the petty intrigues whose thread he so skilfully unravelled, but he had the art of seeing, and seeing well, and what
he did not see, he guessed better than any one else. Few men
have ever better understood the human heart; it may even be
said that he excelled Bossuet in this respect.  The views of the
latter were the grandest,-those of Fenelon had more acuteness
and ingenuity.  " The first," says a historian,* "understood rman
better than he did men;" the latter, we may add, understood
mnan and menz; which, however, does not imply that he was
never wrong in his judgment.
After having with alternate vexation and amusement listened
to the recital of several occurrences with which we have at present nothing to do, the marquis inquired, "Ancd Madclame de
Montespan, —how does she stand with the king?"
"There is nothing new.  It was believed there were some
clouds to be seen-but the king does not seem to grow cooler.
She reigns in peace.t  The whole court is at her feet."
"I hope my nephew has not been seen there," said the nmarquis, stopping short, and fixing a scrutinizing gaze upon the
young man.
"No, uncle; —you forbade my going."
"Ah! that is your reason?''
"You well know, that I have never disobeyed you."
X M. de Barante.
~ A letter was lately discovered in the archives of the city of Perpignan, from Louvois to M. de Mag'neron, intendant of Roussillon, in 1667.
The minister enjoins on him to seize all occasions for vexing and ruining
M. de Montespan, because he had gone into mourningo for his wife on the
occasion of the birth of her first child by Louis XIV.
2Q




30                    THE  PREACHER
"Yes, but I could have wished, that there had been no need
for my prohibition, and I am  sorry to perceive fiom your tone,
that your inclination would lead you to follow the crowd. You
have obeyed me, —well and good;-but I would not have believed, that it would require an efiort for my nephew to abstain
from aiding to increase this woman's court."
"All the bishops go."
" So much the worse for them and for the church."
"I do not assert thaft they do right,-but at any rate it would
have sheltered a poor chaplain from criticism  -"
" Court morals, nephew, court morals! If it is wrong it is
wrong; there is no medium.  What matters it to me that others
do not blame you, if I am forced to do so?"
The good marquis was right; yet without excusing the error
of his nephew, we can understand it.  A careful examination of
the history of this period, shows plainly, that the contemporaries
of Louis XIV. were, in general, very far from feeling as sensibly
as one might imagine, the immorality of his conduct.  And when
we speak of conteinporaries, we do not mean to designate professed courtiers only;"Cameleon race, who ever ape their lords."*
it is evident that they would desire nothing better;-but this
prince had the faculty of giving to his most culpable actions, a
dignity and grandeur by which, it appears that the gravest and
most, pious mlan were more or less influenced.
"It is the spirit of the age," said Arnauld, " even among the
* See, in the Memoirs of Macladame de Motteville, the general astonishment that the Queen Mother should object to her son's gallantries. It
was considered incomprehensible how these should render her uneasy, so
long as her influence over the young king received no check; she was
considered, indeed, very simple not to use this as a new means to confirm
her power.




AND THE KING.                        31
most enlightened."  IIe was, upon the whole, censured, but not
as any other man would have been censured.  It had become
quite customary to relate of him, as a matter of course, things
which related of any other man would have aroused general indignation.
Among the hundred letters in which Madame de Sevigne
speaks of the amours of Louis XIV., scarcely one is to be found
from which it might be inferred, that she did not look upon it all
as quite irreprehensible,-and yet she is writing to her daughter i
The scandal which he caused was, so to speak, not real scandal;
-the real harm caused by such conduct, is its liability to imitation,-.and we perceive on the contrary, that the morals of the
court were less depraved in his reign than in those of his predecessors,-even of his father,-whose prudery was carried to a
ridiculous excess.*
It has been asserted that this reformation was only an external
one.  It is true that forms are not of equal value with principles, but it would be easy to prove that principles also were improved, or at least much modified; the memoirs of the reigns of
Francis I., Henry IV., and Louis XIII. do not admit of a doubt
on this point.  Moreover, in matters of this kind, external reformation is highly important; in depriving immorality of the
right to hold high its head, Louis XIV. deprived it of its principal attraction in the eyes of the young nobility.
And if the question now be asked, how Louis XIV. had the
power and audacity, while displaying his own irregularities, to
force every one else to conceal theirs, —we must admit, that it is
indeed very strange; but history is- positive upon this point. He
was looked upon as too exalted for any one to dare take his example as a precedent.  "IHe is the only prince," says Duclos,
" whose example has never been the authority for public morals.
* Considerations sur les l]e2I-urs.




32                     T IIE PRt E A C H E R
No one would have ventured to say,' I do as he does.'  That
which no one ventured to imitate, was respected in him, as the
pagan sages adored  a corrupt and adulterous Jove."  He who
had carried off a wife from her husband, -- boldly undertook to
rebuke those who did not live regularly.  No one seemed to
contest his right to do this, or, if they did, it was so quietly that
nothing has come clown to us of it,-and in the meantime, they
obeyed.  Moreover, it was no uncommon thing for a father, or a
husband, or a wife to come to him begging him to administer a
rebuke to a reeliless son, or an unfaithful husband, or a fickle
wife.  And these things took place not in his old age, or even in
his riper years; before he had reached the age of thirty, in the
midst of his irregularities, we already see him playing this part;
it only required a word or a look from him, in order to the exercise
of all that authority of which his vices had seemed to deprive him.
Thus, the Abbe Fenaelon had only shared in the almost universal impression; few men in France, were capable of escaping so
completely as his uncle had done from the magic influence of the
king..He hastened to renew his promise that he would relrain
from presenting himself to Madame de Montespan.
" And the other?" inquired the Marquis.
"The other?"
"Yes, Madame de de la Valliere."
* " With the frightful commotion, which resounded horribly in the ears
of nations," say the memoirs of St. Simon. One would wish, for the
credit of morals, that this were true, but historically it is false. We do
not see that there was either fright or horror, there was not even much
astonishment, for men's minds were prepared for anything. " Do you
know me?" said the Marquise, one day to a peasant who saluted her. " O
yes, Mladame; is it not you who have the situation of Madame de la Vallitre." The poor man intended no malice, but his expression was perfeetly correct. The place of mistress to the king, was as much one of the
court situations, as that of equerry or confessor.. Madzame, since the king had made her Duchess of Vaujour,




AND  THE KING.                        33
"They say she is still decided to take the veil."
"Yes, so it is.  When the world will have no more of you,
you give yourself to God."
"You are severe, uncle.  It appears that her conversion is
sincere.  Monsieur de Condom, (Bossuet, then bishop of Condom,) is convinced of it, and you know, that for some time past,
he has seen a great deal of her."
"He is good security.  And then there is pardon for all sin.
Apropos, is Monsieur de Condom here?"
"Yes, since the day before yesterday.  He returned with the
dauphin."
" I have received a letter in which he is mentioned, and I wish
to show it to him."
"A letter?"
" From M. Arnauld."
"From  MA. Arnauld! Take care.  Already they are not on
the best terms."
"And a great pity it is.  This letter will probably not reconcile them,-but neither do I believe that it will further divide
them.  And Father Bourdaloue?"
The Abbe was surprised that his uncle had not spoken of him
until this moment.  Never before had Jansenist so loved Jesuit,
as AM. de F6nelon loved Bourdaloue.*  The latter, to be sure,
was scarcely a Jesuit, save in name and dress.  The most active
enemies of his order paid homage, not only to his talent, which
it would have been ridiculous to deny, but to his virtues, his gen* Except perhaps Boileau. The satirist was very proud of the friendship of the great orator.
"Enfin, apris Arnauld, ce fut l'illustre de France,
Que j'estimai le plus, et qui mn'airma le mieux."
This " aprds Arnauld" is a little like a confession of faith. Arnauld, like
Bossuet, never had more than a cold esteem for Boileau.




34                  THE PREACHER
tie and amiable qualities; the Port Royal Jesuit, as he was
called, had few enemies, save among the members of his own
fraternity. The intellect of M. de Fenelon was as exacting, as his
heart was pure and honest; thus Bourdaloue the reasoner suited
him as well as Bourdaloue the moralist and Christian.
"You will hear him," answered the Abbe. "To-morrow is
Good Friday, and he is to preach before the king."
"I know it, I know it, and for that reason I have come to
Versailles eight days sooner than I would have otherwise done.
You laugh? Well, yes,-I love him."
"I love him also, uncle,-I also; —only I love him a little less
than you do."
" A little!"
"You would prefer me to say muc]h?"
" Say it if you think it."
"Here is our old quarrel about to begin again! I have,
however, attended his preaching during the whole of this Lent."
w"ell?"
" I appreciate him better."
" That is very fortunate!"
"Yes, but-"
"Ah! always a but?"
"Always, I am sorry to say. I can but repeat to you what I
have already said of his faults-"
"He will not abandon them!"
"My dear uncle, I am serious. If his Majesty should command me to think otherwise, I could not-"
"Stop, stop i you know I do not like that phrase. His
Majesty has nothing to do with the matter."
This was, in fiact, one of the phrases which adulation had invented, in order delicately to give the king the highest idea of
his own power; it was equivalent to saying that all was in his




AND  THE KING.                       35
power excepting the impossible.  Even the impossible seemed,
however, sometimes included; for example, Moliere:Unless a mandate from the king should come,
To make these verses good.
If the mandate arrived, then the verses would be good! It is
undoubtedly a pleasantry,-but in the mouth of the misanthrope, these words are almost equivalent to a serious assertion.
"Well," said the Abbe, "let us then speak without figure.
You will not, I think, any more than the king, order me to
change my opinion.  No,-his is not the kind of preaching that I
like. I want less system and more life, fewer reasons and more-"
"Fewer reasons! As if it were possible to have too many!"
"No,-but it is possible to give too many..Let the preacher
possess thoroughly the proofs of his doctrines,-the philosophical
principles of morals,-that is all very well; let him  allow his
science to be perceived, and give here and there specimens of it,
-that also is very well, —but something else is required in the
pulpit.  All this may serve to convince, but it is persuasion
which is needed.'But in order to persuade, you must first convince.'
So said the ancient rhetoricians; and as they scarcely had anything in view save legal discussions, they were right. But, uncle,
is that what we want?  If we have another end in view, must the
choice of our means remain subjected to the same rules?  The
end, that is the great thing.  We wish to touch, to regenerate,
to save,-we cannot save by reasoning!"
He went too far; but why should we be astonished, that at
twenty-four he clothed in language somewhat exaggerated, the
oratorical system which he always professed a little too absolutely?  We shall have to return to this in the course of our his



36                    THE PREACHER
tory; let us confine ourselves at present to the remark, that man
is neither all head nor all heart; and that the christian orator
ought, in consequence, neither to neglect the heart for the head,
nor the head for the heart.  Bourdaloue addressed himself too
exclusively to the intellect. Flenelon fell into the other extreme,
and it is, therefore, that he secretly imade a rule that he would
never write his sermons.  It is true that he lost less by it than
any one else would have done; the abundance of his ideas, —the
astonishing facility of his elocution, the force of his character,
all this contributed, with him, to diminish the evils of this
method, —but it was no reason why he should insist upon advising all to follow a method, good at the furthest for himself
and a few other men of remarkable talent.  Let us however,
add, for the sake of justice, that it is an error which honors him;
less really modest, he would have been less peremptory;* he
would have comprehended better than any one else, that it
was folly to exact from all orators, that which could be done by
himself.
There was, however, a great deal of justice in this manner of
regarding the eloquence of the pulpit.  "We cannot save by
reasoning'," he had just remarked; and truly enough, the more
the human heart is studied,-provided it be not rhetorically
studied,-the more one is astonished to see how really feeble are
these arms forged by the vulcans of logic with a great noise.
If we are called upon to use them, we fancy themn invincible. If
it be against us that they are employed, we scarcely feel the
shock.  Many an orator imagines himself striking a terrible
blow in employing an argument, which he himself may have
heard twenty times, without experiencing the slightest emotion.
* See his dialogues on eloquence, written about this epoch. In the
second, palticularly, in speaking of improvisation,-it is his own portrait which he traces.




AND  THE  KING.                      37
And if it be thus in all kinds of eloquence, what will it be in
that of the pulpit?  You are at least certain that the judge
before whom  you may plead, will decide.  It is his duty, his
calling; however perplexed he may be,-whatever wish he may
have to leave the affair undecided, he cannot.  In preaching, it
is another thing.  That which you most have to dread, is, not
that your hearer will decide against you, but that he will not decide at all.*  Nothing is easier than to bring him round to your
opinion,-most frequently indeed, lie agrees with you before you
have opened your lips,-but to bring him  seriously to say yes,
and above all, to remember this yes, and to act upon it, that is
the difficult, and often, alas! the impossible point.
And this, Fenelon, although very young, had known a long
time, from experience.
" The passions have a logic of their own," he continued;
"they do not believe themselves in any wise bound to follow the
preacher on his own ground. It is a great error to believe one's
self victorious because the audience may be unable to find a reply.  Do you know the story of the peasant and the usurer?"
" No."
"It is somewhat hackneyed, but good.  M. Tronsonf cited it
to us frequently.  A peasant goes one day to a usurer, in order
to borrow some money of him. The usurer is setting off for
church. The peasant accompanies him; the business will be
transacted upon their return.  By chance the sermon turns upon
usury,-a thundering sermon.  They return home after church,
* "Bourdaloue would, without doubt, have gained his cause, if he had
plead it before the councillors of parliament, doing justice at their'tribunal; but these same councillors, seated before the pulpit of the vehement
Jesuit, were like different men, and their conduct decided against him
whom they called' the Thunderer.' "-Observations on Pulpit Eloquence.
f Superior of the Seminary of St. Sulpice.
4




38                    THIE PREACHER
and the peasant makes a motion to go away.  The usurer recalls him; he hesitates.' What is the matter.' asks the usurer.
The peasant stares;'But-but-the sermon.'' Come, come,'
cries the usurer,'the Cure has followed his business, why should
not I follow mine?' "
"What does that prove?" asked the marquis.'Much, uncle, much.  It proves, in the first place, what I was
just saying.  Do you suppose that the usurer boasted of having
anything to reply to the arguments he had just heard?  No,
certainly not; and nevertheless, he went on his way.  What is
to be concluded from'this, if not, that the club of the orator had
missed the mark?  I confess that the story is a little strong,
perhaps it is not authentic; but what matter?  It is not always
necessary that an anecdote should be true, to be instructive.
Besides there are not wanting instances, analogous and but too
true. Ah! what bitter discouragement would seize the preacher
if, at the close of the sermon, he could read the hearts even of
those whom  he may have supposed to be the most impressed.
One has retained a striking portrait,-in it he recognizes his
neighbor, his friend, his enemy,-indeed everybody except himself, and yet-this portrait is-his own!  Another has retained
some ideas, important, perhaps, and judiciously drawn from  the
ensemble of the discourse, but in which, it does not enter his
mind to see anythling more than ideas, theories; and it is well
in fact, if he does not confine himself to regarding them as mere
phrases.*  The greater number, indeed, have remembered noth* "One day, in the presence of Balzac, the Abbe de St. Cyran happened
to touch upon certain truths which he developed with great force. Balzac, intent upon gaining from this some beautiful thought, to enshrine at
some future period in a page of his own, could not help exclaiming,'That is admirable,' contenting himself with admiring, without applying
anything to himself.' M. de Balzac,' said the abb6,'is like a man, who,
standing before a superb mirror, which showed him a stain on his face,




AND  THE KIING.                       39
ing at all, and do not even seem to imagine, that any one comes
with the intention of doing so; ideas, arguments, images, all
have passed before them  as before a mirror; you will find no
trace left. And the preacher himself, when he has once ascertained how it is, what zeal, what confidence in God will he not
need, to hinder him  from  giving way mechanically to the idea,
that he preaches only for the sake of preaching, just as the others
listen for the mere purpose of hearing! It is true that they generally listen with attention,-even with interest,-but the discourse once over, all is over. Then-"
"My decar nephew, I will confess, that I have nothing to
reply to all this, but also, that I am not convinced by it. You
have reason on your side, am I on that account wrong?"
"And I am not on your side, then?"
"Not at all. A  sermon has two objects, and you only mention one."
"Two objects l"
Yes.  One, a special object, that is to say, an object directly
connected with the particular subject of the discourse; which is,
perhaps, some truth to be believed, or vice to be shunned, or
virtue to be acquired l;-the other, a general object, more vague,
but likewise of more grandeur;-it aims at elevating the soul,making it breathe a purer air than that of the earth.  Do you
understand mne now.'
"You mean to say, that if I have for instance to preach upon
lying, my hearer should go away with two impressions, one
relative to lying, and what is faulty in this vice,-the other,
should content himself with admiring the beauty of the mirror, without
removing the stain,' Balzac was more deligohted than ever, with this, and
forgetting the lesson altogether in his attention to the manner of it,' Ah,'
he cried, louder than ever,' that is more admirable than all the rest."'St. Beuve. Port Royal. Book iii.




40                   TIIE PREACHER
purely a sentiment of edification, independent of the subject, and
tile result only of the fact that my discourse is a godly discourse,
no matter on what subject.  Is not that your idea?"
"Exactly.  One should be able to forget even that you have
preached upon lying, and yet draw some benefit from your discourse.  Well! all that you have said is true as regards the first
of my two objects. It is clear, that if pride prevents me from
recognizing myself in the portrait which you have drawn of the
liar, your sermon will be useless to me, so far as it is a sermon
on lying,-but do you not see, that it can still be of service to
me as an edifying discourse, from the sole fact of having directed
my mind for a certain length of time upon a serious or christian
subject? And to speak plainly, the more I think of it, the more
I am persuaded that the results of preaching are almost always
— confined to this. I know very well, that many a liar may be
mentioned to me, corrected by a sermon on lying, and many a
usurer profitably alarmed by a sermon on usury; therefore I
have said almost always and not always; but for one man upon
whom you may have had the happiness thus to exercise a direct
or definite eject, there are a hundred, perhaps a thousand, as it
may be, upon whom you can only act indirectly and vaguely.
They came to church without troubling themselves as to the
subject which you would select, and they leave without troiubling themselves as to the one you have taken, and yet all is not
lost. The field has not received or reproduced the particular
kind of seed which you wished on this day to sow, but it has
been cultivated, and that is always something."
"Certainly," said Fenelon, " and I am glad, that having commenced with an idea so dissimilar from mine, you end by so
nearly agreeing with me. All that you have just said, I have
many a time said to myself. It is sad, but true; what is to be
done? And since it is not in our'power to have such hearers




AND  THE  KING.                        41
as we would wish, and such as they should be in order that
preaching should bring forth its proper fruits, let us take them
as they are given us; the field is grand enough as it is.  But it
is precisely because the direct object is so often missed, and because the object of the sermon is confined for the great majority,
to a vague impression, for that very reason, I say, I would not
have the direct effort too much run after, or too much importance set on the arguments which seem to conduct thither."
"In this sense I grant it; but you will admit also, that it
would not be well to say this to young preachers.  It would
open too wide a door to vague ideas, amplifications, and discoursings without order or vigor."
" Possibly.  Do you think I flatter myself that I always avoid
this stumbling-block?  Therefore I should talke care never to
express this idea, without surrounding it by the restrictions
which I feel it needs.  I would never say-' I-lasten to quit details, in order'to launch into general considerations, finish your
reasoning quickly, in order to come to sentiment.'  But this I
should say,'Let there be a feeling beneath every one of your
arguments;-* let edification ever walk hand in hand with instruction.'  You see it is not necessary to proscribe argument
and proofs, but to arrange, so that in the very probable case
where the hearer does not recollect these, his heart will preserve
an impression of them in default of his head.  And in this it is,
that Father Bourdaloue is wanting.  If eloquence be the art of
reasoning,i he is the most eloquent man of the age; if it be the
art of touching the soul, I will venture to say, that with far less
talent, one might be more eloquent than he.  You, a grave and' "St. Augustine is touching even when he lays down his points." —
FENELON'S " )icalogue~s on Efloquzece."
"He is quite able to convince, but I scarcely know any preacher who
less persuades and touches you."-FENELON. PX. lpit Eloquence.




42                   THE PREA CIER
learned man, accustomed to follow the thread of an argument,
and to retain it the better, the closer it is drawn, youz lose nothling of his sermons, and you are inclined to judge them only the
more favorably, the more they offer to your memory for retention.  If I could take upon myself to listen to them in this spirit,
I should partake of your admiration. But a sermon is for everybody. If you would judge of it properly, put yourself in the
position of the mass of hearers.  And, in order to do this, it is
not enough for you to suppose yourself much less learned than
you really ale.  The true characteristic of the mass is, that they
judge by impression; now, judge by mere impression, and you
will have put yourself in their situation, and your judgment will
start from the only point of view which is proper or true in this
case.  Has not Cicero himself said, that, a discourse which does
not obtain the approbation of the people, is unworthy of that of
the learned    V With much more reason then, must we say this
of a sermon.  Once more, put yourself in the place of the mass."
"It is easy to say."
"And still easier to do, be assured. You never hear a sermon
that you do not do this without suspecting it.  Seated in the
preacher's presence, there are two men in you; the well-informed
man, who is about to decide the discourse to be either well or
badly written, well or badly delivered, and the natural man, who
will either open or shut his heart to the impressions of the word
of God. Well, what I ask of you is, to consult rather the second
than the first.  Ah, we only consult it too much, when it is a
question of escaping from the consequences of the best established
truths; let us then consult it a little, when the matter is, to know
what the sermon ought to be. Let us consult it in regard to
Father Bourdaloue's sermons. All these arguments which you
remember so well, what remains if they are forgotten? Very
little, you must confess.  And how manay sermons there are, of




AND THE KING.                       43
which still less would remain, since those who preach them have
often the same fault, and yet are far from possessing the same
talent."
"But then," said M. de Fenelon, with a little embarrassment,
"how is his success to be explained? For really it is not at
court only that he is loved and admired. Last year, at Paris,
when he was to preach in the evening, Nlotre Dame was crowded from early in the morning; when he was to preach in the
morning, people passed the night in the church. An hour before the seimon you would meet thousands going away without
having been able to enter. I do not see how that agrees exactly
with your criticism, that he does not preach for the people."
"I said that he failed in the true end; I have never denied
that lie displays in his means, an extraordinary copiousness, art
and genius. The enthusiasm of the crowd only proves one
thing to me; that the crowd like himself, is deceived and takes
the means for the end. If they knew better what a sermon
should be, and what effect it should leave behind, they would be
of my opinion. Believe me, in this respect, we ale neither so
enlightened, nor above all, so christianized as we imagine. Because we no longer hear quotations from Horace and Virgil,nor the mingling of gods and saints in the sermon, —we are
ready to felicitate our orators, as if they had entirely succeeded
in throwing off their profane yoke; because it is no longer permeitted to make points, and because antithesis is more sparingly
used, it is believed that there is no more idle exercise of the
wits, and the good people fancy that they hear everything in the
world which is most grave and christian. Father Bourdaloue
gives them indeed, better than any other, the kind of nourishment
which they come for; but is what they come for, good? And
if it be not,-do you think it becomes so fiom the fact that it is
seized with avidity  I know very well, that the appearance of




44                   THE PREACHER
a great crowd reacts favorably upon each one of the persons
composing it; many a sermon which would appear cold and lifeless if preached before a hundred persons, may seem  eloquent
before six thousand; but this is the very thing which would
not happen if this discourse were the right sort of sermon.  It
would have its life within itself; it would dispense with the aid
of external emotions. Add to all this infatuation, fashion-"
"Fashion!" cried M. de F'n6lon.
"Does it not always count for something in all the successes
of this world, even the most legitimate?"
"; But infatuation! infatuation! do you really know of whom
you are speaking?"
"Of a man whom I admire almost as much as you do. But
I call all admiration infatuation, when it goes beyond its just
limits.  One may be infatuated with a great man* as well as
with a fool. Add this, I say, and you will no longer ask why
Nc6tre Dame was so full."
"There is a reputation admirably demolished!"
"Oh no,-I demolish nothing.  I do not pretend to deprive
him of his; I only point out the reputation at which I think he
would have done better to aim, and your very annoyance proves
to me that I am not entirely wrong; you have too much judgment and too much piety not to enter in some degree into my
idea. Then I have still one justice to render him; it is, that he
is quite sincere. If he has adopted this path, it is because his
peculiar quality of mind has led him into it; and if he remains
in it, it is not to cultivate the popularity there acquired, but only
because he cannot do otherwise."
"I shall not go back to your criticisms, —they contain both
truth and error.  But you will grant, that Father Bourdaloue
W "We praise the man who is praised, far more than his praiseworthy
qualities."-LA BrUYEraE.




AND  THE  KING.                        45
would not have much to do to make them fall to the ground.
With a little more warmth, some modificatioins of style-"
"Style! style! why all writers will tell you, that it is the very
thing which can least of all be changed.  A man's style is nearly
as much a part of him as his physiognomy, his figure, the throbbings of his pulse,-in short, as any part of his being which is
the least subjected to the action of the will. A man cannot
change his style,-the most he can succeed in doing is to travesty
it.  Thus, the expression change of style, signifies nothing more
than change of subject;-mit has been felt that it would be false,
if the first meaning were left to it.  With a mind naturally argumentative, the style must be argumentative.  It cannot be
otherwise; the warmth which may be forced into it, will be a
warmth of words, of exclamation points, —not a real and living
warmth.  If the writer respect himself, he will not even attempt
this, he will prefer remaining cold, to growing thus mechanically
ardent."'*
" Upon the whole, then, you do not even grant that Father
Bourdaloue can acquire what he fails in now.  Whether you
are right or wrong, you must confess that this is somewhat bold,
and he would be surprised enouglh, I think, if he should ever
know —-)'
" But uncle," said the Abbe, smiling, " who says that he does
not know?"
"Let us now change our style, O Muse, and leave satire."
BOILEAU, Sat. vii.
There is often much philosophy in the modifications which usage gives
to the meaning of words, and this at the very epoch when the best
writers do not seem to imagine that there exists a philosophy of language.
When Buffon said " the style is the man," lie only put into words the
truth which had unconsciously been the starting-point more than a century before for an alteration in the sense of the expression, "cltange of
style."




46                 THE PREACHER
"You have dared-you-"
He was stupefied. However, beneath this air of rebuke, there
might have been perceived at these last words, the dawn of a
sentiment of joy, perhaps of pride. M. de Fenelon was much
more sensible than he wished to appear, to the growing reputation of his nephew. In giving him grave lessons on pride, he
was in the meantime enchanted to be able to say to himself, that
the young man had good reason to think somewhat of himself;
and particularly at this moment, however vexed to find his
opinions dissented from, he was really proud to have as nephew
a man who had not recoiled before a Bourdaloue. In learning
how far he had dared, the old soldier almost pardoned his having
dared at all.
"What!" he exclaimed. "You have said to him all that
you have just been saying to me? You said it to him?"
" Not all, perhaps, but I said a great many other things to
him."
"And it was his good pleasure to listen to you?"
" Why not?"
"And he took the trouble to answer you?"
" If he had been able "
"If he had been able! WVould you have me believe perchance, that you had the advantage l"
"The advantage, —no,-I should take care not to use that
word. But I can assure you, that I found him-on many
points-"
"Well?"
" 3More tractable than you."
"He admits that lie reasons too muclh?"
"l Ie does."
"He confesses that he lacks warmth? that his sermons do not
leave the impression on the mind which they ought?"




AND THE KING.                     47
"He lamented it bitterly in my presence; he told me that
this idea haunted him- "
"But this is treason!" cried the old man;'"and I was defending him, and I would have fought for him!"
" But are you going to attribute to him as a crime, the fact,
that his triumphs do not prevent him from being modest, and that
he has the good sense not to think himself perfection? It seems
to me, that all this honors you both,-you, for having put so
much warmth into your defence of an excellent priest,-him, for
having received with so good a grace the counsels of a young
man. Come, you will soon esteem him only the more for it;
and be sure that he will return you the like, for I shall tell him,
as you may imagine-"
" You shall tell him nothing,-you shall take me to see him.
I have been wishing to know him for three or four years, and I
have always put it off,-I do not know why."
To-day if you will."
"This evening, then. But who are these gentlemen?"




CHAPTER II.
THE COUNCIL OF THE PHILOSOPHERS. —BOSSUET, RENAUDOT, FLEURY, LANGERON,
COLDEMOY, FLECHIER, ETC.-COMMENTARIES OF BOSSUET.-IDISCUSSION OF
TIIE STRUCTURE OF PULPIT DISCOURSES.-BOURDALOUE S STYLE AGAIN.
THIIRTY paces before them, in the avenue which our two speakers had just entered, five or six ecclesiastics were slowly walking.
Their motions appeared regulated by those of a dignified personage-a bishop, to judge from  his violet mantle.  As they had
their backs to the two Fenelons, the latter were not at first perceived by them, and the Abbe had leisure to satisfy the curiosity
of his uncle.
" These are the philosophers," he answered.
"In truth, one might fancy it Plato and the Academicians.
But I never read that Plato was attended by a valet-"
"Take care, uncle! your Plato is M. Bossuet, and the folio
volume which the valet carries, is the Bible."
The name philosophers was in truth, that generally given by
the court to the pious and learned men with whom Bossuet associated.  Singular fate of certain words!  This word, which
one hundred years later, was to designate the destroyers of
morals and religion, and which we no longer dare use without
qualification, lest it should have the air of an insult, still retained
at this epoch all the nobleness of its ancient signification, and all
the purity of its christian sense.
The idea had occurred to Bossuet, of giving to their prome



THE  PREACHER  AND  TIIE  KING.                 49
nades,' especially on Sundays and fete-days, a more particular
interest than that simply of conversations on any subjects which
accidentally presented themselves. So they read a chapter in
the Old Testament, and then each one made his remarks.
The Abbe Renaudot,* one of the first orientalists of the day,
addressed himself particularly to the critical examination of the
text, the Abbe de Langeron to the questions of general history;
the Abbe Fleury to those of ecclesiastical history; the Abbe de
Cordemoy to doctrinal questions; his father,f a great Cartesian,
to metaphysical; the Abb6 Flechier to the figures and the style,
and the Abbe de la Brone,t a tolerable poet, and former laureate of the floral games, to the poetry.  There was also the Abb6
de St. Luc, son of the marshal of this name; the Abbe de Longerne,~ and some others.  Later,-for these reunions lasted
twenty-five years, —men of all ranks and conditions were admitted; Racine and La Bruyere among the number.  It is vexatious to be obliged to add, that fashion finally intruded into
the society.  When the king took up religion, there was great
eagerness to be received among the philosophers.
The life and soul of these meetings, was Bossuet.  Although
several of those whom  we have just mentioned were more
learned, each inl his own department, than Bossuet, it was wonderful to perceive how each one submitted to the influence of-his
genius, and preserved the position of a disciple.  lie, on his side,
* Born in 1646, died in 1723. It is to him that Boileau addressed his
epistle on " The love of God."
j Reader to the dauphin, in whose service Bossuet had placed him.
We have by him a "t Iristory of Charlenagyne," and a " History of France,"
continued by his son.
$ Nomllinated Bishop of Mirepoix in 1679 in consequence of a sermon
preached before the king. He played a part also in the dispute concerning the Bull.
~ Famous for his originality and roughness of manner.
5




50                  THE  PREACHER
with that urbane ease which is given by the consciousnes. of undisputed dominion, commonly interfered only in order to decide
something; but —unless forced by his subject to do so-he
avoided deciding for or against any one, and confined himself
to bringing out, by means of a lucid summary of the whole, that
which was best in the remarks of each. The results of the discussion were noted down durling the meeting, on the margin of
one of Vitre's large Bibles, from whence Bossuet scrupled not
afterwards to take all that he needed for his works. We do not,
however, find that any of those who had thus contributed, ever
complained of this; it appears, on the contrary, that they were
proud to bring their anonymous materials to all that he built, or
wished to build.
Often, indeed, they brought him more extended notes, upon
which he drew with no more ceremony than he employed in
regard to those in his Bible. His glory received no injury from
this; it might have been said, that all belonged'to him, in right
of his genius.  The Protestants alone, thought of remarking,
that this right resembled a great deal too much the right of the
strongest; and perhaps there was some reason in this remark.
But what purpose does it serve, to be right in the face of popular
favor? Go and tell the French, that the Genevese Dumont and
some others wrote the orations of Mirabeau! They will laugh
in your face, and perhaps, too, they will not be altogether wrong.
When Mirabeau ascended the tribune, it signified nothing
whether his discourse was by some one else or not; as soon as
three sentences of it had been pronounced by him, it -was his
own, and could no longer belong to any other besides him.
Thus it was that Bossuet made use of other people's ideas.
But to return to our philosophical promenades.  They had
commenced two years earlier, at St. Germain, and had been continued at Versailles during the summers of 1673 and 1674. This




AND TtHE KING.                     51
was the first meeting of 1675; accordingly, the Council, as it
was called, was not complete. It had often numbered as many
as twelve members, and we have already said that on this day
there were but five or six. This was because the meeting had
not been announced beforehand. It had been suddenly resolved
that they should profit by an afternoon of fine weatlher, and were
not sorry, noreover, to make a beginning on so solemn a day as
Shrove Tuesday.
The Fenelons quickened their steps, and were soon able to
seize the subject of the conversation. This was not an intrusion
on their part, since the nephew generally attended this conference, and the uncle was very intimate with Bossuet.
They had taken up the book of Isaiah, at the same place
where they had left off,; the previous autumn. This was at the
fourteenth chapter. The Abb6 Fleury had read it aloud, and
the discussion had just commenced. But on this occasion Bossuet, contrary to his usual custom, was the first to take the subject. He felt an impulse to express the profound impression
which this superb chapter had made upon him.
"How many grand things it contains!" le exclaimed.  "If
the author were a poet only, I would say that this was his masterpiece. You may find in some other chapters, equal,-perhaps
greater richness; but it seems to me that there is none where
the grandeur of the arrangement is more suited to the majesty
of the details. It is not simply an isolated passage, nor is it
even an ode;-it is a whole poem. The more you study it, the
more you will be convinced that nothing is wanting."
And he proceeded to give them a rough sketch of its plan and
execution.
It would indeed be difficult to find anything, even in the Bible,
superior to this chapter. It is the one where the prophet, apostrophizing a king who is just dead,-descends with him into the




52                  THE PREACHER
depths of hell, to proclaim the nothingness of his glory, and to
sing the release of the nations which had groaned beneath his
yoke. From Augustine to Bossuet,-from Jerome to Dr. Lowth,
from Sidonius to the two Racines, the world has had but one
voice to admire this chapter; —and where is even the infidel,if he still retain an appreciation of the beautiful and poetical,who will refuse to join the chorus?
It is vexatious that Bossuet's Commentaries on the Old Testament,-although for the most part prepared and written down
subsequently to these conversations, should give us but a very
imperfect idea of what was said. Do not, in these notes, expect either poetry or eloquence. You will scarcely find a few
words, here and there, from which you may conjecture, that the
sublimity of the text has not escaped the commentator. They
are Comnentaries, in the strictest sense of the word, and the
author even seems to have confined himself to commenting as a
philologist rather than a theologian.  We wish that it could be
truly said, that these notes are of great value in a philological
point of view; but unfortunately this is not the case. Bossuet
did not understand Hebrew; he studied it subsequently,-but
scarcely went beyond the first elements. The Abb6 Renaudot,
whom he familiarly called his lexicon,-knew just as much of it
as the other scholars of the day,-that is to say-little enough
in comparison with what has since been known; the study of
the oriental languages being then almost as much in its infancy
as that of the natural sciences. Thus, Bossuet generally confined
himself to the Latin text and the Septuagint.  What really
solid structure could be raised on a basis of knowledge which
would not in our day content the humblest German scholar?
He is, accordingly, but rarely quoted by the commentators of the
present day. However, if these notes contain but little true
-learning, they also contain fewer errors than might be imagined.




AND  THE KING.                      53
There was a certain depth of logic and reason in the author's
mind, which supplied his want of learning. This can be most
convincingly seen, for instance, in a little treatise on anato'my,
which he wrote for the education of the Dauphin.  There
are many things lacking in this, which Bossuet did not know,which were not known at all then; yet there is nothing, or
scarcely anything, which- does not agree more or less with
subsequent discoveries.
The accusation of dryness may remain then. But in these
conversations, where he did not consider himself obliged to be
learned,-at least not to be learned only, the commentator was
merged in the poet, and the learned man in the man of genius.
He followed fiequently in the footsteps of the prophets, to a'
height, which it seemed as if none other excepting them had
ever yet reached.
In the meantime our two friends continued to approach the
group. At the end of the avenue they joined it, and after the
first salutations the Marquis said:" Continue, gentlemen, I beg. But perhaps I have no righta layman —"
"A layman," said Bossuet, " to whom we could wish that all
priests should bear a resemblance.  Besides, you are not the only
one; here is M. Pelisson —"
The Marquis bowed, but very coldly.
He had at first rejoiced, like all the Roman Catholics of
"France, at the conversion (in 1670,) of so distinguished a man;
but when he saw him become the enemy of his former brethren,
and receive without the least shame, the price of his zeal against
them, lie ceased to esteem him. Some one remarking one day
in his presence, that God had showed great mercy to Pelisson in
wresting him  from  the dominion of error;-" A  very great
mercy," replied M. de F6nelon, " since he was so fortunate as,..




54                    THE PREACHER
to open his eyes precisely at the time when his conversion would
confer upon him the greatest amount of favor and money."  It
was a little like the history of Henry IV., enlightened in like
manner, at the very Inomnent when it was the most his interest to
be so.  Another thing which M. de Felnlon could not forgive
him, was the species of adoration which he had since bestowed
upon the king.  After having, by his courageous defence of
Fouquet, attracted the admiration of France and Europe, he
gradually became one of the most servile courtiers of this monarch, to whom one might have believed that he would never say
anything but the boldest truths.  As early as 1671, in a discourse delivered at the Academy on the occasion of the reception of Archbishop de Harlay, he had, in praise of the king,
exhausted all the refinements of rhetoric and adulation.  The
king himself, it was asserted, had been put out of countenance;
and truly it was not a little thing, in the way of praise, which
could embarrass him.  The orator asks,-' Was there then, some
extraordinary revolution in the heavens, at the birth of Louis
XIV., some new conjunction or constellation,* —since,' he adds,'it is certain and indisputable, that kings are our stars, and
* He could have ascertained this fact, had he been anxious, —for there
exists an engraving of 1638, representing "I/ie solar system at the mtonment of the birth of tAe Dauphin, the 5th of Sept., at twenty minutes (after
eleven in the eveningl." The littleness of men! It would, however, be
true to say, that the birth of Louis XIV. was received, if not by the stars,
at least by Europe, as something great and providential. Louis XIII. was
dying, the race of the Bourbons was about to become extinct. When it
was known, that after having been married twenty years, without children, the queen was about to present the nation with a sovereign, the
nations said,
"A great man is to be born i"
as in Victor Hugo's ode on the birth of the King of Rome. These recollections were not without their influence upon the glory of Louis XIV.'s
reign.




AND  THE  KING.                     55
their looks our influences.' And his friend had been in prison
ten years! And the king whom he thus flattered, was not yet
surrounded by all the glory, real or fictitious, which his subsequent flatterers were able to allege as an excuse for their baseness. It will be seen, that this was more than enough to deprive
him of the esteem of M. de F6nelon.
"M. Peilisson," continued Bossuet, "often does us the honor
to join us."
"And the presence of a layman, in a religious discussion, is no
disadvantage," said the Abbe de la Broue.  "We churchmen
are all more or less inclined to look only on the theological side
of things; a layman is less in danger of forgetting their practical
side, and the very idea that he listens to us, forces us to remember it also."
"Yes," said the Abbe Fleury, "it reminds us that theology is
a means, not an end; that the doctors are for the church, not
the church for the doctors.  It is vexatious that so many preachers forget this. And yet laymen are present when we are
preaching; we are even supposed to preach only at and for
them. In spite of that, how many theological sermons we hear!
And even among those which are not so much so as to dishearten the hearers, still how many are the discourses where there
is still great room for improvement on this point."
"It would not suffice to change the main point," resuined the
Abb6 de la Broue, " if the form be not changed as well. In vain
you would banish all scholastic ideas,-if you have the unlucky
faculty of giving a scholastic air to the simplest things, it is all
the same to the mass of hearers; you will either not be understood, or you will be listened to by the head alone, while the
heart will remain closed.  If our orators employed all the time
in seeking for good ideas, which they lose in arranging and
often in spoiling the few they have,-what a change, what an im



56                    THE  PREACIIER
provement there would be! I do not know whether I may venture to say so, but it seems to me, that Father Bourdaloue-"
" Here is something for you, nephew," said the marquis in a
low voice.
"Or rather for you, uncle," replied F6nelon.
" —that Father Boulrdaloue,"   continued the abbe, "is not a
model in this respect-"
"That man will always be our superior in all things," interrupted Bossuet.
Was he sincere?  Could he seriously believe himself inferior
to the man for whom he had paved the way?*  We cannot tell;
but he had already expressed himself in this manner several
times in regard to him; it is even asserted, that he said as much
ten years afterwards, on the occasion of the funeral oration of
the Prince de Condie delivered by Bourdaloue, and so inferior to
the one which he himself delivered some days after.
" No offence to the modesty of M. de Condom," said the Abbe
Renaudot, " but I am of your opinion, M. de la Broue.  Not that
I have any difficulty in following M. Bourdaloue through the ingenious labyrinth into which it pleases him to plunge.  Besides,
if I should happen for an instant to lose the thread, it is so certain that he will hold fast to it, and will not lose it, that I could
still with pleasure close my eyes, and abandon myself to the torrent of ideas.  Shall I confess it?  I am entertained by it; but
when I remind myself, that I am not there to be entertained, I
go away saddened;-I pity those poor people who, less accus* There is no commoner literary error, nor yet one more palpable,
than that which makes Mascaron and Bourdaloue anterior to Bossuet.
The latter was five years older than Bourdaloue, and seven years older
than Mascaron; and besides having commenced his career very young, he
was known at least ten years before they were. It is upon the authority
of Voltaire and Thonmas, that this singular anachronism has crept even
into very recent works.




AND  THE  KING.                        57
tomled than we are, to niceties of language, cannot enjoy even
this useless pleasure.  Do you recollect, for instance, gentlemen,
his beautiful sermon on final impenitence?"
"I noted down the plan of it," said Fen6lon.
"And did you not remark-"
" M. l'Abbe," said the marquis, quickly, "my nephew  made
only too many remarks.  Do not encourage him in it, I beg.'
"Let him speak.  If he goes too far we will stop him."
"I shall not go too far; I shall say nothing.  But listen to
the plan; and I do not promise even to get through with that.*
The first, die in a state of actual impenitence; the second, without any feeling of penitence; the last, in the delusion of a false
penitence.  The first are the most criminal, the second the most
unhappy; the third are neither so criminal as the first, nor so
unhappy as the second; they are, however, unhappy because
they are blinded, and criminal.because they are sinners.  I shall
accordingly, call the impenitence of the first, a criminal impenitence,-that of the second, an unhappy impenitence,-that of
the third, a disguised impenitence.  And after having delineated
these three characters, I shall add three reflections.t  An impenitent life conducts to criminal impenitence at death, by the way
of inclination; this is my first part. An impenitent life conducts
to unhappy impenitence at death, by the way of punishment;
L* iterally true.
f " Preachers always have, from an indispensable and geometrical necessity, three subjects worthy of your attention. You will, in the first place,
be convinced of a certain truth, and this is their first division, —of another
truth, and this is their second division,-then of a third truth, and this is
their third division; so that the first reflection will instruct you in one
of the most fundamental duties of your religion,-the second in a principle not less'important, and the third and last, in a third and last principle, the most important of all, which is, however, postponed for want
of time, to a future occasion."-LA BRUYERE.




58                    THE PREACHER
this is my second division.  An impenitent life conducts to disguised impenitence at death, by the way of deception; this is
my third division."
"What a memory i" they exclaimed.
"Take care, gentlemen," remarked Fenelon, "you cannot compliment me on my memory, without yourselves criticizing him
who has furnished me with such an opportunity for exercising it."
Smilingly they exchanged significant glances.
"He is right," said the Abbe' Renaudot, " and it would not be
so bad, if this were a. rare' instance; but passages of this sort
are not uncommon in the sermons of Father Bourdaloue;-it
may even be asserted that this is generally his style.*  It is accordingly not astonishing, that he has such difficulty in learning
his sermons, such fear of losing a single word.  Pages written in
this way must be memorized like the Lord's Prayer.. Let a single idea escape you,-all is lost; drop a single link and you are
at a loss where to take it up again.  From  this course proceeds
the inexpressible anguish, which our illustrious friend never fails
to experience until he reaches the last word of his sermon.  IIis
eyes almost always closed, his motions uneasy,-his sentences too
fast or too slow,-his gestures often unsuited to his subject,everything betrays the prodigious effort of memory which is an
actual torture to himself, and to those who are so unfortunate as
to perceive it. Moreover, he does not attempt to conceal it from
himself; he submits to it, as the sailor to his oar, and the peasant
to his plough.  It is not until after he has preached the same
discourse several times, that he begins to be confident, and
* See, as a curiosity in this style, the plan of Bourdaloue's Panegyric
of John, tlhe Baptist. "I do not know," says Maury, "either among the
ancients or moderns, any plan of an eulogy, which can be compared with
the arrangement of this discourse. Religion alone can furnish such a road
ft eloquence."
Yes, the religion of the scholastics, but surely not Christianity.




AND  THE KING.                      59
himself to join a little in the pleasure which his words confer
upon us."
"In truth," remarked one of the party, "it is a pity to think,
that a man who enables you to pass an hour so replete with instruction and interest, should pass it himself in anguish,-in a
feverish state of torture.  WVith a better memory-"
" I-Ie does not complain of his memory," said the Abbe de la
Broue.  "H I-e would be unjust if he did; I do not believe that
there are many who would succeed as well as he does in getting
through such long discourses so prodigiously filled with ideas.
But it seems to me, that if he had no other motive, this very
fatigue would have induced him  to change his style of composition. For my own part,-if I may venture to adduce my own
case after that of such a man,-I have always noticed, that those
sermons into which I had put more feeling than thought, —at
which I had labored rather with my heart than my head, gave
me scarcely any trouble to learn, and, that on the contrary, those
in which, either from  the subject, or from  nly own fault, the
mind had predominated over the heart, were memorized slowly,
and with labor.* Again, and most important in this connection, I have also remarked, that the first,-those which I had
memorized without trouble, produced the most impression, and
gained me the most commendation; not perhaps, from those
frivolous hearers whose approbation is worth very little, but
from  pious and serious people. Furthermore, I have several
times happened to discover, that even those who only came to
hear a rhetorical discourse, went away again, confessing that a
christial discourse was of far more value. Finally, I have had
* " When the orator studies his sermon, he is the first judge of it. Experience shows him, that those passages which he has the most trouble in
learning, are those which least deserve to be learnt." —MAURY. Pulpit
Eloquence.




60                   THE -PREA  HER
occasion to make the same observation in respect to the memory
of all classes, ignorant or learned, pious or not, —that I have in
regard to my own, viz. that it is illcomparably quicker and more
retentive, when anything comes into it through the heart than
when it comes through the head.  The preacher, however, is always inclined to fancy the contrary when he is composing his
sermon.  It seems to him, that the more his subject is divided
and subdivided, the clearer it will be; that the more minute the
morsels into which the nourishment is separated, the more will
be gained from it. Error! error!*  When I see him thus exercising his ingenuity in parcelling out some grand and beautiful
idea,-I fancy I see a man to whom  a huge stone has been
given in order to break down a door, and who,-instead of
throwing it with all his might against the obstacle to be vanquished,-exhausts himself in breaking up the missile, and in
throwing it piece by piece.  There is the same difference between
a methodical sermon and an eloquent one, as between a chessboard and a picture.  In vain might the frame of the chess-board
be perfectly beautiful,-in vain, by a refinement of luxury, might
each square be ornamented with a different little picture; you
would praise the skill and industry of the workman,-but if any,one told you that he relied upon your memory to retain the arrangement and the subjects of all these little designs, —would
you not be considerably astonished? Would you not say, that
the very regularity of the plan, by preventing your fixing your
eye upon any one square rather tlan another, rendered it impossible for you to carry away a distinct and settled idea of it? The
workman himself, would probably not without difficulty accomnplish that which was required of you."
Ws "What preparations for a sermon of three quarters of an hour! The
more they strive to digest,and explain it, the more I am perplexed."-LA
BaUr UYRE.




AND  THE  KING.                      61
"I like your comparison," said the Marquis.  "Allow me,
however, to add one limitation.  Does not the difficulty of learning by heart proceed sometimes from  quite an opposite reason?
You speak only of those sermons which are too full, too compact; those which are not enough so would have the same disadvantage, it seems to me."
"Doubtless," replied the Abbe.  "Accordingly, I do not mean
to say, that the less a discourse have, of logical regularity, the
more easily it will impress itself upon the memory of author and
hlearer.  Est modus in rebus.  A body ought not to be all bones,
— but neither should it be all flesh.  Let us imitate nature; let
us conceal the skeleton, but not banish it entirely; and in the
same manner as the human body allows the bony frame which
supports it to be perceived beneath the noblest and most graceful outlines,-so, in a discourse apparently the most inartificial,
a practised eye must always be able, if it will, to follow and
discover the frame and connection. Keep within these limits, and
instead of burdening the memory, this order and these divisions
are its most powerful aids. Yet even if this be the case, it is
useless to have it forced upon our attention."
" It is worse than useless," said Fenelon, "for it can but serve
to cool our enthusiasm, and deprive eloquence of the illusions
with which it must of necessity surround itself."
" That it cools us," said the Abbe6 Fleury   "is quite certain.
This is my first division, this my second, are forms which I de..
test; they not only cool, but freeze me. But I do not quite
comprehend what you mean by the illusions of eloquence. Illusion has a bad sound, in connection with the christian pulpit.".
"Let us change the word if you will; you are quite ready to
grant me the thing itself, I am sure.  When a preacher affects
you, —carries you away with him,-what would be the most
likely to cut short your emotion?"
6




62                   iHE  PREACHER
"The idea that the emotion of the orator was not sincere."
"Yes, but what else?"
"The idea that he knew his discourse by heart."
"Precisely, but does this idea often come into your mind?"
" Never,-that is unless the speaker has the air of reciting a
lesson, or unless hle runs after his words.  Even in this case, so
soon as he begins to go on well again, I begin again to give
myself up to him."
"Well, that is the illusion of which I spoke.  You ask nothing better than to receive this discourse,-which you know to
be written and learned by heart,-which you have perhaps already heard, as if it sprung at the very instant from the heart
of him who addresses you.  Far fiom  struggling against your
natural inclination to forget the circumstances, the remembrance
of which would spoil all, you struggle, on the contrary, against
all that could remind you of them.  Admirable instinct, for
which we cannot be too grateful to Providence, and without
which we would be forced to resign all the delights as well as
all the advantages of literature, eloquence and the arts! Where
would be the charm of the most beautiful verses, if we were condemned to recall what they had cost, to feel the shackles which
the rhyme and the rhythm  have imposed upon the thoughts i
Where would be the charm of painting, if we were not able to
abstract the mind from the wooden frame, which interrupts the
perspective, and from the time, labor and retouching which the
picture has required!  From this springs a rule-to return to
preaching —too often disregarded, which, however, should regulate all that is human and exterior in pulpit art; it is, that all
which tends to indicate that the preacher is not extemporizing,
should be carefully avoided.  " Naturalize art," said Montaigne,
"rather than crtialize nature."  Now the multiplication of divisions, and the too blunt announcement of them, will recall




AND  THE KING.                       63
that to the hearer, which cannot be present to his mind without
destroying  the effect of the discourse; it is like showing the bellows of the organ to those who would prefer much to be ignorant of its mechanism, in order to concentrate all their attention
and all their soul upon the sounds which it produces.  Not
being able to avoid- wishing for the energy and naturalness of
extemporization in every discourse, we undertake to endow it with
this.  Only save appearances, and our hearts, our imaginations
will do the rest. BIut if the audience receive nothing for their
expenditure of good-will; if the reality be so palpable as to render
illusion impossible, their vexation increases in proportion to all
the attempts they have made.  We only ask to be deceived;
so much the worse then for the orator if he undeceive us, and
despoil himself of the crown which we wish to place upon his
head.  Unhappily it is upon ourselves also, that the conseqiuences of his fault falls, for, this illusion once destroyed, it is
scarcely possible that the sermon can edify us.*  We may get
some ideas from it, if it contain any, but as for deep and edifying impressions, they are not to be dreamed of. A sermon
perfect in this respect, is one in which labor and art are imlperceptible to those who are not thinking of looking for them; that
in which I find a plan when I seek one, but where nothing forces
me to see it when I am not looking for it, and when the understanding of the head is willing to give place to that of the
heart."
* ", If the audience be affected by the dread of seeing you stop short,
it can be affected by nothing you say."-LA BRU YERE.




CHAPTER III.
BOSSUET AND THE MARQUIS DE FENELON.-CHARACTER AND GENIUS OF THE ABBE
DE FENELON.-DELINEATION OF PORTRAITS DANGERIOUS FROM THE PULPIT.PERSONAL APPLICATION OF THIE TRUTH DIFFICULT.-ARNAULD.-DUTY OF BOSSUET TO THE KING.-SUDDEN SUMMONS FROM THE IKING.
ALTIIOUGH the Abbe de F6nelon had not finished what he
had to say, —for we have already seen that he did *not wish the
appearance only, of improvisation, but improvisation itself,-he
would not probably have ventured to speak so long, nor so earnestly in his uncle's, and more particularly in Bossuet's presence;
but some moments previous, the prelate and the marquis had
begun to converse together, at first on the same subject, and
afterwards on others; and they had finished by gradually withdrlawing themselves from  the rest of the group.  However the
voice of Fen6lon still reached them.
"My nephew does not seem  at all constrained," said the marquis.
"Your nephew  will distinguish himself," replied Bossuet;
"but he will never make an orator."
"I have told him so twenty times."
"And what is his reply?"
"That he is glad of it; that he does not wish to be one."
"That is a pity, for he could become one."
"You think so?"




THE  PREACHER  AND  THIE KING.                    65
"Certainly;;* but he disdains art too much.  Because others
smake a bad use of it, he will not hear of it.' IIe does not wish
to be an orator' lie has told you.  That is just like him, with his
romantic ideas; for there is always a little romance in. his ideas,
and I ami afraid it may some'day extend into his religion.  You
see, because the word orator is sometimes used to designate a
preacher without piety, he rejects this title which so many great
men glory in, and which the ancients set above everything else.
With this exception, I am of his opinion with regard to all that
he was saying just now.  IHis ideas are in general good —but
they need that a severe taste should be exercised in the application of them."
" Is it then in taste that lie is wanting?"
" I did not say taste, but a severe taste.  lie has the taste of sentiment more developed than any one I know; but that of the
reason, he has in a. much smaller degree, and he appears not to
wish to acquire it.  IIe will be a theoretical man, loving extremes; obstinate in reality, but, so gentle and charitable in his
manner, that the publicwill pass over all the rest.  Defeated, he
will still carry off the honors of the battle."
" Well, there is his horoscope, complete."
"I know  him  even better than I seem  to.  Wait until he
writes and you will see."
Although many years were yet to elapse before the famous
quarrels which put Bossuet and Fene6lon at swords' point, the
* Two discourses of Fdndlon, the only ones, it is said, which he ever
wrote and committed to memory, are worthy of Bossuet. One is a sermon on Missions; the other was preached in 1708, at the consecration of
the Archbishop of Cologne. Maury relates, that struck with the beauties
of the first, and perceiving that no one was acquainted with it, although
it had been published for more than a century, he read it to some friends
as an unedited discourse of Bossuet. Great admiration was expressed
and none suspected the trickl.-Criticisms and Portraits, MAURnY.
63*




66                  THE PREACHER
latter was of too frank and impetuous a character, for the Bishop
of Condom, —who during the last two or three years saw him
daily, —not to have had the opportunity to study him in every
aspect; tlhus the history of Fen6lon appears tolerably accordant
with what the marquis had called his horoscope. It was impossible to deny that he was good, gentle and amiable; but also
impossible not to admit that he was what we would at the present time, call an opposition man. What is to be understood by
this? Is a man an opposition man from the mere fact that he
has often been obliged to combat, to oppose.? Some men have
battled all their lives without any one having dreamed of applying this term to them. The opposition man, is he who has, even
while attacking, the arlt of appearing the attacked party,-of
summoning to his side an interest foreign to the real matter in
question,-of regaining on the ground of sympathy, what he
loses in a logical point of view,-of being defeated, in fine, as Bossuet had said, yet carrying off the honors of the battle. Is not
this F6n6lon? Are we not still under the charm of that interest,
with which he knew how to invest himself even in the eyes of
those who had little or no sympathy with his ideas? Do you
think for instance that the almost mystical author of the Maxims
of the Saints would have been so loudly praised by Voltaire and
Diderot, unless there had existed between them that sort of relationship, which the spirit of opposition often establishes between
men who have absolutely nothing else in common-?
"lHe will be a theoretical man, loving extremes," Bossuet had
said. This was also the opinion of Louis XIV. One day, after
a long conversation with Fenelon lie said, "I have-just been
talking with the man, who has the finest, yet most fanciful mind
in my kingdom."  Without agreeing entirely with this jnudgment,-for among those ideas which Louis XIV. called fanciful,
there were probably some which we would have found good and




AND  THE  KING.                       67
beautiful,-we do not believe that the king was as far from the
truth as has been sometimes asserted in relating this anecdote.
In religion, politics and literature, F6nelon had made for himself, as it were, a world apart.  This world he peopled in his
own manner.  It could not accordingly be other than an admirably beautiful, pure and noble world, but on that very account,
always more or less different from the existing one.  See his lfaxirns of the Saints, see his Teleinachts.  Soft, flowery, agreeably
subtle, and strewed with antique fancies, his prose was not unlike those fine, god-like old men, of whom he often tells us, with
long beards, whiter than snow, slowly moving forward through
the woods, towards a temple whiter than the purest Parian
marble.*
After some reflections upon this inclination to leave the existing world, and upon the evils resulting from it, Bossuet said, " It
is to this, that we may attribute those sermons consisting of descriptive portraits.  Pelhaps this astonishes you; you are about
to assert that these portraits, on the contrary, are only made to
show the world as it is. This is truly the object of the preacherbut does he attain this object?  Confess that he does so but
rarely.  Once having taken up this style the orator is scarcely
master of his tongue.  His imagination is excited; one idea
summons another; one trait follows another; one fancy is heaped
on the other; he ends by painting vices twenty times blacker
than they are, and virtues twenty times more brilliant than those
of the greatest saints, and the inevitable result of this unlucky
display of energy is, that the hearer listens without hearing, admires without believing, hears evil spoken of without imagining
that he can have committed it, and good, without having the
idea enter his mind that so dazzling a picture can be meant for
realization in this world.  You have often felt this, I supposel"
* Sainte Beuve.-'Critiques et Portraits.




68                   THE PREACHER
"Too often.-I will even confess to my shame, that this sort of
sermon, has, until now, never displeased me a.s much as it should
have done; if there is some mind and imagination in the delineations,-I allow myself to be carried away like othersi by the
pleasure of watching the painter."
" This delineation of portraits," resumed Bossuet, " is the best
method of talking without saying anything,-of interesting without good results.  This sty~l has still another disadvantage; it
leads the preacher to isolate himself from his audience.  It is no
longer a fiiend, a brother, come to edify himself as well as you,to accuse himself, and take comfort himself together with you;
but a judge, who summons you before himl; a pitiless critic, seemingly more anxious to fill his discourse with your imperfections,
than to fill your souls from  the word of God.  Separated firom
you himself,-he separates you also, the one from the others; in
addressing himself successively to all the classes in which it has
pleased him to group his hearers;-he calls them  all separately
to be judged and condemned, and it is fortunate if there do not
remain many besides, who, not finding themselves included in
any class, consequently retain all through the discourse, the
posture of critics which he has been so imprudent as to give
them.  If you would be truly useful, truly powerful in the pulpit, then must you never allow a portion of the audience to cross
their arms, remaining spectators of the combat and jeering the
vanquished; each one must feel himself included in the condemnations which you pronounce; the preacher must even show himself to be included in them."
"But that is not always possible," said Monsieur de Fednlon.
" \Would you wish him to take his part in the most disgraceful
vices?"
"In the vices?-no; but in the principle of the vices. You are
preaching, for irrstance, on calumny, must you go to work to avow




AND THE KING.                      69
that you are a calumniator? Not at all; even if you have been
so unhappy as to commit this sin,-this is no reason that you
should publicly make an avowal compromising the dignity of the
pulpit. But in place of confining yourself to calumny, strictly
speaking, —and to those hideous details in which no one could or
would choose to recognize himself, —go back to the source, to those
principles of deception and vice whose sad and fatal traces it is
so easy to find in every one. Then without degrading your ministry or yourself, nothing will hinder you from seeking in your
own heart and your own experience, the characteristics of which
you have need; then, (to return to calumny,) instead of direct endeavors to render it odious, by pictures of it which run the risk
of not being looked at, attack it in its first beginnings and including yourself with your hearers, you deprive them of all excuse for imagining that there is no applicability to them. In
seeing before him a variety of individuals, different in their interests, their passions and their characters-the sacred orator
should never forget, that he is there between God and man, far
more than between God and such kinds of men; the multitude
who hear him, should be in his eyes, as it were, but a single
creature; one unhappy being to be consoled,-one sinful sinner
to be aroused and saved. The way to. preach to all,-is to
preach constantly to done's-self; to be able to find in one's-self,
the type of the sole being, man, for whom religion is made."
"These ideas have occurred to me," said M. de F6n6lon, "but
indistinctly; and I thank you for having aided me to explain
them to myself.  You have also put me in mind of certain observations which I have often made, but without knowing with
what to connect them. Among others-do you not tllink that
the habit which certain preachers have, of incessantly commending the past, at the expense of the present, tends also to the nonobservance of the principles which you have laid down 2"




ro70                1THE PREACHER
"Doubtless; it is one of the forms of the mania for delineations.  Not that the preacher may not be allowed, within certain
limits, to seek by this means to reanimate national or religious
recollections in his hearers; but as soon as he exaggerates, he
does more harm to religion in the minds of those who perceive
it, than he can do good to those who do not perceive it."
*." From all this, I perceive that the style of which we speak, is
not necessarily bad in itself, but that it is in more danger of being abused, than most others.  And in truth it is abused by almost all those who embrace it. If ambition be the subject, behold Alexander and Cmsar adduced; but these two men, are actual sluggards in comparison with the ambitious -man such as I
have often heard him described.  Is avarice the subject?  Immediately comes the portrait of the miser; but this miser is a
species of monster like whom there have not perhaps existed twenty since the creation of the world.I-Iave you read
Moliere?"
The prelate had a slight air of embarrassment.
"Come, you have read it," said the Marquis, smiling.  " Well
as I was about to say, Harpagon is a real prodigy in comparison
with the miser whom Father Seraphim described to us one clay,
two or three years ago.-And the court! and the courtiers! In
vain did Monsieur de la Rouchefoucauld say all the evil of
them that he knew, (and he knew them better than any one
else;) he never discovered the quarter of what I have heard
asserted many a time by preachers freshly arrived from the
provinces; and that at Versailles itself, before the king, before
the whole court. Consequently I have never perceived that the
courtiers were the least in the world offended at it. These thunderbolts passed over their heads; the most corrupted could say
in all sincerity, that this did not touch them. In the delineation
of virtues, I think exaggeration is less dangerous.  Does not the




AND  TIHE KING.                      71
Evangelist say,'Be ye perfect even as your Father in heaven is
perfect?' Now the hyperbole is evident.-To be perfect, as God
is perfect! There would be madness not only in the idea that
one was actually on the road to such a perfection, but even in
the attempt to travel the road.
"And accordingly that is not what Jesus Christ asks.  To propose God to us, as our model, is absolutely as if one should direct a traveller to walk directly towards the sun.  Would he on
that account fancy that there were any possibility of reachilng
that luminary?  He would understand that it was question of a
direction to be followed and not of a goal to be carrived at.  B-ut
when a preacher sets to work to depict to me the life of a certain
ideal Christian, whom I am  commanded to resemble, it is no
longer a direction only which he points out to me,-it is an end;
instead of a reality to be contemplated,-it is a fiction to be realized. From that moment, if the picture be ever so little too
beautiful and too dazzling, I may indeed admire it as a picture,
but I do not dream of imitating it."
"Upon the whole, then, which is it best to exaggerate?  The
delineation of good, or that of evil?"
" Neither the one nor the other.  In exaggerating that of the
evil to be avoided, you trace likenesses in which no one is willing
to recognize himnself;* in exaggerating thcat of the good to be
attained, you only confirm the sinner in that fatal but comfortable idea, that he is too feeble to attain it, and that God will be
less exacting than you."
" Have you not also remarked that the preachers who thunder
the most against vice, are not generally the most zealous in brandin g it in their relations with society or the church?  And never
*'There is already only too much evil in this woirld; and it is a great
evil to exaggerate it. To paint men always bad, is inviting them to be
Eo."-VoLTAIRE. Supplement to the " S'icle de Louis XIV."




'72                  THE PREACHER
theless, it seems to me, that a man deceives himself greatly, if he
imagine himself to be exempt from his ministerial functions, because he may have exercised their duties unsparingly on public
occasions. Two seasonable words often do more good than
twenty of those sermons where each one is at liberty to take
nothing."
"Alas! yes! but it requires more faith and courage to say
those two words face to face with one single sinner, than fiom
the pulpit, to rebuke two or three thousand persons, ready to
listen to everything, on condition of forgetting it all."
" It does, in truth, require courage; above all,"-M. de Fenelon
hesitated.' Above all when this sinner," he resumed, "is-"
"A king,-you would say?"
"You have guessed; and particularly a king like ours, a kind
of demigod.-Now Monsieur de Condom, you are going to think
me very presuming; but it seems to me, that if I had the honor
of being a priest, and of being permitted to approach his Majesty,
I would not be silent in regard to the scandals of which we are
witness."
"Is this a reproach, Monsieur de Fenelon?"
"Do not force me to say yes. I must consider you as very
thoroughly convinced of my esteem for you, to dare touch upon
such a subject; I who rebuked my nephew for having ventured
to find blemishes in the talent of Father Bourdaloue, am much
bolder to hint at any in your conduct.-Well, I must confess, at
the sight of the irregularities which the king practises more and
more openly, I have sometimes said to myself,' Does Monsieur de
Condom do his duty? Does he speak to the king? Htas lihe
tried-' I know very well, that you are not his confessor, but
what matter? You will perhaps ask me why I have thought of
you rather than so many others.  Well, sir, if it is an injustice,




AND THE KING.                     73
be proud of it; it is a proof that there is no one whom I consider as more capable than yourself of making the voice of religion sound authoritatively. But be sure that I am not the
only one who has had this thought. Stay, here is a letter from
Arnauld-"
"From Arnauld."
"From Arnauld, the first mall in the French church,-after
you. There is first a page of praises. You shall read it presently-"
" No."
"As you please. But this, you will read."
Bossuet took the letter.
"There is however a verumtamen, a but"-wrote the patriarch
of Port Royal,-" of which I fear much, that Monsieur de Condom will have to give account to God. It is that he has not
had the courage to say anything to the king."
" Would he have done it himself?" said Bossuet, much more
affected than he wished to appear. "I admire those who-"
He did not continue.
" Go on," said M. de Fne6lon, coldly.
"I am wrong," resumed Bossuet, "I am wrong! I ask your
pardon for it,-I ask pardon of God," he added, sighing.
The marquis held out his hand to Bossuet. IHe grasped it.
"Let me see; let me read this letter again.  Give account to
God! He is right. Ah! Monsieur de Fenelon! Do you think
my conscience has never told me this?"
"And you have been able to keep silence!"
"Twenty times I have resolved to speak; twenty times my
tongue has been powerless. All that I have been able to take
upon me, has been, from time to time to introduce subjects of
conversation, which I hoped to be able to turn in this direction.
But the king is ingenious. He is afraid of me. So long as I
7




'74        THE PREACHER AND  THE KING.
confine myself to generalities, he listens, he answers, he says the
most sensible things in the world; as soon as I seem to be approaching himself,-behold! he comhes straight up to me, but in
order to talk to me of something totally different. He compliments me upon my works; he thanks me for the care I devote
to his son;- how am I to go on!"
"It is difficult, truly; but-"
"But it is my duty, you are going to say. I know it; may
God help me to remember it! Yes, I promise you; I will try;
I will try agailn. And when you write to Monsieur Arnauld —"
"His majesty sends for Monsieur de Condom. His majesty
awaits him."
One of the pages thus spoke; and he had not finished, when
the king himself appeared at the end of the avenue.
Our two speakers looked at one another. And as Bossuet
prepared to follow the page; " Au revoir, Monsieur de Condom,"
said the marquis; then in a low voice; " The king, there;- God
above! and to-morrow I write to Monsieur Arnauld."




CHAPTER IV.
THE KING AND THE PHILOSOPHERS.-THE ORIGINAL GROUNDS OF BOSSUET'S HIGH
REPUTATION.-CHANGE IN THIS RESPECT DURING THE SUCCEEDING CENTURY.
A MOMENT afterwards, the king and the prelate directed their
steps towards the chateau, but without exchanging a word. The
king had only answered Bossuet's salutation by a slight movement of his head, and then walked on before.
We shall soon rejoin them;-let us first finish with our
council.
The discussion had continued. As Bossuet had gone on with
his conversation with M. de F6n6lon,-the preeminence had in
fact devolved upon the youngest of the remaining members.
The Abbe de F6n6lon conversed too well, not to be the first
wherever Bossuet was not present.
There was a profound silence when the king appeared. They
glanced at one another without a word. Not that they feared
being overheard, for he was at the distance of twenty or thirty
paces, and only remained, moreover, for a few moments; —but,
besides the fact that his presence never failed to produce a certain impression even upon those who saw him daily,-it was
very rarely that he was seen in this part of the park. That same
admirable tact, which enabled him to converse well on so many
subjects which he had not studied, prevented him from touching
upon those to which he was decidedly a stranger. Accordingly,
he, liked our philosophers, but only at a distance; since this ave



'76                 THE PREACHER
nue had become their domain, he had never set his foot in it.
This was well known, and some malicious wits commented upon
it in whispers. " The king is afraid of the geniuses," they said,
as Bussy did. But it might have been answered, that he was
afraid of them, as a good general is afraid of the enemy. It is
not cowardice but prudence to avoid an encounter, when one is
not sure of having superior or at least equal forces. It requires
much learning (esprit) to be afraid of genius (esprit)* as Louis
XIV. was afraid of it. Moreover, there were not wanting bishops, whom the philosophers' avenue inspired with equal awe,
and who would have found themselves quite as much out of
place there as he. "What is the meaning of Nycticorax in domicilio?"t he one day asked the Bishop of Orleans,-these words
in one of the Psalms having caught his attention. "Sire," answered the learned prelate, "it was one of the kings of Israel,
who was very fond of solitude." Imagine this man making
comments on Isaiah!
When the Marquis de Fenelon rejoined the company, he
said, "I brought misfortune with me, gentlemen. I commenced
by interrupting your conversation, and now, you see your master
is carried off from you. After all, I lose more by it than you
do, for you will see him again, I shall not. And yet I should
much like to hear you resume your conversation upon Isaiah."
"Well, return to-morrow," said one.
"You permit me to do so? To-morrow then, I shall not fail."
" Have you remarked," said the Abbe Fleury, " with what determination Monsieur de Condom avoids expressing his opinion
of Father Bourdaloue? I have several times endeavored to lead
him to speak upon the subject; he always expresses admiration,
* Esprit at that time designated learning, as well as wit in the strict
acceptation of the word.,
f The owl in his home. — Yulgate. Psalm ci. V.




AND  THE KING.                       77
but in a few words.  Have any of you been more fortunate? In
any other man, one would be apt to believe that jealousy had
something to do with it,-but in him,- with such a reputation,
with such elevated sentiments-"
"Perhaps it is on that very account," said the Abbe de la
Broue, "that he is so sparing of his praises.  No matter how
much we may admire Father Bourdaloue,-Monsieur de Condom
knows very well that we admire him much more,-that we place
him much higher.  Thence his embarrassment.  Public opinion
acknowledging none his equals, he feels that he cannot praise
any one without indirectly exalting himself.  Thus, he says a few
words in order to -be just, and stops there, in order to remain
humble."
" That is it!" was the general acclamation.
WVas it really this?  We shall not decide.  Who knows
whether Bossuet himself would have been able to do so?  There
is often but a hair's-breadth between modesty and pride; from
pride to jealousy the distance is still shorter.
It is true, that Bourdaloue was not, strictly speaking, a rival
for Bossuet.  It is too common to consider the latter as an orator
only.  In certain respects this was correct, and his reputation for
oratory is well founded, but in a historical point of view it is a
mistake.  In 1675, six or seven years after he had ceased to
preach regularly, —Bossuet the orator, was considered far behind Bossuet the controversialist, the savant, the advocate of
Gallicanism, Father of the church, as he was called at the
time of the famous assembly of'82, and as La Bruyere did
not in'95 scruple to call him  to his face in the Academy.*
It is one of those facts, in history, which escape your attention,
* In his discourse upon the occasion of Bossuet's reception. "Let
us anticipate the language of posterity, and call him a  27ather of the
Ch/urcl."  Upon which Maury observes, that he might have said the chief
7*




78                   THE PREACHER
unless it be particularly directed to them, —but to prove which,
comes a crowd of evidence, as soon as you think of looking for
it. From the moment that Bossuet ceased preaching, the eloquence of the pulpit was considered, if not beneath him, at least
beneath the position which he occupied in the church of France.
Even his funeral orations, the most beautiful of which belong to
a later period than this, were, in the eyes of the public, scarcely
more than incidental productions. They were highly praised, it
is true,-but no one appeared to think that anything more was
expected,-and it was far from entering the minds of any that his
reputation was ever, in any way, to depend upon these discourses.
And as he kept but too faithfully during the last nineteen years
of his life, his resolution,-expressed in 1685, in the funeral oration of the Prince de Conde, —" no more to solemnize the death
of others," —this opinion had time to become universal.  Three
years after his death, the Abbe (afterwards Cardinal) de Polignac,* succeeded him in the Academy, and in the ostentatious discourse, in which it was the custom for each one to set forth, with
so much pomp, the smallest merits of his predecessor,-he says
but a few words of the oratorical triumphs of the illustrious deceased. The Abbe de Clerambault, director of the Academy, is
still more brief; he contents himself with saying, that Bossuet
" had allowed his rivals to obtain that supreme rank in sacred
eloquence, which he was fully able to have secured."  Seven
years later, in the funeral oration of the Dauphin, Massillon describes Bossuet as a man "of great and felicitous genius,-the
ornament of the episcopacy,-a bishop in the midst of a court,
a man possessing every talent, and cognizant of every science,
of the Fathers, since he was the chief in eloquence. But La Bruybre
was not alluding to eloquence at this time; —the whole of the passage
proves this.' The author of "A- ti-L'ucretiuS."




AND  THE  KING.                       79
-and the Father of the seventeenth century, who, if he had
been born in the early ages of the Church, would have been the
light of their councils, and would have presided at Niccea and
Ephesus."  Splendid eulogies, it may be perceived,-but not a
word of his reputation as orator, unless Massillon intended to include in the vague expression, "a man possessing every talent,"
the little that he considered there was to say on that point. It
is true, that Father de la Rue, charged with the funeral oration
of Bossuet at Meux,-entered more into detail, and was more
just,-but opinion was otherwise formed, and La Rue himself,
in this discourse, does not appear to think it of much importance
to set forth the oratorical merits of a man whom he considers as
possessing so many other titles to immortality.
This was, accordingly, the reputation of Bossuet, at the commencement of the eighteenth century;-these were the intrenchments,-if the expression may be used,-behind which it was to
await the shocks of a period of irreligion and audacity. The
shocks were severe, the defeat prompt and easy. More and
more forgotten as an orator, the bishop of Meaux was at the
same time crushed by some as the author of the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes,* —by others as the persecutor of Fenelon,
-by the infidels as a Christian, —by the Ultramontaines, as a
Gallican,-in fine, by everybody, from every sort of motive,
* It is very difficult to know exactly the part he had in this. Some
historians accuse him of having advised it; others, particularly the Cardinal de Bossuet, declare, that he was not even consulted. One thing is
certain,-that he had contributed more than any other, either to excite
the suspicions of the king against the Protestants, or to inspire him with
the idea, that he had the right and the power to do what he did. Another thing still more certain, is, that no one thanked Louis XIV. more
loudly for it, nor accepted more fully the legality of the act, than Bossuet.
See his "Policy gatheredfrom the Scriptures," Book vii., Chap. 9 and 10.
"' Those who would not have a prince use severity in matters of religious
principle, are in an impious error."




80                  THE PREACHER
whether just or unjust. The Protestants said not a word; the
surest method of allowing the numerous pages which he had
written against them, to be forgotten. And in the midst of the
assaults of which religion was the object, the most zealous admirers of Bossuet, if there were any left, had quite enough to do,
without devoting themselves to his defence.
However, towards the beginning of the last half of the century, when the philosophical party found itself powerful enough
to give its adversaries a little respite, the latter felt, as it were, a
pang of remorse, for having so entirely abandoned such a man
to their opponents. Biut the reestablishment of Bossuet as a savant, a controversialist, or as one of the Fathers of the church,
was not to be dreamed of; besides the Encyclopedia was then in
existence. So an expedient was sought for,-one was happily
found, and Bossuet the orator arose radiant from the ruins of
the other Bossuet. Some details in respect to this revolution are
to be found in Maury, who had a great deal to do with it. Laharpe has also written its history,-at least so far as he is concerned. HIe confesses that he resisted a long time before recognizing the superiority of Bossuet; but once convinced of it, he
says he was floored by admiration, (herrasse d'admiration,) and
so completely floored, we may add, that it seems to us he went
rather too far in his description of it.
However, he was not the only one, and we would fain repeat
here, what Fenelon said to his uncle,-" that one may be inrfat;uated with a great man as well as with a fool."  The pristine
glory of the name of Bossuet having gradually reappeared, and
being shed altogether upon one part of his former titles to greatness, the necessary result of this was a little exaggeration in the
praises which were bestowed upon him.
We might discuss this matter much further, but we will leave
it. What we wished to show, was, that it is the same in regard




AND  THE KING.                      81
to Bossuet's reputation, as in regard to many old institutions,
which have so thoroughly changed, that their name has come to
designate something entirely different from its first meaning. Certainly, if his funeral orations contain beautiful ideas upon the instability of human. greatness, the history also, of these discourses,
contains a lesson which is not wanting in significance! If their
author could revisit the world, what would be his reflections, on
perceiving that his glory now principally depends upon that,
which was formerly considered but as a slight accessory!
The explanation of the Abb6 de la Broue was accordingly approved of, and the council separated.




CHAPTER V.
IMPRESSION MADE BY VERSAILLES UPON A STRANGER.-INFLUENCE OF THE COURT
UPON THE'WHOLE OF FRANCE. —IMPOTANCE GIVEN TO TRIFLES.-ABSOLUTE
POWER OF THE KING.
THE Doge of Genoa might well say, that the most extraordinary thing he observed at Versailles.was his being there himself;-but an ordinary stranger would have been much less
embarrassed in his decision. Be that as it may, not the least
of the curiosities of the court of Louis XIV. was the constant
motion, the conversations, the promenades, the perpetual goings
and comings. With the exception of the humming,-for the
gravity of the monarch seemed to have communicated itself to
his humblest valet,-this chateau of Versailles was not unlike a
gigantic bee-hive.  On the side of the gardens, particularly,unless the weather were bad,-not an instant passed, without
several persons having either entered or come out of the many
doors which there opened; and as the weather must be very
cold or very rainy to prevent the king from  walking several
times every day, this prodigious activity continued nearly the
whole year. It would have been much too'bourgeois to remain
in the chimney-corner when his majesty was out of doors. "The
rain at Marly does not wet one," said to the king one day a cardinal who followed him in the midst of a heavy shower, and who
was advised to take shelter within doors. "Thus," says La
Bruyere, "whoever will consider, that the countenance of the




THE PREACHER  AND THE KING.                  83
prince makes the whole of the courtier's happiness, that he occupies himself, and satisfies himself, all his life in beholding it
and being beheld by it,-will understand in a measure how
the saints can make the beholding God their whole glory and
felicity."*
~Thus, the aspect of the gardens of Versailles on a fine day, or
a beautiful evening, had something about it almost fabulously
splendid. But, frequent as were the objects which might remind one of the presence and hand of i king, nothing was easier
to forget, than that you were at the central point of a kingdom,at a seat of government. Versailles always had a holiday aspect; you might easily have believed yourself at a place of
amusement, whence its master,had carefully banished all that
could remind one either of care or toil. You might have
walked for hours in the populous galleries, in the park with its
groups of courtiers, without dreaming that these people had
anything else to do, save to walk about like yourself, or anything else to wish, save to live and die in this place. And you
~vould have been doing the greater part of them no injustice, for
they very rarely remembered the existence of anything beyond the
court. This oblivion, so ably brought about by Louis XIV., is
to be found in men who seem the most incapable of it. The
author of " Characters,"t is more liable to it than any one else.
In his chapter entitled " -Of the Sovereign and of the Republic,"
he has in vain struggled to rise to a level with the most elevated
maxims; at the end of the chapter it is easy to perceive that he
has not once quitted Versailles.
The court was all in all. This way of thinking had even
passed into the language. HIow many times, instead of saying all
the court, the expression used was, all France!I But this way of
* Chapter viii. The Court.                 f La Bruyere.
4 Even the fashionable oath, " May I be hung!" would have been too




84                   THE PREACHER
speaking, which was so familiar to Madame de Sbvigne, to Dan.geau, to St. Simon, to all the great noblemen of the time, and
alas, also to Racine the plebeian gentleman in waiting,-this way
of speaking, we say, was not altogether the consequence of their
looking upon, or imagining they looked upon the people* as so
profound a nonentity; there was at the bottom of it, a very tangible fact, and one not very flattering to the nobility.  They.called themselves "La France," only on the condition of being
nothing at all; they only represented France, in order to prostrate themselves in her name at the foot of the throne, and the
more exclusively they used their ancient right of despising the
people, the more they ought to have felt, that it was the only
one which remained to them.,But no, it appears that they did
not perceive it, or rather, that they dared not perceive it; and
although this, after all, was a very fortunate thing for the country which they had ruined so many times, and in so many ways,
yet we cannot help feeling some sympathy with the chagrin of a
La Rochefoucault and a St. Simon, at seeing so many people
of heart and head, forced to throw away their lives in useless
promenadings, and frivolous conversations about nothings. It
is true, that these nothings did not seem so to those who were
constantly occupied with them. Little matters always become
great matters, in proportion as men interest themselves in
them; and this same St. Simon, sometimes so good a philosopher, had not his equal for elevating a trifling question of vanity or etiquette into an affair of state.t
plebeian. The noblemen said, " May I be beheaded'" Richelieu had not
refused them this right.
* " After all, what is the nation?" said the Regent one day to Stair,
the English. ambassador. "I confess it is no great thing," replied the
Englishman, " so long as there is no standard raised," i. e. no fighting to
be done.-Letterfrom Stair to Stanhope.
t " In vain were courage, honor and industry combined in the soul of




AND THE KING.                       85
"It is difficult for us," says a modern critic,-" with our habits
of regular occupation, to picture to ourselves faithfully this life of
leisure and gossip. Our days are passed in study or in business,
-our evenings in discussions;-of gossiping there is little or
none. The noble society of our days, which has retained in the
highest degree the idle habits of the last two centuries,-has
done so only at the expense of remaining ignorant of the ideas
and ways of the present.*  In any age which advances this is
inevitable;-but at that time the age was not advancing.  One
man alone moved on, and provided that the eyes of men were
fixed upon him, they might be sure of not being left behind."
In the midst of these perpetual conversations, the language
had made such progress, that it became at last more elegant than
the manners. The more we examine the history of this reign,
the more remnants of barbarism do we find concealed beneath
its brilliant exterior;-yet the most astonishing thing is, not to
find them there, but to perceive how far the most reasonable and
humane persons were from feeling the absurdity and horror of a
number of things, the very remembrance of which is revolting to
us. But how was it possible not to look upon all as beautiful
and good in a country viewed through the medium of the splendor of Versailles! How criticize a machine, the creaking of
whose wheels was so faintly heard above the sound of fountains
and balls, and the flourish of trumpets?
It is only towards the end of Louis XIV.'s reign, that we begin to perceive some traces of opposition, properly speaking, in
France; that is to say, criticism directed in the name of the nathis worthy man, so eminently suited to ruin a kingdom. Like those
madmen who are possessed of but one sole idea, he saw nothing else in
the universe but the privileges of the peerage."-LEMONTEY. History of
the Regency.
X ST. BuvE. —Article Skvigng.
8




86                  THE PREACHER
tion against the king or the government. Until then, all discontents had a purely personal character. Excepting some complaints in regard to the taxes,-common complaints regarded as
of so little consequence, that they were repeated in the pulpit,
and even before the king,-every man complained for himself
when he thought he had reason. If contented himself, no man
thought of crying out for others.  Crying out, moreover, is
scarcely the expression, for any such cry would undoubtedly have
died away beneath the vaults of the Bastile; but even in secret,
it appears that complaints were rarely of a political character.
The affairs of state occupied but little attention, save in so far as
private interests might be involved with them. If a campaign
were talked of,-no one thought of inquiring its cause,-but only
who was to command, and who was to receive promotion. If
any question arose, it was but rarely that any one ventured to
have an opinion upon its fuidamental considerations; if any discussion took place, its object was rarely any other than that of
trying to know or guess what the king's decision would be. Thus
there were none save the ministers, the ambassadors, and a very
small number of clear-headed men, who had any connected
views in regard to the policy or enterprises of Louis XIV. In
the army, the general himself often gave himself little trouble to
know exactly what he was fighting for. The subordinate officers
did not imagine that it concerned them the least in the world.*
All being thus left to the supreme decision of the king, everything reduced to the knowledge of what his orders would be,every one eagerly caught at the slightest rumor; all puzzled their
* "How should I know?" said the Captain; "and what difference does
this fine project make to me? I live two hundred leagues from the capital;-I hear it said that war is declared; —I immediately leave my family and go to seek fortune or death, —provided that I have not much labor
to perform." —VOLTAIRE. Babouc.




AND  THE  KING.                         87
heads by putting together the most trivial occurrences, and giving
significance and extent, to things utterly insignificant. Perhaps
old Letellier came to the king a few moments sooner or later than
usual; or Monsieur de Louvois gave his valet a blow with his
cane;-a proof that he is irritated at some one to whom he cannot display it in the same manner; —or Monsieur Colbert, (the
North, as Madame de Sevigne called him,) appears a little more
or less icy than usual;*-or a courier has arrived from no one
* Although the responsibility of the ministers was far from being in
France the legal corollary of the king's inviolability, this latter was established infact, particularly since the Fronde. But as yet it scarcely
went beyond raillery and portraits; not daring to attack actions,-characteristics were seized upon. The pulpit itself sometimes set the example in this. " One, (a minister,) always precipitate, makes your mind
uneasy; —the other, with a troubled countenance, makes your heart beat;
this one presents himself before you from custom or politeness, and allows
his thoughts to wander, while your remarks cannot arrest his attention;
-the other, still more cruel, has his ears stopped by his preoccupations,"
etc. —BossUET. Funeral Oration of Letellier. These words doubtless
caused the exchange of many a smile, for it was impossible, in a few words
better to describe the four principal ministers of the period. But Louis
XIV. was not sorry to see those defects criticized in his ministers, from
which he was, or fancied himself free. The more impenetrable Colbert
appeared, and the more repulsive Louvois, —the more affable it pleased
the king to be. Thus, this same Doge of Genoa said, that the king took
his heart captive, but the ministers restored it to him again.
In the discussions with Rome on the subject of the Assembly of 1682,
the system of the responsibility of the ministers was used towards the
pope with a boldness which would not have been tolerated towards the
king. "I blush," says Bossuet, somewhere, "for those who have not been
ashamed to inspire his Holiness with such sentiments."  We shall not
undertake to explain how this was reconcilable with the doctrine of papal
infallibility. If the pope has been even once ill counselled, —wrongly inspired, —there is not the least reason why he should not be again; if Bossuet thought himself obliged to blush for those who had influenced the
pope in a certain direction, —were there not then others who could have
blushed for those who influenced him in a contrary direction? —See note
to Chalp. X1I.




88         THE PREACHER  AND THE KING.
knows what province,-or has been dispatched no one knows
whither. And if such is the importance of the slightest action,
the smallest word of a minister, —what will be that of the least
gesture, the least syllable of the king,-particularly when he is
known to be so impenetrable,* —so completely master of himself
as Louis XIV.,-so that a movement, a look, a nothing may be
the indication of a punishment or a reward, —of fair weather, or
of a tempest!
* "This will be a great king;-he never says a word of what he
thinks."-MAZAuIN.




CHAPTER VI.
THE KING S DISPLEASURE.-MONTAUSIER AND BOSSUET IN THE CABINET OF THE
KING,-MADAMIE DE MONTESPAN REFUSED ABSOLUTION.
THE internal storm, which manifested itself on this particular
day by such an alteration in his usual manners, must have been
very violent.
In the first place, he had come into the park half an hour later
than usual. This was'an event in itself, for never was the life of a
prince, or even of a private individual, who was master of his own
time, more systematically regulated. Every morning, after rising,
he determined upon the arrangements for the day; everybody
was enabled to tell, within a few minutes of the truth, where he
would be at such an hour, where he would go at such another.
This was another of the secrets of the art of ruling.  "If you
wish to have your will habitually respected," he wrote, thirty
years after, to his grandson the king of Spain, "you must show
that you yourself are a slave to it."
But what was still more extraordinary than this delay, was the
physiognomy of the king. He whose countenance, at least in
public, was so constantly the same, that it had without too gross
a flattery been compared to that of a bronze or marble god, —he
seemed almost to have lost all care for his dignity, all recollection of his almost invariable habits. He hastened his pace, he
slackened it; he walked straight towards the basin of a fountain,




90                   THE PREACHER
and did not perceive it until he was on the brink. The seven or
eight lords and pages who followed him bare-headed, —for he
had not thought of desiring them  to be covered,-neither dared
to speak to him nor to each other; a number of ladies had been
met by him on his way, and he had not saluted them,-he who
was not able to meet a chambermaid upon the staircase of the
palace, without carrying his hand to his hat!
All eyes far and near, followed him, but secretly. It was
generally the contrary; he loved to have it seem as if he were
sought for, and gazed at, and not lost out of sight;-the more
eyes were fixed upon him, the more he was at his ease;-and
the courtiers took care not to neglect so easy a method of paying
their court to him. But if at this moment his mind had been
disengaged enough to observe what was passing, he would have
only seen backs turned to him, and eyes gazing at the heavens,
or the earth, so much was it dreaded to encounter a look now!
More than one heart throbbed without knowing why; the very
atmosphere seemed to contain something mysterious and unusual.  So well had he succeeded in disciplining them to live
only by him, for him, and in him. The queen herself, never appeared in his presence without a little alteration of the voice, and
a slight trembling of the hands;* and we will not venture to
answer for it that Bossuet did not experience something of the
same kind when his majesty called him.
Thus, he was not sorry to find in the cabinet of the king, the
two men, whose presence could the best reassure him; these
were, the duke of Montausier, (his colleague in the education of
* "It was necessafry to become accustomed to looking upon him, if an
orator in haranguing him did not wish to expose himself to the risk of
stopping short. The respect inspired by his presence, wherever he was,
caused a silence, and even a sort of fear."-ST. SIMON.. "YOU see me
here deprived of all grandeur," he said one day at Manly to a foreign nobleman. " Sire," said the latter, " one would never suspect it."




AND  THE  KING.                       91
the dauphin,) and the Cur6* of Versailles, Monsieur Thibaut, an
honorable and honored priest.
" You are still here, gentlemen 2" said the king.
"Did not your majesty order us to wait?"
" True; I had forgotten it."
Louis XIV. forget! Decidedly it was all extraordinary day.
Bossuet lost himself in conjectures.
"After all," said the king, "it is just as well that you should
be here. Remain."
And he sat down, as if not knowing where to commence.
Louis XIV., embarrassed, and allowing it to be perceived! It
became more and more extraordinary;-but Bossuet began to
guess.  He began at least to foresee, confusedly, of what nature
were to be the confidences of the king.
However, there the king left them, motionless and standing.
It is true that no one ever sat down in his presence;t not even
in the council of state, where the chancellor alone, on account of
his great age, was seated on a small stool; and the king had
taken the precaution to have noted upon the registers of the
chief master of the ceremonial, that he did not mean that the
future chancellors should make this a precedent, and consider
this favor as one of the privileges of their rank.1 As for himself,
* Versailles was not yet a bishopric.
f " I have seen the dauphin and his sons present at the king's dinner,
without his ever proposing to them to take seats. I have often seen
Monsieur, the king's brother, present also. He handed the king's napkin
and remained standing. A little after, the king, perceiving that he remained, asked him if he would not take a seat. He made a reverence,
and the king ordered that a seat should be brought him. A tabouret was
placed behind him, but he did not sit down. Some moments afterward
the king said,'Pray be seated, my brother.' Then he made another reverence, and took his seat."-ST. SIMOIN.
t " The king is reserved from policy. The fear which he has, that the
French,-who easily take advantage of any condescension which is showed




92                    THE PREACHIER
even with the army, he never seated himself save in an arm-chair.
One was carried among his effects, and it was always the first
article installed in whatever place he put his foot upon the
ground, if he were to remain in this spot only an hour.
"Monsieur de Condom," he said at length, " this is the question.  Madame de Montespan went this morning, to confess to a
priest of Versailles,-Monsieur Lecuyer, I believe.  He refused
her absolution.  Monsieur Thibaut here, says that this confessor
only did his duty. There is Monsieur de Montausier, who is of
the same opinion.  These gentlemen will permit me to inquire
yours."
It was not to look for Bossuet, however, that Louis XIV. had
gone out. As soon as he learned from Madame de Montespan
the affront which she had just received, he sent for the cure, and
demanded from him, the repeal of the sentence pronounced by
his vicar.  The cur6e did not at first express himself in regard to
the merits of the question; he evaded it, by saying that a confessor had no account to give, and that a cur6 had no authority
over inferior priests in these matters. The king did not insist;
he was still tolerably calml, and without discussing the point
with the priest, he called the Duke de Montausier, whom he had
perceived in the neighboring gallery.  The duke did not scruple
to speak out; he said that the confessor had done right, and the
cure, seeing himself thus sustained, no longer feared to say as
much.  The king contained himself; but feeling himself on the
point of bursting forth, he went out; and it was while walking,
them,-should fail in the respect which they owe him, makes him retain
a distant manner; —and from his extraordinary benevolence, he would rather
constrain himself, than furnish them with the smallest occasion for doing
anything which would oblige him to be displeased with them." —BussY
RABUTIN. If the explanation is not a good one, it must at least be confessed, that it is perfectly courtier-like.




AND  THE KING.                       93
or rather wandering in the garden, that the idea suddenly occurred to him, of summoning Bossuet.
What did he wish?  What did he hope?-One is always
strongly inclined to believe what one desires; but the king
must have left his usual coolness a great way behind him, to
allow himself even vaguely, to hope that Bossuet could enter
into his views. It may even be doubted whether among so
many other less scrupulous bishops, any could have been found
so complaisant as to go to such a length.-It was possible for
them to shut their eyes;-rbut it was another thing to blame
the courageous priest who had dared to open his, and Monsieur
de Harlay himself,* would have thought twice about it.
So Bossuet did not hesitate.
"If I could think," he said, "that your Majesty seriously
hoped to find me disagreeing with these gentlemen, I should
ask what I had done to fall so low in his estimation. But I
know too well his enlightenment,-his piety —"
"Well,"  cried the king, "they agree.  Because an obscure
priest —"
"An obscure priest!-" interrupted the duke.
" Obscure!" said the cure; "no, Sire. A priest is never obscure when he fulfils -"
"Well," he resumed, "because a priest has had the audacity
to judge his king —"
" In the name of God, Sire 1" said Bossuet, " do not continue!
Do not submit so completely to the passion which misleads you-"
* Archbishop of Paris. IHe had, however, less right than any one else
to censure the king's morals; and it was for that very reason that Louis
XIV., or rather Mme. de Montespan raised him to the see of Paris. It is
of him that it was said, that the orator charged with his funeral oration,
only found two embarrassing points,-his life, and his death. One was
however found to write it,-Father Gailliard, a Jesuit; but he was not
allowed to deliver it.




94                  THE PREACHER
Louis drew himself up; this last word had offended him.
"- and which," pursued Bossuet, "you will soon be the first
to condemn. A priest has dared to judge you! Alas! it is
not he,-but you, yourself! —"
"Myself!"
"Yes-in the very words which you have just pronounced.
If Madame de Montespan were only that to you, which she
should be, you would not declare yourself touched by the blow
of which she complains."
Bossuet felt himself in a courageous vein; he could have
wished Monsieur de Fen6lon to be there.
But the king no longer listened to him.
"What a scandal!" he murmured; " what a scandal!'"
These words, in his mind, were only applicable to the audacity of the confessor; the moment was scarcely favorable for answering him, that there was no other scandal in the whole matter,
excepting that of his own conduct. The cur6 made an effort.
" If your Majesty," he said, "would take the trouble to question this priest;-your Majesty would see whether the wish to
cause a scandal has had anything at all to do with this action of his.-I know no man more unlikely —"
"That may be; but the best proof he could have given of it,
would have been to hold his tongue.-After all, what difference
does it make? Madame de Montespan will not commune;
neither shall I; what will have been gained."
All this was so contrary to the usual tone, language and manner of the king, that the best thing was, to have patience, and
wait for the termination of an anger, which, it might be seen,
could not last long. But the wound was deep; the monarch
was still more offended than the man. Habituated as he was,
to find in his clergy a boundless docility,* he was indignant
*- Externally, at least,-for he was more frequently the led than the




AND  THE KING.                      95
now to stumble over a priest on his path.  It made but little
difference whether this priest were right or wrong; he was a
priest, and the kingly instinct was wounded by this. Louis XIV.
had no very thorough knowledge of history,-but what had
most firmly remained in his memory, were the former enterprises of the clergy against the authority of the crown, and he
could- not suffer even the appearance of a step towards a reestablishment of the humiliation of kings.
On the other hand, he could not but feel the weakness of his
cause, and this further contributed to put him beside himself.
He saw this royal authority of which he had so exalted an
idea, concerned in a matter where it had no hold, where it
could not interfere, either legally or in deed.  Left to himself,
he would have distinguished better his proper part in the matter. When Madame de Montespan came to him, indignant and
breathless, to relate the occurrence, he had at first appeared little enough concerned by it; it was she who had had the art
to excite him, to call the passions of the king in aid of those
of the man. There is no worse anger than that which comes
on gradually, which is not directed towards any fixed object,
and which one allows to be partially or entirely kindled by a
person interested in exciting it.
Bossuet, however, after having for a moment, feared to be
left alone with the king, began to desire this. He discerned
what there was factitious in this anger; he understood that a
frank explanation alone, could produce any result;-but he also
felt that the two other witnesses were in the way. After an instant of indecision an idea struck him.
leader;-but care was taken that he should always think himself master.
Steele having published a parallel between Louis XIV. and Peter the
Great, the latter was much flattered by it, but he said,-" I have subjected my clergy,-while he obeys his."




96        - THE PREACHER AND THE KING.
"Let us retire, gentlemen," he exclaimed; "his Majesty no
longer finds our presence necessary here."
The king, already calmer, but more and more abstracted,
mechanically made the half-polite, half-imperious gesture of the
hand, with which it was his custom to dismiss the people of
his court. They saluted him  and went out. But they were
scarcely outside of the door, when the duke said to Bossuet,"Go in again! go in again! That was your idea, was it not?
I guessed as much,-go in quickly,-courage i"
And he pushed him into the cabinet.




CHAPTER VII.
BOSSUET ALONE WITLI LOUIS XIV.-UNUSUAL BOLDNESS.-" THOU ART THE MAN."
-HESITATION OF TIIE KING.-BOSSUET GAINS A SLIGHT ADVANTAGE.
THE Duke de Montausier had really guessed the truth.  Bossuet had indeed resolved to return without delay, but he was far
from being prepared for such a bold stroke. However, this
was always the old duke's manner of doing things; there was
never a day passed that he did not by his virtuous bluntness,
put into an embarrassing situation some one of his best firiends,
and no one would have been more capable than he, of imitating
Mentor casting his pupil into the sea, in order to force him  to
quit the island.
It is true, that once in the water, poor Telemachus is very glad
to have no one but himself to struggle against; Bossuet also very
soon acknowledged that M. de Montausier had done him a great
service. Would he have been sure of finding, an hour after, the
courage which he was now forced to have -
The king had not changed his position.  He knit his brow
slightly; it was rather surprise than anger.
" It is you!" he said.
"It is I, sire. I know that I am very bold; but to call me, to
order me to speak, was also to order'me to be sincere. I have
been so-"
"Did I appear to doubt it?"
" No; but your majesty did not allow' me time to be thoroughly so. Will your majesty permit me to finish l"
9~




98                 THE PREACHER
"Go on; you will probably tell me nothing which 1 do not
know-"
"I am sure of it. Nothing which has not been said to you
an hundred times "
"A thousand times."
"I do not doubt it. Therefore, what I ask from God for you,
is not understanding; you have that; but the strength to listen
to and obey it. You know better than any one else, that you
have not always this strength.'For the good that I would, I
do not,' said an apostle;'but the evil which I would not, that I
do;' I find two men in me —"
"Ah! these two men, I know them well!"* cried the king.
"It is already something to know them, sire, but it is not
enough. One of the two must perish. Why do yo you delay
to condemn him to death a In allowing you, as a king, to be
exposed to more temptations than others, God has also placed in
your hands more means of resisting them. All those qualities,
solid as well as brilliant, of which we admire the union in your
character, shall it be said that they have done nothing for you
yourself, while they have made the happiness and glory of
France? You owe the high position which you have gained
abroad among all the kings of Europe, perhaps as much to your
firmness as to your victories; at home also, everything proclaims
that the reins of state have never been held by a firmer hand;
and in the very centre of power, there is a man who defies you,
a man who remains disobedient to those laws of order and morality which you have held up for reverence; and this man is
yourself!"
The king made no reply. But it was not only because he
had nothing to answer,-it was inhappily also because the commendations of Bossuet, although joined with reproofs, and only




AND  THE KING.                      99
destined to make the latter go down, had only too agreeably caressed his pride. Bossuet had meant to put the remedy beside
the evil, but had, in reality, only put the evil beside the remedy.
So the king had soon abandoned himself to the charm of that
species of music so familiar to his ear; deaf to all which might
have destroyed its harmony, the little sermon which he had just
heard, was reduced in his mind to three ideas, or rather to the
three first halves of these ideas; "I am  wise, I am resolute, I
am great;" the three last halves, being lost in the abyss of his
pride.
The form of speech used by Bossuet,-a form, by the way,
which we find in almost all the exhortations addressed to Louis
XIV., either fiom the pulpit, or elsewhere, was one of the worst
which could be used to such a man as the king.  Far from
being alarmed by the idea that there were two men in him, he
caressed it complacently. Remark, in effect, that it is a twoedged sword; pious and humnble, you will groan as the apostle
did, to feel the evil within you continually enfeebling the good;
self-satisfied, you will reverse the thought; you will not say to
yourself, that if there is good in you there is also evil; you will
say, that if there is evil, there is also good; and thus you will be
perfectly at rest. Thus did Louis XIV.; thus, again, he deceived
himself, when, many years later, old and unhappy, but so much
the more a slave to pride, because he imagined himself free from
it, he liked to repeat these lines of one of Racine's paraphrases;
" O God this cruel strife i
I find within two men."
"}Mon Dieu, quelle guerre cruelle I
Je trouve deux honlnes en moi."
And confessors and courtiers repeated in chorus, that there were
actually two men in him, and that God could not fail to pardon




100                  THE PREACIIER
one of them for the sake of the other.  Alas! it is not necessary
to be a king and to have courtiers, in order to whisper to one's
self the same language!
Bossuet perceived accordingly, that he had not gained much.
However, he revolved the same ideas a few moments longer in
his mind;-perhaps he was not entirely displeased with it. All
were so accustomed to praise him  and to listen to his praises!
The language of a Corneille, of a Racine seemed only made to
celebrate Louis XIV.*
"Sire," he at length said,-and this time the courtier was altogether merged in the archbishop,-" you do not listen to me,
or rather you only listen to me too much. I do not wish to retract my praises; I believe them just; I will repeat them at any
time. But so long as you have not imposed silence upon me, I
will also repeat my rebukes; and then, not in my own name,
but in the name of religion, of the salvation of your soul, I shall
summon you to answer them. The law of God, the law of the
church is explicit; councils, popes, doctors, all agree; excommunication-"
Louis frowned.
"Do not be startled at the word, sire; you know well, that
I would be the first to sustain your crown against the thunders
of a Boniface VIII., or a Sixtus V.  Such an excommunication
you would defy, and you would do well;t but take care, there is
* And the Academy in particular, had only been created to stimulate
and direct this employment of the language. See in 1728, in the discourse at his reception, what the same Montesquieu, who had so ridiculed
it at other times, says of it; " Above all, it is gratifying to see you working at the portrait of the great Louis,-this portrait always commenced
and never finished,-every day further advanced and more difficult. We
can now scarcely realize that wonderful reign which you celebrate."
f Bossuet was quite right, but a Protestant might have remarked to
him, that, if he who is excommunicated may be judge of the nature and




AND  THE  KING.                       101
another which cannot be defied.  Pronounced or not it exists;
if you merit it,-in vain the Church may shut its eyes and not
register it on the earth —it is nevertheless registered in heaven."
"And you think —that I have incurred this " —cried the king,
with a sudden start.
" Thou shalt not conmmit adultery."
"Adultery! adultery!" repeated' the king, more and more
agitated; "Adultery! but it is the first time I ever imaginedIn truth  it is-"
And he began to stride to and fro in the room, repeating every
moment: "Adultery! adultery!"
He spoke the truth.  It was really the first time that he had
applied this word to himself; neither preachers nor confessors
had yet ventured to pronounce it in so direct a manner that
he was forced to understand that it involved himself.*  Not
that he had  not vaguely felt when it was by accident pronounced, that there was something beneath the word that he
might take to himself; but we do not like to examine too
validity of this act, it is not very clear what is to become of its virtue.
And this is not the only difficulty. If excommunication signify anything, it signifies vastly too much, for then it must be admitted, that the
most pious and virtuous of men dying excommunicated, must of necessity
be damned. If one shrinks from this consequence, excommunication is
nothing mnore than a disciplinary penalty, a simple declaration, in virtue
of which, the excommunicated ceases to belong to the Roman church.
This is more reasonable; but it is clear that Rome, in the time of her
power, was very far from understanding it thus.
* " Thou shalt not coammit adaltery?," is one of the ten commandments
of God, the seventh in the Bible, and  the sixth in the Roman Catholic
catechisms. It is known that the Romish church has suppressed the seeondl, (that forbidding the worship of imlages,) a.nd imakes ten only by dividing the last into two. It is difficult to understand, not from whence this
fraud comes, for the motive which prompted it is sufficiently clear, but
how it was dared.




102                 THEI  PREACHER
closely into the merits of those questions, at the bottom of which
a secret instinct tells us that we should find our condemnation.
He had arranged the matter with himself as do those romance
writers, whose plots contain the grossest adultery, and who consider themselves moral writers, because the worst is not there.
"And what is to be done?  What is to be done?" he at
length said, in the half interrogative tone of a man who sees
very clearly what is to be done, but does not wish to see it; who
asks, but would be delighted if no answer were given him.
"What is to be done? Your Majesty knows better than I do.
First-Madame de Montespan must leave the court."
" She will never consent to it-"
These words escaped the king with the rapidity of lightning.
IHe bit his lips.
"Consent to it, Sire!-Did I say a word about your supplicating her to go l"
The king blushed at finding himself understood, and began
to walk faster than ever. I-Ie was evidently afraid of the proud
Sultana. This was known to be the case, besides; many proofs
of it had been seen.  " She had a pride reaching to the clouds,
from whose effects none were exempt, the king as little as any
other person.'"*  Not long before, she had openly chidden him,
in presence of several persons, because her brother, the Duke de
Vivonne, had not been included in a promotion of Marshals; and
the monarch had been not only seen to take a pen immediately,
in order to add to the other names that of the Duke de Vivonne,
but further, in the tone of a child caught in a fault,-to essay an
excuse for himself by putting it to the score of the forgetfulness
of the Minister of War. This, then, was the yoke which he
dared not throw off, he the most imperious of men. Once subjected, the man who is most difficult to subject, is often more'* SAINT SIMON.




AND' THIE   ING.                   103
submissive tihan any other.-The more conscious a man is of his
power, the less he tlinks it to the interest of his glory never to
appear weak.
However, it is one thing to wear the yoke in silence, and another to confess to the wearing of it.  Therefore a lively vexation
was depicted in the countenance of the king; what would le not
have given to withdraw his unlucky confession! But Bossuet
had gone too far to let go his hold now, and the king's vexation
gave him the best of the game.  " Did I say a word about your
supplicating her to go?" was almost an irony in itself." I never would have believed," he pursued, in the same tone,
"that I should be obliged to remind the king, Louis XIV., that
he is master at Versailles.  Say one word, Sire-"
The king was silent, and continued to walk.
" Do you fear to speak this word?-Do you wish that I should
charge myself with it?"
The king stopped suddenly. To refuse this offer, would be to
take upon himself the performance of an act, for which he felt he
had neither strength nor courage; to accept it, would be to renew the confession of his weakness and terror, it would be besides the consummation of the sacrifice, and this idea filled him
with dread. Not that he loved Madame de Montespan as he had
loved Madame de la Valliere; but she was the life of his court;
she had the art of amusing him; him of whom Madame de Maintenon said, many years afterwards, that he was no longer amusable; she was in fact quite as invaluable to him, perhaps more so,
from her wit, rather than her beauty.  "The court of Madame
de Montespan,. " says Saint-Simon, "was the centre of wit,-and
wit of so peculiar a turn, so delicate, so fine, but always so natural and so agreeable, that it came to be distinguished by its
unique character.*  This wit was her own, and she had the art
* "One may still perceive this charming manner," —wrote St. Silon




104        THE PREACHER  AND  THE  KING.
of communicating it to others."  Now, of all the methods of captivating Louis XIV., this last was the surest.  Besides being by
nature rather wise than witty, tilis prince, with a very high
opinion of his genius and his intelligence was somewhat inclined
to distrust himself in regard to wit, properly speaking; he did
not even venture to be as spirituel as he could have been, and,
like all people in this case, he was infinitely obliged to those who
could put him at his ease,-and it was not only in a tete-a-tete,
that Madame de Montespan possessed this influence.  In the
midst of a numerous circle, among all the wittiest men and
women of the court, she still knew how to draw hinm out, to sustain him, and to keep him  in the most prominent place, or at
least to make himn share it.
Thus, to the ties of his guilty attachment, were joined those
of habit and necessity; to those of the heart, those of the head.
It is not astonishing, that at the moment of breaking all these,
he should hesitate, uncertain and disturbed.
" No," he said, after a long silence, and as if with effort; "I
will give no orders. I am resolved, as you see,-do not exact
more than this.  Go and see her; act for the best.  Only bring
her to the point where I am, and then-"
This was not wvhat Bossuet wished. These words left, too
many doors still open. In fact, they shut none.
" I fear-" he said.
"But go."
"But if — "
" Go.'
There was no reply to be made to this.
nearly forty years after this time, —" in those ladies yet remaining, who
Nwere brought up by herself and her sisters, or connected with them.
They could be distinguished amlong a thousand others even in the corn-,nonest conveisations." As this is the only thing St. Simon ever says in
praise of her, it may be believed.




CIIAPTER VIII.
BOSSUET WAITS UPON MADAME DE MONTESPAN.-COURT PIETY.-UNEASINESS
OF MADAME DE MONTESPAN. —MADAME DE LA VALLIERE.-ROYAL CbNFESSORS.-APPEAL TO BOSSUET'S AMBITION. —APPEAL TO MADAME DE MONTESPAN'S CONSUIENCE.-BOSSUET LOSES WHAT HE HAD GAINED.
MOST assuredly it was not the first time that Bossuet found
himself in one of those combinations of circumstances which
make the stoutest hearts throb more quickly. He never, without
a kind of shudder, recalled the agonies of the famous day, when,
an orator at seventeen years, he had culled his first laurels at the
hotel de Rambouillet; he never retraced without horror, that
night far more terrible, the night of "Madame is dying," when
awakened by that thunderstroke, whose sound his eloquent words
were destined to imnmortalize, he had hastened to open to Madame
the doors of eternity.
But, if he had often been more agitated, and with more reason
for being so, he had certainly never found himself in a more embarrassing or false position.  Sent to Madame de Montespan, in
whose name is he to speak?  In the king's name?  But the
king has given no commands; he who has not his equal in the
art of willing, it is plain that if he has not said, I will, it is because in reality he will not.  In the name of religion?  Madame
de Montespan is in too good health to be thinking already of
the state of her soul.*
* "Thou shalt make of thy King, thy God,Thou shalt go on Sunday to mass,
In order to show thy dress.




106                  THE PREACHER
Not that she had not, like everybody else, certain sentiments,
(or more correctly speaking,) certain habits, of devotion; for in
fact, although the time had not yet arrived when Madame de La
Fayette said; " Without piety, there is no salvation to be found
any more at court than in the other world," it is a great error to
attribute entirely to the influence of Madame de Maintenon upon
Louis XIV., and his influence upon the court, that impulse towards religious observances, devoteeism, if it may be so called,
which took place subsequently.  With the exception of some
avowed unbelievers, more boasters than blasphemers, the society
of the day was, and never had ceased to be, religious, in so far
at least, as that a certain necessity for religion, piety and faith,
was universally acknowledged.   Hence those inconsistencies
which shock and bewilder us, hence those contradictions between faith and works, which one is almost tempted to believe
impossible, but which at that time seemed only quite simple
and natural.  There is to be found in Mme. de Sevigne, (accompanied by details which we would not venture to reproduce,) the adventure of a lady who reproaches the accomplice of
her immorality with not having been fervent enough in his devotions to the Virgin.  Louis XIV.'s access of devotion did not
then create as many hypocrites as might be believed, and as
many historians have asserted; it only brought to light that
which already in great measure existed, we will not say in the
hearts, but at least in the habits of his courtiers.*
Thou shalt see thy father and mother,
At most once every year,RBut when thou shalt come to die,
Thou shalt have recourse to the sacraments."
THE COMMANDMENTS. A parddy of the day.
* There is in general too great an inclination to accusations of hypocrisy. Because a courtier who has had very little religion, becomes
suddenly pious from seeing his king become so,-it does not follow that




AND  THE  KING.                       107
Madame de Montespan sometimes quitted the king to go and
say her prayers.  During Lent, she had her bread weighed  at
Easter she would on no account have omitted to take the communion.  But although this altogether external religion, which
was also that whicli the king practised, does not appear to
have been infected with hypocrisy, it is certain, that even at that
time, few persons could have been found whose piety was less really resident in the heart.  Accustomed to withstand all restrictions,
she wished to hold to religion, but only by a thread, and Bossuet
felt that this thread would break in his hand as soon as he began
to pull it.
Disturbed, almost disheartened, he had notwithstanding, the
self-command to betray nothing to the courtiers who were crowding into the great gallery, for everybody had gone in there, and
curiosity was at its height. It was still worse when he was seen
to direct his steps to Madame de Montespan's apartment.  A
short time before. he had quitted the king, a great movement had
taken place in this gallery.  The ladies had risen from  their
seats, the men had ceased walking about; silence had succeeded
to the buzz of voices, and immobility to restlessness. Followed
by more than twenty persons, a woman had slowly passed through
all this crowd, and all eyes were lowered, all heads were bowed.
It was the Marquise de Montespan.
A short time afterwards another woman appeared. She
was followed by four attendants. All rose, and saluted her;
the only cause and end of his piety is that of his master. Religion becomes very soon a necessity; after having drawn near to God in the eyes
of men, it is not at all impossible that you should become really devoted
to his service. "Alas! there are no longer any hypocrites 1" cried the
Abbe Poulle, about the middle of the last century. The expression was
strange,-but its meaning profound. When there are no more hypocrites, it is because there is no more piety; when there are no more insects to be found, it is because the cold has destroyed them.




108                 THE PREACHER
but she had not reached the middle of the gallery, before the
conversation had already recommenced behind her. This was
only the queen.
Bossuet found the anti-chamber crowded. Hie had never before been seen there. Not that he had never visited the marquise, but he had taken care never to come save with the king;
he was particular to show that it was not for her he calme. The
king had understood this, and she still better. Great then was
the astonishment of the occupants of the anti-chamber.  But
scarcely had he appeared, when a door was opened.
"Madame will not receive to-day. She is indisposed."
And away went the courtiers, not without exhausting their
conjectures as to the cause of this new incident.  Dismissed at
the moment when the bishop entered, they could not doubt that
it was an arranged thing. They were mistaken. It was accidental.
" Announce Monsieur de Condom," he said in a low voice to
the valet who was re-entering the apartment.
And as the man hesitated;
"By order of the king," he added.
The valet bowed. A few moments after, both of the folding
doors were opened to their full extent, as if for the king in person. But this was not an honor which Bossuet could take to
himself. With the words; "'By order' of the king," were it but
a footman, etiquette commanded that he should be received like
a prince of the blood; and the princes of the blood themselves
made it a point, in such cases, to conduct as far as their antichamber, men whom they would not have deigned even to look
at in that of the king.
Madame de Montespan had risen, but without leaving her
place. It is unnecessary to add that her indisposition was a fable, unless indeed this name should be given to the uneasiness
which agitated her; but in that case, indisposed, would be far




AND THE KING.                     109
too feeble an expression; she should have been called ill, very
ill, for she had suffered horribly, and so much the more, that she
had not yet allowed any one to perceive it. It was even for the
very purpose of removing all suspicion, that she had gone out a
short time previous, in order to re-enter by this gallery, that tile
curiosity of the courtiers, aroused by the king's ill-humor, might
be able to find no alteration in her. But the greater the constraint she had put upon herself, the greater was the necessity
that she should at length allow her anguish to have free course.
Besides, in shutting her door to the crowd, she had hoped to
re-dpen it to the king. Still confident, if not in his love, at least
in that royal pride upon which she had always practised with
such success, she forced herself not to doubt that the king had
already found some way of getting out of this difficulty; but
what she feared more than all, was the effect which the species
of excommunication pronounced against her, would have in the
end upon the mind of her lover. And this was a well-founded
apprehension. Great as was the audacity of Louis XIV. in
braving public opinion so long as it remained silent, it was
equalled by his readiness to become uneasy at all manifestations
which might compromise his glory; Madame de Montespan
knew he was not the man to hesitate, if he found it seriously
and decidedly necessary to choose between her and the dignity
of his crown. It was upon this point that she felt the need of
being reassured, and her feelings may be imagined, when, in
place of the king whom she expected, she heard Bossuet announced, and Bossuet coming by order of the king. By order
of the king! In the mouth of a'page or a valet, this formula
would have been only the preface to a tender and consoling message; in that of Bossuet, it seemed a condemnation in itself.
"Madame," he said.
She had at first reseated herself, with a certain calmness, and
10




110                 THE  PREACHER
appeared prepared to listen. But suddenly with one of those
rapid changes which sometimes alarmed even Louis XIV. himself, she exclaimed;
"When does Mmne. de la Valliere make her profession?"
1Her voice was harsh and trembling; her eyes had suddenly
become fixed and piercing.  Bossuet felt himself subdued, at
least for the moment; and though he had perfectly comprehended all the despair and sombre irony of these words, he had
not the power to let her see that he comprehended, nor to reply
otherwise than as to a simple question.
"Towards the end of next month," he said, " or in the beginning of June."
A slight smile curled the lip of the marquise.  Ier little triuImph was more complete than she had ventured to hope. With
her biting wit, there was for her no grief or anguish which the
success of a sarcasm could not for the moment alleviate.
"And who will preach the sermon?" she added, in the same
tone.  "Will it be again the Abbe de Fromentieres?*
" No, madame."
" And who then?"
" Myself, probably."
" I knew it. And you came to see, did you not, whether there
were any means of making this sermon serve for two?"
She had reckoned too much from her flb t victory.  The less
one is accustomed to meet with raillery, the more it at first stupefies and embarrasses; endeavor to prolong it, and you will find
that a serious man has you at an advantage. Madame de Montespan had not finished her sentence, before Bossutet was avenged;
a calm look had been sufficient.
* The Abbe de Fromentieres, quite a distinguished orator, had preached
in 1674, on the occasion of Madame de la Valliere's taking the nun's habit.
The final profession ceuI not take place until after a year of ovitiate.




AND  THE KING.                       111
"Madame," he said coldly, "you spoke more truly than you
intended; in the midst of the annoyance which I feel, at being
forced to broach so delicate a subject to you, you could not better pave the way for me. Yes, you are right. The contempt
with which you and your friends have overwhelmed Mme. de la
Valliere, has not been able to open so wide a chasm between you,
that any one can fail to perceive what you have in common.
Your name is connected and will be connected with all she has
done or will do. And this sermon of which you speak to me,
what will it be, after all, but a plea against you?"
" And the king, monsieur, the king!"
"You do not understand me.  His majesty knows the respect
which I have for him; and if I ever should fail in it, which God
forbid, it would not be in the pulpit, in presence of the church.
No; do not imagine that I have the least idea in the world of
arousing the malice of the court by any allusion.*  Allusions!
Should I find them  necessary    Do you not perceive, that it
does not depend upon me, whether this discourse be considered
* Bossuet kept his promise perhaps too strictly. Whatever was the
indulgence to be observed towards the pious Carmelite, there was some
affectation in not saying a word of her past conduct, and in throwing so
thick a veil over such public faults. There was accordingly a universal
disappointment, and it is probably this to which Madame de S6vign6 alludes in writing on the following day to her daughter, that " Monsieur de
Condom had not been as god-like as had been expected."  (Letter of June
3d, 1675.) The Abb6 de Fromentieres had been bolder, not only in his
discourse, but in his very text. " What man having an hundred sheep,"
etc. " When he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing.
And when he cometh home he calleth together his friends and neighbors,
saying unto them;' Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which
zoas lost."' Luke xv. 4, 5, 6. It is true, that these words occurred in the
gospel for the day, but this day had been expressly chosen by the penitent, in order that no one might be surprised at the preacher's taking
them for his text.




112                 THE PREACHER
from one end to the other, as a long and continued allusion?
And if I should be silent,-if the pulpit should remain vacant,
do you know who will be there? Do you know what preacher,
quite otherwise heard from me, will say more by her presence
alone, than the longest and boldest of discourses? The queen,
madame, the queen! Upon seeing the outraged wife herself,
conduct to the altar, humble and repentant, one who has wronged
her,-what will hinder the thoughts of those present from recurring to another who still wrongs'her?-This word offends
you, madame. —Well, I withdraw it. Yes; I understand, how in
the midst of such seductions, you have not really had a correct idea of your faults and your perils; I understand that one
who has lived so near to the throne, has some right to the indulgence which we are forced to exercise towards those who have
the misfortune to be seated there. The greater the king, the
more you have been able to deceive yourself in regard to the nature and tendency of the errors in which he has invited you to
partake. But this excuse, if it be one, was admissible six years
ago; admissible by men, that is,-if not by God. But nowAh! if you could read in the hearts of men! If you knew what
condemnation may be concealed beneath much adulation! And
God, who can never be deceived-"
"No,-but who is made use of to deceive others! —Why two
weights and two measures? What have I done more than the
king?  You have just said yourself, that it was he who carried
me away. I-low does it happen, that another gives him the absolution, which a priest refuses to me? Come, monsieur, come,
there is something in all this more scandalous than either my
conduct or his.-I have no need to continue."
It is certain, that the method of proceeding of the king's
confessor, was not one of the least scandals of the day. It is
difficult to conceive how a priest, even an ambitious one and a




AND  THE KING.                     113
complete courtier, even fascinated, like every one, by the grandeur of Louis XIV., could dare so far to sport with holy things,
as to grant him under existing circumstances that sacramental
absolution without which a Catholic cannot take the communion.
What passed between himself and his confessor, on these occasions? Did he promise to put an end to his excesses? It is not
very probable;-for, either it would have been a lie, and we do
not think that he would degrade himself so far as to lie,-or, the
promise would have been a sincere one, and there would have
been some attempt to fulfil it.-Was he silent upon this point?
It is still less probable.-Did he order the confessor to be silent?
Did he request this fiom him as a favor? Did he threaten to
address himself to another?-It is impossible to guess. It is
however, certain, that the two Jesuits who played successfully so
conspicuous a part in this sad comedy, did not adopt a very good
method of banishing the " Provincial letters" from remembrance.
It is true that Father Ferrier, the predecessor of Father La
Chaise, showed, from time to time, a disposition to resist.-A curious spectacle must have been presented at these times. The
Jesuit and his penitent played at hide and seek, and opened their
eyes at each other, and the whole affair at length resulted in an
agreement, of which the conditions remained a mystery, but
of which the public result was another communion, which necessarily supposed another absolution. As to Father La Chaise,
"the Easter holidays," says Saint Simon, " often give him  a
politic illness,"-which failed not to attack him  the evening
before, or even the very morning of the day when. he was to
receive the king's confession.  The latter, as we may well
think, did not insist upon looking into the matter. HIe waited
twenty-four hours, and the good father growing no better, he
begged him  to send a substitute. La Chaise had his man
ready. It was always one of the least cunning, or the most cun10*




114                   THE PREACHER
ning of the order. In both cases the confession was finished in
short order; the same with the absolution.*
This was precisely what had now taken place for the first time,
for father Ferrier had died in the close of the year 1674, and it
was only in the beginning of 1675 that fa.ther La Chaise had
received this coveted situation, which he was destined to keep
for thirty-four years. Madame de Montespan had done everything she could, to dispose him  in her favor.  She was accordingly not the person to declare it scandalous that he should not
forbid the king's performance of his Easter devotions; but when
she was offended she did not look very closely into matters.
Was she not heard in 1680 to inveigh loudly against him, and
to wish his dismission, because he did not force the king to break
with Mlle. Fontanges?  She had actually got so far as to think
herself entitled to all the rights of a legitimate wife.
However it may be, the objection was a plausible one, and it
was only too true, as she had said, that two weights and two
measures had been used.
"You are striving to embarrass me," said Bossuet, " and in
this you have almost succeeded.  But even suppose I gave you
the pleasure of hearing a bishop condemning a priest, what
would you gain by that?  If I should say that the king's confessor was wrong in authorizing him  to commune, does it follow
that yours was wrong in forbidding you to do so?  Ah, reflect
well; if you should pass your life in collecting and noting down
all the faults and inconsistencies committed by the ministers of
" We may however add, that if such laxity could be pardoned, it would
be so more readily to Father La Chaise than any other. He was a man
naturally of a good, gentle, obliging disposition: "a good gentleman,"
says d'Aguesseau, —" who liked to live peaceably, and to allow others to
do so." Further, it was not he who counselled the Revocation of the
Edict of Nantes. It appears that-he would even have opposed it, if he
had dared.




AND  THE  KING.                      115
religion, you would not by that efface one letter of the law which
they preach to you, and by whose authority you are condemned.
It was then a very useless trouble, be it said in passing, which
you have taken in making inquiries-"
" I! —"
" This promptitude to exclaim against it, would complete my
certainty, even if I had not already every proof of it. Yes,
madame; since you have begun to fear the little influence I may
have upon the mind of the king, you have sought out-or ordered
to be sought out, all the details of my life.  My servants, my
friends, all those who approach me, have been thoroughly sounded; there is not one of your courtiers who would not have been
enraptured to bring you information of some scandal-"
"All! Monsieur- "
"Do not deny it; it would have been certain of a favorable reception.  What would you not have given, above all, to
succeed in discovering something criminal, or even suspicious
in smy relations with Mile. de Maul6on?*  And nevertheless,
permit me to ask what that would have proved?  Because you
had discovered something to destroy my credit in the king's
eyes, would it have been excusable for you to continue to lose
yourself in the sight of God?  What a consolation I But that
consolation you have not had-"'"You may believe me or not," exclaims the marquise, with
X Some authors have gone so far as to say, that Bossuet had secretly
married her, with the permission of the Pope. Jurien, in his " Pastoral
letters" speaks of it as an averred fact. Voltaire appears to believe it.
Roman Catholic historians regard it as a fable, and we are of this opinion;
but still, in rejecting the idea of a marriage, we are forced to admit, that
all is not quite clear in regard to the affair. See, for further details,
the "llMemoirs of M1ine. de lfcaintenon," by La Baumelle, and the "Memoirs
of Bossutet," by de Bausset. However this may be, Mme. de Montespan
had been able to discover nothing.




116                  THE PREACHER
that vivacity with which a passing idea is seized upon when one
wishes to draw advantage from it,-" but I was not so sorry for
it as you seeem to think. Wihatever desire I may have had,
and why should I deny it? to discover some blemishes in your
greatness, it could only increase in my eyes, after being subjected
to such an examination, and as I had made a violent effort in
order to withdraw my esteem for a moment, it could not.be
unpleasant to restore it to you again. Have you ever even perceived that it has undergone the least diminution? Ask the
king if, whenever anything advantageous and honorable has
presented itself, I have not been the first to remind him of
your merits. I will not say that you owe to me your being the
Dauphin's preceptor, but if I had been ill-disposed towards you,
perhaps you would not be in this situation. Quite recently too,
when the king was spoken to of a promotion of cardinals —-"
Bossuet saw the trap.  It was not the first time that she had
showed a disposition to purchase his approbation and silence
by services, and though she had in effect rendered him several,
he could neither permit her to consider him as under obligations
to her, nor to hope to enchain him by gratitude.
So he hastened to interrupt her.
" Madame," he said, "I know very well that I may lose by exposing myself to your displeasure; and as to that which I should
gain in preserving myself in your good graces, the devil has told
me of it more eloquently than you have. When the share which
I had in the resolution of Madame de la Valliere was known,
were there not persons found, who concluded from  it, that I
wished to rid you of a rival? It was only necessary that I should
allow you to believe this, in order to assure myself of your friendship. But no, I protested against it. Conscience, had spoken-"
"And ambition also," she said, excessively piqued by the
failure of her manceuvre.




AND THE KING.                     11 7
"Ambition! You have just said the contrary. Did you not
give me to understand an instant since, that with a little complaisance, I might be secure, so far as you-"
"Yes; that is what the devil said to you. But you have reflected upon it; you have thought that it would be finer to advance without my aid; that in order for that, you only had to
secure my banishment-"
"Well, madame, continue."
"That then, master at length of the king's will —see! the devil
is so cunning!-why may he not have whispered the name of
Mazarin in your ear, or for all I know, of Richelieu!-"
And once having launched forth, Mme. de Montespan was not
a woman to stop before she had expended all her anger.
But of all situations into which we may bring ourselves by
talking, there is none more insupportable than when we feel
that we are going too far and injuring our cause. We would
stop, but we cannot.  We must go on; we must finish our
sentence, our period; and at each word that we add, we feel that
it is a word too much. And thus it was with the poor marquise.
Ably managed, this accusation of ambition might have given her
some little hold upon Bossuet; but she saw that her exaggerated
expressions only resulted in rendering it null, and dispensing
Bossuet from even replying to it. A Richelieu under a Louis
XIV.! In the midst of all this torrent of words, what she most
desired was, that he would interrupt her, even if it were by resentful replies; but he was careful not to do this. When your
enemy is rapidly working his own ruin, it would be folly to stop
him. I-Ier vehemence went on increasing, and soon it passed all
bounds. She repeated in yet stronger terms, all that she had
already said; she seized upon Bossuet's first replies, and commented upon and misrepresented them, until at length exhausted,
breathless, ashamed of having so ill pleaded such a poor cause,




118                 THE PREACHER
she burst into tears, and covering her face with her hands, cried;
"Unhappy that I am!"
A violent spirit is always the most easy to subdue, after one
of those fits of anger during which it has appeared indomitable.
It is in some sort exhausted by the effort to keep itself as long as
possible in this state of exaltation. It is not appeased but weakened, and in the first moment when all seems broken within it,
it is ready for the first who may come to take possession of it.
The occasion was a favorable one for making one last effort.
He approached her and took her hand.  She raised her eyes
-she was no longer the same person.  Surprise and respect had
replaced anger.
Then, with a voice still grave, but affectionate and feeling, he said:
"You weep; ah! blessed be God, for you are already too calm
for me to attribute your tears to anger or despair. Their source
is purer, is it not? Let me think so; let me say so. Yes, you
have some idea of your misery, —you begin to fathom the abyss.
It is frightful. But it was necessary you should. Why not
rather to-day than to-morrow? For after all, in spite of your
being seduced, dazzled, fascinated, you had enough of good sense
remaining, to see that a position like yours, is always, of necessity, precarious and frail. I comprehend, alas! that the public
repentance of Mme. de la Valliere has not succeeded in arousing
your conscience; but that the king's conduct towards her should
not have opened your eyes, that in seeing forsaken, her who was
so dear to him, you should not have said to yourself-"
"But, monsieur," she interrupted, "what had I time to say to
myself? The king loved me, there was the whole thing. Did
it ever enter my mind to calculate whether his love would end
before mine did?"
"It ended, however, before that of-but we will leave that.
And besides-"




AND THE KING.                     119
He hesitated.' And besides?" she said, with her eyes fixed inquiringly upon
him.
"If the king's love had been regulated by yours-"
"Well?"
"It would have been long ago all over. You do not love the
king-you never have loved him -"
I " she cried, "I!"  But her expression was rather that of
inquietude than indignation. Evidently she'did not venture to
deny it; the eye of Bossuet had penetrated into the very depths
of her mind.
" No, madame," he continued, "no, you do not love the king,
-or rather,-yes, it is the king, the king of France, the master
of twenty millions of men, the homage which surrounds him,
the splendor which is reflected upon you-it is this which you
loved, and which you still love; but Louis the man, you do not
love "
" She was silent, and cast down her eyes. An inexplicable influence seemed to press upon her; the voice of Bossuet was but
the voice of her conscience.
"Thus," he slowly resumed, after a moment's silence, " in trampling the holiest duties under your feet, you have not even the
common excuse, of a love too strong to be conquered by honor!
But we will speak no more of the past; the world will forget it,
and it only rests with you that God should forget it. Now,
therefore, listen to me. The king's salvation, yours, and that of
so many unfortunates whom you encourage to sin, is in your
hands. The king has not yet the resolution to order you to quit
the court; retire then of yourself, and the king will bless you for
having had pity on his weakness. In seeing you struggle, he
will struggle also. Rejoiced to find himself stronger, he cannot
but esteem the more her who will have forced him to be so.




120                  THE  PREAC IER
Love must have an end some time; perhaps soon; esteem will
never end.  Decide, Madame, decide-"
She renmained motionless.  It was a good deal gained to have
brought her thus far; but he wanted an answer.
"You are silent," he continued, after a long pause.
"The king awaits me; what shall I say to him?  He has begun to feel uneasiness in regard to the state of his soul, and you,
-loaded with his favors, will you refuse to recognize them, save
in perpetuating by your presence the temptations under which
he groans?  But no,-that cannot be; —yet another step, Madamnle,-in heaven's name, —a word,-a single word —"
She opened her lips to reply.  What would she have said?
We cannot tell; perhaps she herself did not know.  But a slight
noise was heard, and two ladies appeared.  It was Madame de
Thianges and the Abbess of Fontevrault, the two sisters of Madame de Montespan.
By turning, in order to salute them, Bossuet spared himself
the pain of seeing the alteration which their arrival had produced in the physiognomy of her whom he had believed almost
subdued,-and whom perhaps, he might have subdued but for
this unlooked-for succour.  Madame de Thianges was a woman
of much levity, incapable of entertaining any scruples in regardl
to the conduct of her sister.*  Madame de Fontevrault had in
* Notwithstanding, like many others, she had had her slight attacks
of devotion. Madame de Sevign6 relates, (Jan. 5th, 1674,) that she dined
with Madame de Thianges, and that a footman having presented a glass
of wine to the latter,-" Madame,' said the convert gravely, " this man
does not yet know that I have become religious." This devotion comlmenced and terminated like a situation or a charge; the expression become
religious, was used as we say become a lawyer, or become a merchalnt.
The principal exterior sign of conversion with women, was to wear no
more rouge; the fit over, the rouge resumed its place. "This rouge,"
says Madame de Sevign6, "is the law and the prophets; it is upon this
rouge, that the whole of Christianity turns."




AND  THE  KING.                      121
reality some few, but she had determined to seem to hear and
see nothing, —and it had become quite a matter of course, to see
her displaying her abbess' cross in the saloons of the king's
mistress.*  The court was their atmosphere, their life, their all;
they would have shuddered at the idea of no longer seeing there
her who sustained them.  It was accordingly not by accident
that they entered their sister's apartment at this moment. They
were still ignorant of the affair of the confession; but officious
people had hastened to inform them of Bossuet's visit to the
Marquise.  Although informed of it separately, they had no need
of an understanding, in order to arrive at the same moment, with
the sole purpose of putting an end to a conversation, which they
felt augured no good either to their sister or themselves.
They arrived just in time, as we have seen; and if Bossuet did
not immediately perceive the effect produced by their arrival,
Madame de Montespan did not leave him in error.  He had only
to glance at her to see that all was lost, and as she accompanied
him out,-for he considered it proper to retire,-he said in a low
voice,"Well i"
"The king is master, Monsieur," she replied, aloud and in a
tone of the utmost indifference.
"And I shall make him remember it," he replied, like herself,
aloud.
* "People would have been edified by it, if the king had desired;" says
Duclos. "She was," says St. Simon, "the most talented of the three sisters, and perhaps, also, the most beautiful. With this was united a rare
learning, for she was acquainted with theology and the fathers; she was
versed in the Scriptures, and she understood the learned languages. Although she had been made a nun in the most cavalier manner, her regularity
in her abbey was exact. Her visits to the court never caused anything
to be said against her reputation, save in regard to the singularity of
seeing the wearer of such a habit participate in favors of such a nature."
11




CHAPTER I X.
BOSSUET'S LETTER TO THE ]KING.
AND in effect, less than an hour after, the king received the
following letter:*
"Sire,"Will your Majesty pardon me, if I do not present myself
in person to give an account of my mission. It is not-necessary
that you should know the details; I will even venture to beg
you not to demand them.
"You have taken, and have forced me to take as arbiter, the
person of all others most interested in retaining you in the state
from which you appeared to wish for deliverance; you have
taken a step, in regard to the interests of your soul, which neither you, nor any other king, would be willing to take in regard
to one of your most unimportant provinces. I thought for a
moment, that, in default of more elevated considerations the
feeling of your dignity would be enough to sustain you; you
have not chosen that it should be so, and as if your own weakness
were not sufficient, you have taken refuge in that of another.
"I went whither your Majesty sent me; but with the firm resolution not to accept, either as a defeat or a victory, the failure
or the success of this proceeding.  If it had succeeded, I should
* Authentic. See, in Memnoirs of Bossuet, several letters written by
him to Louis XIV. in the course of this same year, 1675.




THE PREACHER  AND  THE KING.                123
use the same language. I should think that I insulted you in
telling you that a separation had been agreed to; I should confine myself to repeating, as I do at this moment, that it is yours
to will, yours to command, and that in this case you cannot as a
king be feeble, without being as a Christian, criminal.
"Do not, however, conclude from this, that Madame de Montespan was entirely deaf to my.exhortations. Perhaps the above
lines have already caused you a secret joy.-Undeceive yourself.
If duty has not conquered, still the struggle has been violent.
Yes, like you, she trembled; then she strove to banish thought.
She succeeded. Ah! Sire, God preserve you from succeeding
in this! Madame de Montespan could not become guilty without your becoming more so; she cannot remain guilty, without
your becoming a hundred times more so, since the sacrifice to
be made is a hundred times more cruel for her, who owes you
all and' is nothing without you, than to you, who owe her nothing and are everything without her.
"In truth, Sire, it must be. This word sounds ill to your ears;
you have not often heard it save when it has left your own lips.
No matter! I will go on. It must be, I say again, or there is
no salvation to be hoped for.  One of the first things which
Madame Montespan said to me, was, that she did not see how
you had the right to perform  your Easter devotions, while she
was forbidden hers.  I evaded the question.  I replied, that
that did not prove it was wrong to have prohibited hers; but
with you why should I be evasive: why should I not tell you
plainly, if we can feel the least doubt in regard to our fitness for
approaching the holy supper, the authorization to do so which
we may have received from a man, is null before God.*  Now,
* Every reasonable Roman Catholic is forced to arrive at this conclusion, if he be a little pressed on the subject of confession. One of two
things,-either absolution is valid from the sole fact of its being pro



124                   THE PREACHER
you have those scruples at present; you cannot banish them;
you cannot silence them between now and Saturday, unless you
submit, and submit fully and humbly to the conditions which
God dictates to you. Without that, warned as you now are,
you will be sacrilegious.  My heart is oppressed at the thought,
that in my struggles to save you, I should only have succeeded
in making you more criminal!
" Courage then, Sire, courage! Here is an opportunity for a
more glorious victory than any of those for which the world has
applauded you; and be assured that on your death-bed you
would not give that for all the others."
When Bossuet read over this letter, he was alarmed at it; no
one had ever yet talked in this strain to Louis XIV.  At first he
resolved to soften the expressions a little, without changing any
of the thoughts; but he had scarcely re-copied a few lines before
he tore them.  After several new attempts, he finished by folding
the original, and sending it just as it was.
In the meantime, he walked to and fro, he could not remain
still.  Joy at having acted aright;-fear of having it ill-received,
the pious desire of saving the king, and the worldly fear of
wounding him; all these mingled feelings agitated him, and
whirled through his mind.  He calculated the steps which his
messenger had to take.* Sometimes he wished for his letter
again in order to change it; sometimes he was rejoiced that this
nounced,-or it is conditional. If it be valid ipsefacto, it must be ad
mitted, that the greatest villain in the world, absolved by a priest, is
free from all sin; if it be conditional, the priest is but an adviser; he
gives you directions in regard to the means of being absolved, but he does
not actually absolve you.
Absurd, or null-one of the two must of necessity be this pretended
right of loosing and binding.
* Bossuet, as the preceptor of the Dauphin, had his residence in the
chateau.




AND  THE KING.                    125
was no longer in his power. According as one phrase or another recurred to him, he passed from discouragement to hope,
from confidence to fear.
Suddenly, he paused. His countenance cleared up, and after
a few seconds of reflection, he ordered his chair.
11*




CHAPTER X.
BOSSUET VISITS BOURDALOUE. —CLAUDE S LETTER.-BOSSUET COMMUNICATES THE
STATE OF THINGS IN THE CHATEAU TO BOURDALOUE.-THE LATTER AGREES
TO ALTER HIS SERMION FOR THE FOLLOWING DAY.-BEGINS TO READ IT TO
BOSSUET.
IT was about eight o'clock, and the last rays of twilight had
just abandoned the streets of Versailles. In a dwelling, close beside the parish-clhurch, (at the present time cathedral,) of St.
Louis, the shadow of a tall man, slightly stooping, could be seen
passing to and fro behind the curtains of a window.  Witl
sharp eyes, and a little attention, it might have been perceived,
from  the movement of his lips, that he was speaking quite
rapidly; but he did not appear to be addressing any one.  He
was making no gesticulations; but from time to time one of his
hands was raised as high as his breast; this'hand ap5peared to
hold a manuscript, upon which he cast his eyes.  Otherwise,
nothing could be more regular than his movements to and fo, —
they might have been compared to those of a pendulum.
It was there that Bossuet was to stop.  As he approached the
house, he perceived the shadow, and smiled; which smile probably signified: "I do not find it necessary to run about my
room so much."
"Father Bourdaloue," he said to the footman who opened the
door.
" He is gone out, my lord —"




THE PREACHER  AND THE KING.                    127
" Yes? well, his shadow, then,-for one can see that at twenty
paces from here."
"My lord," said the footman, half-confused, half-inclined to
laugh, —" he expects some one,-it is himself who desired me —"
" To lie a? I much doubt it. Why not say at once how it is?
He is learning his sermon.-You say that he is expecting some
one; is it so?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Never mind; I must see him."
The footman took a light and went on before him.  Arrived
at the first story, he knocked at one of the doors on the landingplace. It was opened.
"Welcome, monsieur Claude," said Bourdaloue. —" Eh! butit is Monsieur de Condom-"
"Monsieur Claude!" said Bossuet, in the greatest astonishment, and fixing his eyes on the Jesuit with a sort of distrust;"what Claude is it?"
"Claude  the minister —
" Claude of Charenton?"
"Of Charenton.
Bossuet could not recover from  his surprise.  Besides, this
name of Claude sounded disagreeably to his ear. The minister
of Charenton was of all the Protestants of France, and even of
Europe, the best match for the bishop of Condom.  The latter
had had famous specimens of this, in their celebrated conference;
and although his party had proclaimed the victory his, he knew
better than any one, that if he had not been positively beaten,
neither had Claude any more than himself.*
* It is lknown, that each afterwards published his account of this conference. But neither of these two accounts, made long after, present the
characteristics of truth. They have, in common, a most singular deficiency
in philosophy. The smallness of the circle within which two champions




128                  THIE  PREACHER
" In fact," resumed Bourdaloue, "you know him better than I
do, for I have never seen him."
"And you expect him?"
"He has requested an interview."
" Through whom did he request it?"
" He wrote to me; here is his letter —would you like me to
read it to you?"
"Let me have it."
"Sir and much respected brother —"'
" Brother i" murmured Bossuet.
" Why not i" asked Bourdaloue.  "You have often used this
word in speaking to the Protestants."
This was true; but even in bestowing on the Protestants the
name of brothers, Bossuet always appeared slightly displeased
when they returned him the same appellation. It was somewhat as if a great lord should call you mny friend, to whom it
would be improper for you to apply the same term.
He did not answer.
"Sir and much respected brother,"Finding myself at Versailles for some days, it would be gratifying to me not to leave without having seen, at least once, a
man whose reputation" —I pass over some sentences; here is the
close; —" do not mistake, I beg of you, as to the object of my
request. There is no question of a discussion; —we will talk of
anything you like, of preaching, if it suits you, for my name is
perhaps well enough known to you, for you not to be ignorant
that I amn one of the trade; and if either of us should happen
of their size could combat for so long a time, is astonishing. All Bossuet's
arguments rest on the authority of the church; on the very thing which
requires proof more than all the rest; and Claude, too faithful to the dialectics of the age, does not seem to perceive that he would find strength
in a frank and serious appeal to common sense, history, and the Bible.




AND  THE KING.                    129
to leave the neutral and pacific ground to which we confine ourselves, we will mutually recall each other to order.
Accept, etc.           CLAUDE."
"And you agreed?" said Bossuet.
"Certainly; he is a man to be known. I would not have
sought it, but I am enchanted with the opportunity. What torments me is, that I do not know my sermon."
"Not at all?"
" If it were not at all, you would not see me in the pulpit tomorrow."
"You begin to know it then?"
"It is just that. I have been studying it these forty-eight
hours."
" Ah! if you had believed me, you would have been relieved
firom this sort of trouble long ago."
"-It was necessary to begin by endowing me with your mind,
before giving me your method."
"Always so mucl  humility, Monsieur Boudaloue-"
"Always so much genius, Monsieur de Condom."
" Flatterer! Have you still what I wrote you on the subject,
nearly ten years ago?"
"The letter on improvisation? I have lent it to the Abb6e de
F6nelon. To him, who e'temporises already, it will be of use.
To return to my sermon, I begin to know it, as you say, but I do
not know it. I at first replied to Monsieur Claude, that I would
receive him on Monday next, after the fites; but he is obliged
to be at Charenton on Sunday. I was obliged to say that I
would expect him this evening. I shall make up for it by studymIg a part of the night."
"If you do not spend it in writing," said Bossuet.




130                 THE PREACHER
"In writing. I! My sermon has been finished since day before yesterday."
"Do you never re-touch your discourses?"
"Never, when I have once begun to commit them. My head
would not stand it."
"Listen," said Bossuet; " one is sometimes forced to do that,
which one has never done before. I do not know what is the
subject of your sermon; but there will very probably be more
or less in it to be changed — "
"It is difficult."
"To be omitted-"'" That is easier.'"
"To be added-"
" Do you dream of such a thing! The evening before i But
what is it? You have a very peculiar air-"
Bossuet told him all. He saw that the king, undecided, wavering, ready to relapse, needed a check which would recall him
to himself; he came to ask Bourdaloue to undertake this, and to
awaken him from the pulpit, by something strong and daring.
"You see how matters stand," added he. "You see that I
have done what I could. The words I have spoken have been
almost useless, the letter will be forgotten in presence of three
lines from Madame de Montespan. You alone still have something in your power. If he be not conquered, he is moved; the
occasion is a favorable one, and may, perhaps, never return.
You may now obtain for religion and morals the most glorious
victory which they have to gain in France."
And as Bourdaloue was silent;
"You do not reply. Would you hesitate? Will you force
me to exact as a duty, what I now ask as a favor?. have the
paternal right —"
Bourdaloue did not compose with difficulty.  Ideas were what




AND THE KIN-.                    131
he was less wanting in than anything else, for we have as many
as three and even four sermons by him upon the same subject,
without these discourses having anything in common. But he
liked to write at his leisure; calm and silence were necessary to
him; and beyond everything, it was necessary that he should
have time enough before him to study his discourse when he
should have finished it; and while Bossuet was never bolder, nor
more copious than when he was hurried, Bourdaloue no sooner
felt himself so, than he grew frightened and lost his power. Not
that he had not often deceived himself in this respect,- and found
himself, when the moment arrived, more expeditious than he had
ventured to hope; but it was not in his power to prevent his first
feeling from being one of fear and discouragement. So much
the more in this case, since it was not merely a question of altering rapidly some parts of a discourse already studied, but to
throw himself abruptly into the midst of one of the most delicate
affairs with which a priest can intermeddle. It is not difficult,
then, to understand ivhat an effort he was obliged to make, to
answer, " I will try."  And even this he said in a low voice, and
with a sigh.
"And you will succeed," said Bossuet.
"I will try," he repeated. " Will you help me?"
"Most willingly-if I can."
"If you can!  I am going to read you my sermon; you
must explain to me more in detail, what you think I should
add. Yes, in truth, it is a favorable occasion. All! if I had
only known of it eight days sooner!"
" Well! you would have only had eight days more of disquiet."
"Yes; but the sermon-"
"The sermon will only be the better for it, perhaps. Read on,
however."




132         THE PREACHER AND  THE KING.
Bourdaloue took his manuscript.
"Sire, —
" If orators could ever  "
"The text, if you please," said Bossuet.
"Ah! I had forgotten.  Judcei signa petunt, et Grceci sapientiana qucerunt; nos autemr predicamus Christumn  crucifixumn,
Jiudceis quiderm scandalum, gentibus autenr stultitiam; ipsis antern vocatis, Judacis et Grcecis, Christum Dei virtutenm, et Dei
sapientiamn."*
" Well chosen," said Bossuet; " it is only a St. Paul who can
write those things. Go on."
t" If the preacher could ever, with apparent reason, blush for
his ministry, would it not be on this day,-when he beholds
himself obliged to publish the astonishing humiliations of the
God whom he proclaims,-the outrages which he has received,
the weaknesses which he has felt, his languor, his suffering, his
passion, his death?  Nevertheless, said the great Apostle, in
spite of the shame of the cross, I will never blush for the gospel of Christ, and the reason which he gives for it,"-but it is
not necessary for us to read all this first part.  I will pass on
to the last pages. It is with those that we have to do," he added,
with a profound sigh.
" Courage! God will aid you."
"He has alleady begun to do so, since you are here. —Ah!
I hear some one coming up; I had forgotten.  It is doubtless-"
" What a contretemps!"
" There is, however, no way —"
And he opened the door.
X "For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom;
but we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and unto
the Greeks foolishness; but unto them which are called, both Jews and
Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God." 1 Corinthians i. 22, 23, 24            f Literal,




CHAPTER XI.
ARRIVAL OF CLAUDE.-MUTUAL SURPRISE AND EMBARRASSMENT.-ARRIVAL OF
THE MESSRS. FENELON.-NEW SURPRISE.-JANSENIST AND PROTESTANT.SPIRIT IN WHICH SERMONS ARE COMMONLY HEARD AND CRITICIZED.-CLAUDE'S
STRICTURES ON COURT PREACHERS.-BOURDALOUE IN GREAT DISTRESS.
4 TIE distinguished talents, extended information, and strong
and pleasing logic of Claude, were accompanied by still more
estimable qualities; with purity of morals, ease of conversation,
and all those gentle and amiable traits of character, which it is
always pleasing to discover in men of superior merit."
To these words of the Cardinal du Bausset* we may add the
no less explicit testimony which Bossuet himself was pleased to
tender to the meritorious qualities of his illustrious antagonist.
It is true, that the impartiality of tile Roman Catholic historians towards Claude, is in fact nothing more than partiality towards Bossuet; nothing is easier than to be just, when sometlhing is to be gained by it afterwards, and to acknowledge how
formidable an enemy is, when one is decided to. declare him
to have been vanquished.  But, whatever was the object of
these praises, they do not the less suffice to confirm those which
the. reformed Churches of France, Switzerland, Holland  and
England, were unanimous in giving to the eloquent and pious
minister of Charenton.
Claude was of middling height, but he shared with many
* Memoirs of Bossuet. Book V.




134                  THE PREACHER
distinguished personages of the time, the king included, the
advantage of appearing much taller than he really was. This
curious peculiarity of the 17th century, was doubtless not independent of the costume. The high and majestic peruke of
the men, the slender waists of the women's dresses, and the
high heels which both wore, had probably much to do with it;
but it cannot be denied, that it was also the effect, in part,
of the physiognomies.  Look at the portraits of this time;
would you not say they were cousins of Louis XIV.? Some
men, however, Bossuet among others, recall the ruder and somewhat Spanish type of the time of Louis XIII. and Corneille.
Claude also belonged to this latter class.  His features had
not the grand and Bourbonian regularity which the sight of the
king seemed to impress upon all the visages of the court. A
child of the south, he had in his eyes and in his gestures something more spirited; but as this vivacity neither injured the precision of his language, nor the nobleness of his movements, it
served only to augment the impression produced by his presence.
Unfortunately his voice did not prepossess in favor of his words.
It was dry and somewhat harsh; and to this was added a decided southern accent. On this account, it had been jocosely
said, at the time of his election at Charenton, that all voices
were in his favor, save his own.
Scarcely had he crossed the threshold of Bourdaloue's chamber, before he perceived Bossuet approaching him.  He stopped.
It was neither repulsion nor dread, but he could not be otherwise than profoundly surprised, that Bourdaloue had thought fit
to admit a third person, and that that person should be Bossuet.
An explanation was necessary; it was brief.
"I have just arrived," said Bossuet, "quite accidentally.  Allow me to retire-"
"Why, sir, why? If it is accident which brings you, there




AND  THE KING.                    135
is no longer any reason why your presence should surprise me.
And who knows, besides, if this accident may not be Providence?
As for myself, I confess that I am very happy to meet, in a fraternal interview, a man whom I have as yet, only encountered
on the field of battle.-And you, sir," he continued, addressing
himself to -Bourdaloue, "pardon me my first surprise. It was an
insult to your delicacy-"
"Do riot speak of it; appearances were against me."
They took seats; but the conversation was not flowing.
Every one has remarked that an interview which commences
badly, is some time before taking a happy turn; it is in vain
that the speakers are convinced that no one has been in fault; it
requires some moments for the first impression to wear off. Add
to this, that Bossuet was not at ease. In spite of Claude's assurances, he felt himself de trop, and regretted not having persisted in leaving.-Bourdaloue, on his part, made vain efforts to
think of-something else besides his sermon, and the minutes
which were flying, and the precious time which he was forced to
lose, and for what? To answer yes or no to insignificant obserrations, —for such a reception was little calculated to put Claude
at his ease, and permit him  to enter upon some subject which
was worth talking of. A conversation upon rain and sunshine,
is always insipid enough, but when the speakers are people of
merit, it is still sadder and still more insipid. One would just
as willingly see them. embroider, or string pearls.
Dissatisfied with himself and with them, Claude was about to
retire after a visit of a quarter of an hour, when Messieurs de Fenelon were announced.
We have already seen that the latter had agireed to visit Bourdaloue on this evening. The marquis looked forward to it with
much pleasure; thus, though his nephew had expressed to him




136                 THE PREACHER
the fear that their visit might disturb the Father, on account of
his next day's sermon, he insisted upon going.
Salutations, compliments, etc. All presentations are alike.
But M. de Fenelon was hardly seated, before his eye fell upon
Claude, accidentally placed opposite to him, and he began to examine him with the air of a man striving to recall something.
Bourdaloue had presented Claude to him, according to custom;
but, whether he had not. distinguished the name, or whether he
had not listened to it, he had bowed without a reply, and without troubling himself to hear better. So he looked, and looked
again,-and when conversation began, he seemed to regret the
moments which politeness forced him to withdraw his gaze. At
length, Claude having spoken a few words, this voice appeared
to strike him.
"But —" he said, "excuse me.-It is probable that I am mistaken. However -Would Monsieur be —"
H-le did not venture to continue. He felt, that if he were mistaken, the object of his blunder might be little flattered by it.
And then Claude visiting Bourdaloue! Claude making a third
with Bossuet!-It was a dream.'" I think that Monsieur is not mistaken," said the minister.
"It is then you, who-at Charenton-"
HIe did not yet venture to speak out the word, the thing appeared to him so improbable.
" But yes-" said Claude.
"Well," cried the marquis, looking alternately at Bourdaloue
and at him, "when I entered the house of the first preacher of
the age this evening, I did not look forward to meeting there,
the second also!"
The first, the second —and Bossuet? It may be remembered
that we have already said what the opinion of the public was in
regard to him. In ceasing to count him among the preachers,




AND  TIIE KING.                     137
it was thought that an honor was done him.  No one could be
further from wishing in the least to underrate him, than M. de
Fenelon.
The future bishop of Meaux could not, however, conceal *a
slight movement of surprise.
"You have heard M. Claude preach!"
And the tone in which these words were spoken, indicated a
mingling of various feelings.  First, astonishment.  He knew
that Claude was no mean preacher; but he had never imagined
that a Catholic, a connoisseur, could give him thus the first rank
after Bourdaloue.  It was wounded vanity; could he entirely resign, even for a position reputed higher, his former renown as an
orator?  Could he sincerely subscribe to the honor, which it was
imagined was paid him in leaving him out?  So much for his
feelings as a man;-but there were also those of the bishop. It
was, as may be easily understood, a very natural displeasure,
that felt by a zealous Catholic, in learning that one of the most
distinguished men of his church, had entered a heretic place of
worship, and had not only entered, but been gratified there. The
Jansenists were good Catholics, judging, at least, by the vehemence of their attacks against the Protestants; but a party
may be interested in exaggerating the distance which separates
it from  a certain other party,* and in this case, the animosity
displayed, proves more affinity than repulsion. Among the hundred and one propositions condemned in 1713, in the Bull Uni#enitus, there is more than half to which Calvin might have
subscribed.  The more Jansenism resembled the Reformation in
* It is on this account, that the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and
the persecutions against the Jansenists themselves, so closely followed the
debates of 1682, when the Pope had been so insulted. Loudly accused
by Rome, of having destroyed, or wishing to destroy Catholic unity, Louis
XIV. found it very convenient to renew it at the expense of the Protes
tants and Port-Royal.
12*




138                   THE  PREACHER
some points, (and these points were by no means the most unimportant,*) the more important it was considered for it to distinguish itself from the Reformation as a whole; but these tacticst escaped the observation of none, and could only serve to
excite the distrust of the strict Catholics.  Add to this, that the
Jansenists gave themselves airs of independence little in accord
with the respect which they professed to entertain for the decisions of the church.  If they supported Catholicism, it was
rather as a doctrine of their own choice, than  as the received religion, imposed authoritatively, and accepted with submission.  Free examination of -the Scriptures existed in fact
among them. They were Catholics at Port-Royal, as one was
Calvinist at Geneva. They were then Protestants with the exception of their doctrines; and the presence of the marquis in the
place of worship at Charenton,-even if he had entered it but
once, could not be an isolated and unimportant fact in the eyes
of Bossuet.
" Have I heard M. Claude!" replied M. de Fenelon; " a whole
Lent —"
"A Lent i" said the minister laughing.  "I did not think that
I had ever preached Lent sermons-"
"An old habit," resumed the marquis; "I meant to say all
the Sundays of a Lent.  It happened thus, gentlemen.  It was
two years ago; I was passing the winter at Paris.  My friend
the Duke de la Forcel heard me lamenting one day, that there
* " It is useful and necessary, at all times, in all places, for all sorts of
persons, to strudy the Scriptures." —LXXIXth Condemrned Proposition.
The reformers themselves, did not say more than that.
f Tactics which, it must be confessed, were sincere; there was an unaffected horror, at the same time, with this secret affinity. The Abb6 de
Saint-Cyran never opened a heretic book without previously exorcising
it by making a sign of the cross;
4 Son of him who almost miraculously escaped from death, on Saint
Bartholomew's day.




AND THE KING.                      139
was not a preacher in the whole city who pleased me. It is well
understood that you were not there, Monsieur Bourdaloue.  You
will tell me that such complaints are wrong, and that all preachers are good to those only who go in the hope of limprovement.
I know it well; but what was to be done?  If I have sinned in
going to hear M. Claude, it is more your fault than mine; why
did you spoil me the year before, so completely as to render all
those insupportable to me who were not equal to you.*' Come
to Charenton,' said the Duke de la Force. Now you must know
that it was perlhaps the twentieth time he had spoken to me of
M. Claude. A short time before, I had taken him to Notre
Dame to hear Father Bourdaloue, as my only answer. To my
great surprise, for he is an honest man and of illfallible good
taste, he had not appeared discomfited.'It is fine,' he had said
to me,'it is good, very good, but come to Charenton.' I believed him to be jeering me. Finally, as I have said, one day
when I complained of our preachers, lie took me at my word
and conducted me to hear his.  What more shall I say?  I went
back every Sunday, and I do not think I was any the worse for
it at Easter."
Claude was radiant.  We will not say that pride had nothing
to do with it; and why should we wish. to have this believed?
Henry IV. said truly, that none but a coward would boast of
never having been afraid; and with still more reason might it
be asserted, that it is only a very proud person who could venture to say he had no pride.  But Claude was accustomed to
praises, and M. de Fenelon was not the first Catholic from whom
* " He is an extraordinary man. If you had once heard him, you would
be disgusted with all others."  " I shall take care, then, not to go and
hear him, for I would not wish one preacher to disgust me with all
others; on the contrary, I seek for a man who shall inspire me with such
a love and respect for the word of God, that I should be but the more
disposed to hear it everywhere." —FENELoN. Pulpit Eloquence.




140                  THE PREACHER
he had received them.  So that which most gratified him, was
not the being praised in itself, but being so by so grave and
pious a mfin, for it may be supposed that the marquis was known
to him by reputation; it was the thought, that, ignorant that this
man was among his audience, he had preached five or six times
in succession, without saying anything to displease him, without
speaking as a Protestant or a Catholic, without, in short, being
anything else but Christian, in the purest, most elevated sense of
the word. This was what he was proud of, more than anything
else; if we must call it pride, let us at least confess that no pride
could be more legitimate or more Christian.
"Ahh  sir," he cried, seizing the hand of the marquis, "in
such a moment as this, I feel myself repaid with interest, for
whole years of labor and disappointment!  When I am informed
that I have pleased some one, I tremble;* but when I hear that
I have done some good-"
"That is a happiness which you must often have."
" Much less often than you would think-"
"Alas!" said Bourdaloue, "I suppose that all churches are
alike in this respect. There are not twenty hearers in a thousand, who know exactly what they come for, when they come to
church; the sermon is neither really listened too nor really understood, save by those who could the best do without it. If
they have been curious to hear it, and if they feel pleasure in
coming from their homes to the church, they fancy that they live
in a proper frame of mind; because they love the preacher, they
think that they love sufficiently the religion which he preaches."
* " I hear many who speak of your sermons; the odor of your aromatics exhales itself even to me; but after so many messengers who report
to me every day, that your bed is adorned with flowers,-that your spring
is fresh and smiling,-I shall expect others, who shall bring me news of
the summer and the autumn, of the harvest and the vintage." —FRAcoIS DE
SALES..Letter to Le Camus.




AND THE KING.                      141
"This deception," added Claude, "is only one of the thousand
ruses of pride and obduracy. There is calculation in it, you may
be certain; instinctive calculation, it is true, but not the less real
for that. All those who hear you, know very well, in reality,
that a sermon is meant to be profited by;-but the greater part
also, in reality, and without confessing it to themselves, care very
little about profiting by it. So then, what happens? If you
preach badly, or only tolerably, they ease their consciences by
criticizing you, for the consequence of this in their minds is, that
there is no harm in not profiting by a poor sermon. If you
preach well, they put themselves at ease by praising you; and in
order not to pay to God the tribute claimed by him, they hasten
to pay to his minister that which costs the least, and binds them
to nothing. See, they seem to say, see what enthusiasm I am
still capable of feeling for a religious discourse, for a man who
speaks to me of God and of my salvation. And content with
feeling this enthusiasm, they stop there; their conscience is satisfied. Therefore, when one of my audience comes to inform me
that I have given him pleasure, (for you know that is the expression adopted); there is another, I say to myself, for whom my
sermon is lost."
" I had the folly, one day," said M. de F6nelon, ".to pay this
compliment to Father Seraphin, former preacher to the king.
He replied;'So much the worse,' and turned his back to me."
"He might have been more charitable."
"Al! you do not know Father Seraphin. He is a man who
does not trifle. Ask my nephew-"
"An adventure?"
"Yes," said the nephew, " and odd enough."
" May we hear it 2"
"Certainly.  One day, then, Father Seraphin was preaching
in the king's chapel.  In the very midst of his discourse,




142                 THE PREACHER'Awaken,' he cried in a voice of thunder,'awaken that abbe
who is asleep, and who is only here to pay his court to the king!'
The sleeping abbe was myself.?   What could I do? It was
two o'clock in the afternoon, in the month of August; then the
sermon of the good father,-in short, I was asleep. However,
lie would have done better to pass it over, for everybody began
to laugh; the king nearly suffocated in order to refrain from doing so, and the orator was at his wit's end. I made my excuses
to him afterwards, and I owe them to you also, gentlemen," continued the Abbe de Fen6lon, "for having interrupted you with
my little story."
"There is good in him, however, this Father Seraphin," said
the Marquis, casting a side look at Bossuet, which the latter very
well understood; " he goes straight on his way; he strikes where
God tells him to strike. I have many a time seen the courtiers
quite pale, at the boldness which he allowed himself before the
king."
" He has his abrupt way of speaking," said Bossuet, with a
little vexation.  "No offence is taken at his boldness, but neither
is any great attention paid to it. We do not perceive that his
great shouts, have any better reformed the court, than the calmer,
or if you will, the more timid eloquence of those who have preceded or followed him in the royal chapel. Does not Saint
Chrysostom say, apropos to this,t that before working the iron,
you must begin by softening it?
" Yes; but that is no reason why, under pretence of softening
it, you may dispense with working it."
It is certain, that people who are always scolding, finish by
becoming for us, nothing more than a species of scolding machines, whose movements and noise no longer make the slightest
impression on us. It is a great pity that a preacher should
* Historical.         f Commentary on the book of Acts.




AND  THE KING.                       143
ever be thus; but the exaggeration of some, is no excuse for the
weakness of others.  Bossuet was without doubt convinced of
this; it may be perceived from his first conversations with the
marquis.  But again called to account by the austere Jansenist,
he would at least have liked to be able to tell him  what he
had done since their last interview; certain of having merited
his approbation, he was piqued at still receiving nothing but
reproaches. From thence proceeded the irritation which was
perceptible in his words.
Claude did not appear to pay attention to it; besides, suspecting nothing, perhaps he did not perceive it.  Returning, then, to
the first question: "You speak of reforming the court," he said;
" but so long as the courtiers alone are attacked, and the vices.
of a sovereign are held as sacred as his person, nothing can be
hoped for; victory can scarcely be seriously wished for, while the
rampart is left unattacked, behind which it is known that the
enemy takes refuge, and always will take refuge.  And would
to God, that it were confined to leaving the rampart undemolished!
But no; each one brings his stone to it.  The king never hears a
selrmon, on any subject whatever, without finding in it complimllents to his piety, his faith, and to his virtues in general.  So
much for the Christian qualities.  As for those of the man, it
is still worse; there are no expressions so strong, nor images so
bold, nor even any play of words so fantastic, that certain orators have not fancied themselves doing wonders in employing
them in his praise.  Where is any thing to be found comparable to this phrase in a discourse delivered five years ago:*'At length the great, invincible, and magnanimous Louis, to
whomn the ancients would have given a thousand hearts, they
* The funeral oration of the Duehess of Orleans, in 1670, by Mascaron.
In this passage, he alludes to the stupor around the dying bed of the
young princess, produced by the spectacle of her agony.




144                    THE PREACHER
who multiplied the heart in heroes, according to the number
of their great qualities,-feels himself without heart at this spectacle!  It is true that the king did not hear this discourse; but
he read it, and it was known that he would read it.  And what
an enormous collection of things of this kind it must be,* which
he has been made, not to read, but to hear with his own ears, in
his chapel, before his court I In doctrinal sermons, it is considered obligatory to tell him that he already knows better than
any one, that which is about to be treated of before him; he is
almost asked for pardon to this Word of life, which has the
audacity to address itself to him just as to others. In sermons
on morals,, what seems to be feared beyond every thing, is, not
that he'may be deaf to the lessons to be given him, but, on
the contrary, that he may possibly take to himself some particle of the remonstrances addressed to the audience in general.
The more severe the sermon, the more pains is taken to change
the tone of it, as soon as it bears upon the king; the more,
consequently, he is authorized to conclude that he has nothing
to do with this severity. Why, for instance, is he so sensible
to the praises of M. Despr6aux?  It is because M. Despreaux
attacks every one excepting him.t  Here is what is done in his
* This collection went on increasing forty years longer!
1 Add also, that Boileau well knew how to take advantage of this circumstance: see these lines in his 1st Epistle (1669):
" On dira quelque jourBoleau, qui, dans ses vers pleins de sinc6rit6,
Jadis a tout son siecle e dit la v6rit6,
Qui mit d tout bldmner son 6tude et sa gloire,
A pourtant de cc roi parl6 comme l'histoire."
" Some day it will be said
That Boileau, in his strains, rude ever, but sincere,
Who to his century has spoken harshest truths,
Who studied but to blarne,-and proudly censured all,Has spoken of this king with history's honest voice."




AND  THE  KING.                      145
chapel.  One would fancy one saw  those physicians become
cooks, of whom  Socrates speaks in one of Plato's dialogues,
who offer ragouts in place of remedies.  But here, the ragouts
are not for every body.  On the contrary, there is an affectation
of preparing the blackest and most bitter medicines,-and as
soon as the king opens his mouth;' Stay! Sire, stay!  This
is for you.'  And quickly a little nectar.  Alas! Is not every
man, by nature, active enough in procuring for himself this fatal
nectar of pride?  Must he receive it, besides, from the Very persons whose sole business it should be to snatch the cup from
his hands?  And while, everywhere else, the constant object of
sacred logic is to shut upon the audience all the gates by which
they might be able to escape,-at Versailles, the ne plus ultra
of eloquence is to arrange at the side of each of them a wicketgate for the king.  But excuse me, gentlemen,-I am very bold.
Believe me-"
Bourdaloue appeared, in truth, troubled enough.  He was,
indeed, upon the whole, one of those who had best sustained
the dignity of an evangelical ministry before the king;* but he
could not conceal from himself, that he had often yielded to the
torrent.  Furtlermore, a particular circumstance, as we shall
soon see, contributed to the evident impression which Claude's
remarks had made upon him.
Neither was Bossuet at his ease. Like Bourdaloue, without
having ever gone as far as many had, he did not feel himself
* "Father Bourdaloue preached a sermon on Lady-day which transported everybody. It was powerful enough to make courtiers tremble.
Nrever did aa, evancgelical preacher preach Christian truths so plainly and
benevolently. It was his object to show, that all power should be subject
to law,-witness the example of our Lord who was presented at the
temple. Indeed, it was carried to the highest point of perfection, and
certain portions were applied as St. Paul himself would have applied
them."-fadamnze de Sevigne. Letter of February 5th, 1674.
13




146                 THE PREACHER
to be irreproachable. His conscience once awakened, even the
thought of the courage he had showed this very day, could not
banish the recollection of the eulogies scattered abundantly
throughout his sermons, in his funeral orations, in his books,
-eulogies so much the more culpable, because the authority
of his name, and the eloquent rudeness of his speech, gave them
an infinite prize in the monarch's eyes. " Since this great man
was obliged to flatter," says a critic,t "I am very glad that he
has generally done it with so little art, that we may be allowed
to think that adulation was not natural to his bold and vigorous genius."  Sad consolation! As if flattery without art were
not the most dangerous! Ten lines of his were worth more,
and consequently did more harm, than the whole discourse of
a preacher who. was manifestly a -courtier; thus he had coutributed more than any other, to Corrupt the heart of Louis XIV.
Accordingly, when Claude ceased, expressing the fear that he
had spoken too frankly, Bossuet replied nothing, and remained
motionless; but Bourdaloue said,
"Why should I be offended?  If I have been wrong, the
best thing I can do is to confess it.  Go on."
Claude hesitated.  He seemed to have something delicate
and painful to add.
"Make use of your permission!" said the marquis.  "Great
orators are like kings; they so rarely hear themselves judged with
frankness, that they ought to be very happy when such an occasion presents itself."
" Very well!" said Claude, " I shall finish. I have heard you
preach, Monsieur Bourdaloue-"
"Ah! -"
"And you perhaps remember an anonymous letter —"
"It was from you!" he exclaimed with extreme eagerness.
* VINET. Note on the funeral oration of the Duchess of Orleans.




AND TIIE KING.                    147
"Yes.-I had heard you; but once, it is true, and this once
was sufficient to confirm the opinion I had of your talents and
your enlightenment. But it cut me to the heart, to hear such a
discourse terminated by the eulogium, what do I call it! by the
apotheosis of a man in whom your ministry commanded you to
see only a man Lnd a sinner. It was on this account that I took
the liberty of writing to you. I described to you my astonishment, my grief. I implored you to renounce these court manners, more unworthy of you than of any other. I even ventured
to quote to you some of your phrases, for they had too deeply
distressed me, not to have impressed themselves on my memory;
and without appeal to any other beside yourself, I strove to show,
you how strong was the contradiction between them and the
very principles which you had so strongly and so wisely laid
down in the body of the discourse. Did you heed what I said?
I know not. I addressed myself to your conscience; it was not
for me to inquire what the answer was-"
Bourdaloue's agitation had been still increasingi  During
these last words, he had sometimes bowed down his head, sometimes raised it again, with a strange expression of sadness and
anguish. Yet he had not the air of being offended at the minister's words; his movements were not those of a man who is
growing impatient and anxious to justify himself. There was
evidently a great battle going on within him, not against Claude,
but against himself. Without understanding how he could be
the occasion of such extreme distress, Claude yet repented having
yielded to the invitation of the marquis, and was about to stop,
confused, when Bourdaloue, suddenly covering his face with both
hands,threw himself back on his seat, crying, " My God! my God!"
The silence which followed was long; astonishment was at its
height. It seemed as if none, of the company dared to move.
At length Claude rose, and going up to him said;




148                TIIE  PREACHER
" Dear brother-"
But Bourdaloue did not allow him time to continue. He rose
also, and snatching from a table, the sermon of which Claude's
arrival had interrupted the reading, he violently tore out the last
two leaves, and tlrew them, all crumpled, at the feet of the astonished minister.
Bossuet alone, of all those present, was aware of the contents
of this manuscript; thus he alone could guess the reason of so
sudden and brusque an action.
" What is this paper?" asked Claude.
" My sermon for to-morrow."
At these words Claude thought that he also had made a discovery. Hle was on the way to an understanding. He understood that there must be in this discourse some eulogies of the
kind which he had condemned, and that the author, seized with
a sudden remorse, had felt that he must do with them what it
was his duty to do. But why only two leaves? Claude picked
them up, -— unfolded them, —and let them fall at his feet again.
There were not only praises in them; but it was literally,word for word, the scandalous panegyiic about which he had
written to Bourdaloue.
This requires explanation.
One day when the eloquent Jesuit had preached before the
king, Louis XIV. thought that he recognized in his discourse
some passages which he had heard before. Upon inquiring, he
found that this was true; but he said, that after all, he would
rather hear Father Bourdaloue's old sermons, than any body
else's new ones.
Emboldened by this praise, Bourdaloue scrupled not to recur
friom time to time to sermons already preached, either to preach
them over again, or to make use of some passages only. This
year, his sermon for Good-Friday was a quite recent composition;




AND THE KING.                     149
but, whether he had wanted time, or whether he had not felt in
the {rein, he had decided to repeat an old peroration.  And the
more praises this should contain, the more certain it was that
the king would not complain of having already heard it.
And now, how was this scene to terminate? It was no longer
Bossuet only, who felt himself de-trop; the others also began
earnestly to wish themselves away, and Bourdaloue, in the
midst of his distress, was perhaps the least embarrassed of any..A happy accident relieved them all. A servant appeared; the
king sent for Bossuet.
Bossuet rising, the others hastened to follow his example and
take leave.
"Monsieur," said the marquis, "I am enchanted —"
" Monsieur," said the father, " I am delighted-"
"To have had the honor to see you," added one.
"To have had the honor to receive you," added the other.
Alas! they were neither of them enchanted or delighted, save at
one thing,-the one to go away, and the other to remain alone.




CHAPTER XII.
THE LIGHT IN WVEHIC-I PREACHERS WERE REGARDED.-CHARACTER OF LOUIS
XIV.-INFLUENCE WITH THE POPE,-AND WITHI THE GALLICAN CIIURCh.
A LITTLE fact in Tallemant's memoirs, appears to us to contain
a curious enough revelation in regard to the manner in which
preaching was generally regarded about the middle of the seventeenth century.
It is in the story of Le Maistre.*  "lHe intended setting to
work to preach," says the author, "h but he became religious by
the way, and gave it up."
Exactly as if it should be said, s" ie intended at first to become a comedian, but seeing that he could not do this without
being lost, lie changed his nlinld."
The preacher was at that time but a sort of comedian; let us
however, observe, that this singular idea had not then exactly
the same meaning which would be attached to it at the plesent
day.  In the first place, it was only applied to preachers by profession, those who are called at the present. time in France, and
improperly enough, zmissionaries; an ecclesiastic who had a
stationary post, was not considered as belonging to the class of
preachers, properly speaking.  On the other hand, the word
comedian, which we have used, does not imply that preachers
were regarded in general as going against their conscience, and
teaching things which they themselves did not believe; and yet
* Sacy, of Port-Royal, translator of the Bible. Sacy or Saci, is a
pseudonym, anagram of Isaac, his first name.




THE PREACHER  AND  THE KING.                 151
they were very far from being regarded as actually following a
vocation, and having sought above everything, the advantage of
religion and of the church. Preaching was a trade; a trade,
doubtless, from which honesty and zeal were no more excluded
than from any other, but a trade, notwithstanding.  The profession of preacher was not only distinct from that of priest, it was
considered, in some degree, as without the pale of piety, as incompatible with piety, so to speak, as soon as the latter had acquired a certain depth "- He became religious by the woay, and "
-went to preaching,.probably? No; "he gave up preaching."
If then, it was not eitirely a comedy, neither was it a perfectly
serious thing.  It was with preaching as with poetry; it was
looked upon as an art, and an art only. it was the art of ser-?nonizing, just as poetry was the art of versifying; it was not
yet comprehended that it could be or ought to be otherwise.
Hence the criticisms and even pleasantries which society permnitted itself to put forth against preachers, without seeming to
imagine that religion could suffer from  it.  In our day, the
boldest infidelity would scarcely venture upon that which 3Boileau dared to say against Cotin, without ceasing to be a religious man, and to be regarded generally as such. It was considered no more harm to deride a bad preacher, than to laugh at
a bad poet.
Poetry perfected itself, but without ceasing to be an art; it became more regular, without advancing in truth; more noble,
without having more soul, more profound, without being more.
Now, in spite of appearances to the contrary, we do not hesitate to say that it was the same with preaching.  The business
was ennobled, but it remained a business; the sermons became
more regular, as well as more Christian, but they did not cease
to be composed, preached and criticised rather as literary productions, than as discourses for edification.




152                  THE PREACHER
Whose fault was this,-that of the preacher or of the public?
-A  delicate question, upon which much might be said, but
which we like better to refer to the consciences of both; for it is
not so peculiar to the seventeenth century, that we are able to
regard it as a simple matter of history.
However this may be,-when preaching had once entered the
dominion of literature, and consequently had left that higher
sphere to which it belonged from its nature and its object, it found
itself subjected, like everything else, to the influence of the
man who was destined to impress so profoundly upon all the
productions of the century, the signet of his character and his
manners.  Whether from his great ability or his great good fortune, Louis XIV. absorbed everything; and in the same manner
as all the poets came at last to glory in being poets only by him
and for himl,-so there was at length no orator,-that is to- say,
no preacher, since the pulpit alone was open to eloquence,-who
did not stoop beneath the same dominion, and gladly wear its
livery.
And this, it may be said by tile way, is one of the best proofs
that Louis XIV. was no common man. Let the legitimacy and
morality of this influence be discussed at pleasure; let all the
bases upon which it rested, be made to totter one after the other,
(and we acknowledge that it can be done,) yet the fact will still
remain, that this influence was immense, and that it lasted fifty
years. That circumstances prepared the way for it, is undeniable; that it was in some measure a homage to Louis XIV.
himself, is also true; but, even if he had had nothing to do in
order to acquire it, still it was a great deal to preserve it, and to
preserve it for half a century. Put a Louis XIII. or a Louis
XVI. in his place, and see if it would have lasted.
At the death of Louis XIV., there was such a burst of contempt and sarcasm against his flatterers, that for a moment it




AND  THIE KING.                        153
might have been believed that flattery was interred with him;
but under Louis XV. it revived with more eagerness, more meanness than ever, and it was so much the baser, because it shamelessly attired itself in the mlost beautiful garb of candor and philosophy. -" Our king is superior to glory itself," wrote Duclos in
175 2.  " Feeling, worthy and capable of friendship, at once king
and citizen, he loves his subjects as much as le is loved by them."
Superior to glory itself,-feeling, kcing, and citizen,-nll the politico-sentimental phraseology of the epoch. Nothing is wanting in
it, as can be perceived; nothing except the truth; for it is scarcely
necessary to mention, that every one of these expressions is false,
save perhaps the last,-" he loves his subjects as much as they love
him;" for as to the letter of it, it was true; between himself and
them, a touching interchange of hatred and defiance began to
establish itself.  In truth, when one remembers what the flatterers of Louis XV. could say and do, one feels no longer the
power to attack those of Louis XIV.
And, if it is permitted to the author of these reflections, to say
once for all, what he thinks of this man, whose name recurs so
often to the pen even of those who profess to despise him,-here
it is.
And, in the first place, he does not like him.  It can be seen
firom the preceding pages, and will be seen still more plainly in
those which follow, whether he is inclined to prostrate himself
before his memory.  But, at the moment when he is most disposed to be severe, he stops, he reflects, he fears to be unjust.*
IIaving already several times altered his opinion of Louis XIV.,
he does not wish to venture again, save in good earnest; so much
* "I do not like men who. set aside their country's laws; but I should
find it difficult to believe that Ccesar and Cromwell were little-minded
men. I do not like conquerors; but no one can persuade me that Alexander and Gengiskan, were commonplace men."-MONTESQUIEU.




154                   THE  PREACHER
the more, because since he has seriously taken up the study of
the seventeenth century, this prince has rather gained than lost
in his esteem. As much interested as any one can be, in execrating the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, he is not one of
those who fancy they have said everything in regard to one of
the longest of reigns, in mentioning a deed of which the author
was rather misled than cruel.* He has been led to separate the
man from the king.  The man, he likes less every day; the king,
he does not admire, much less like; but, every day he learns " to
respect him.f  If it be one of the characteristics of genius to
take possession of his age, and personify it in himself, what foundation can we have for refusing to Louis XIV. this title?  It is
precisely because this prince was neither a Bossuet, nor a Conde,
nor a Bourdaloue, that we are unable to attribute to accident the
empire which he had over these men.  When it is to be plroved
that man is the chief of created beings, what is generally done l
The grandeur, ferocity and power of the animals which he has
subdued, and whose master he is, are described. Well, if the
obedience of animals stronger than myself, proves me to be a
reasonable being, what does the obedience of men who surpass
* One is confounded in seeing by how many people, and how many
different kinds of people, Louis XIV. was deceived in this fatal affair; deceived by some in regard to the disposition of the Protestants; by others
in regard to their number; by some in respect to the pretended facility
of conversions; by others as to the extent of the severities exercised or
to be exercised; and lastly, by all in regard to the nature and limits of
royal authority. It is painful to think, that PMlisson had more hand in
this than any one else, for it was he who laid before the king the interminable lists of pretended conversions, leading him thus gradually to believe that there were no more, or but few more Protestants in his
kingdom. But Pelisson was an apostate Protestant.
f " He is not one of the greatest men, but certainly one of the greatest
kings that ever existed."-VOLTAIRE. Supplement to the " Age of Louis
xi 17))




AND  TIE KINCG.                    155
me in talent, in learning, in a thousand things,-what does it
prove, if not that there is one thing, at least, in which I have no
equal?  This thing, in Louis XIV., was the art of reigning.
" He is the most kingly of all kings," wrote Leibnitz.*  "IIis
suitable province was to be a king," said also Duclos, more than
thirty years after his death.t IHe was then neither a great king
in reality, since true greatness possesses qualities of which he
was destitute; much less a good king, and he cared very little to
be this; he was a king, in all the extent and force of the appellation,-such a king as his father had not been, as his successors
were not to be,-a king whose like we scarcely find two or three
times in all the world's history,-where there is nevertheless no
lack of those men who are called kings.
There are then no more such kings as he; there will never be
any more such, in all probability.  Shall we say so much the
better, or so much the worse?  The question appears strange in
the middle of the nineteenth century; and nevertheless, before
dismissing it with a shrug, let it be looked at with some attention, and it will not be thought quite so strange. If it were
purely and simply the question of a choice between liberty and
despotism, it could be quickly decided; but with the absolutism,
whose fall no reasonable man can lament at the present day,
with a system which is regretted by none, have disappeared habits and principles, which it may be permitted to regret, because
their absence is more to be lamented every day. There was then
too much obedience; now, there is none. Kings were then considered as gods; now, they are scarcely regarded as men.  The
* Letter to Bossuet. This expression had already been employed by
PMlisson.
1 Discourse upon his reception into the Academy, in 1747. Duclos is
one of the authors who has most closely studied, and most correctly judged
Louis XIV.; and on this account we must consider his flatteries of Louis
XV. doubly inexcusable.




156                  THE PREACHER
governed have no longer faith in their rulers; rulers have no
longer faith in their mission.  All that was then adored, is now
burned; everything that despotism burned, is now adored; and
in the midst of this complete change among those things which
are burnt, alre to be found things eternally to be revered; amohg
those which are adored, are to be found many which despotism
was perfectly right in burning.
To return to our subject, why should we be astonished that
Louis XIV. had so thoroughly subjected preaching and preachers, when we see what was his power over religion itself?  We
do not mean to speak now of the altogether practical influence
which he exercised by his example in becoming a devotee. Faith,
also, up to a certain point, was under his jurisdiction.  During
the debates of a convention where forty of the bishops were of
his opinion, and' nine of a contrary opinion, lie one day coinplained bitterly that these nine, in spite of his orders, refused
to adhere to the decision of the forty; he would give anything,
lie said, to see them unanimous.  " But!" said the Duchess de
Bourbon, "why do you not rather order the forty to agree with
the opinion of the nine."  She was right.e  But does that signify that these forty would have been conscious of baseness in
yielding? No; at least we are not forced to think so. But, as
the opinion of the king had already, to judge from appearances,
had a great influence upon theirs, it was not calumniating them
to suppose that it would be of sufficient weight to make them
unhesitatingly change it.  "What would you have done," he
said to Bossuet, in 1700, "if I had decided for Monsieur de
* In 1754, Benedict XIV. told the Abb6 de Guasco confidentially, that
he was in possession of a secret letter from Louis XIV. to Clement XI.,
in which, in 1714, the king had offered to make his clergy retract their
declaration of 1682. See a letter from Montesquieu to the Abb6 de G-uasco. (3d of Nov. 1754,)




AND  THE  KING.                     15'7
Canbray?  "Sire," replied the Bishop of Meaux, " I would have
clamored twenty times as loud."  Yes, if his conscience had
commanded him to do so; but this is precisely what we may be
permitted to doubt.  If the king had happened to take a liking
to Fenelon's doctrines, would Bossuet have thought them so bad?
Would he have felt so strong a desire to attack them?  It is
scarcely probable; if we have not the right to say that he would
have lied to his conscience, we have at least the right to imagine,
that if his conscience had been beguiled, it would have been less
severe, and less exacting.  Some one asking his opinion in regard
to frequenting plays, he said, " There are great reasons against it,
and great examples for it.";;  Here is the king's example, even
a bad example, weighed. against reasons, even good reasons.
In 1682 Louis XIV. had but to say the word, and France
broke with the pope,-and but for the Protestants, to whom they
did not wish to give the pleasure caused by this species of victory, the separation would have been complete.  Now I ask if
the clergy who aided in this matter, were not under the influence
of an actual fascination?-this act, which would have rent the
church, and renewed the very thing against which there had
been most outcry at the time of the Reformation! Was not
Bossuet also fascinated; he who prepared the way, who at the
first sign from his master, would have become the Cranmer, and
aided him to become the Henry VIII. of France?1 And lastly,
X During the minority of Louis XIV., there was a comedy sometimes
performed at the Louvre, and the young king was taken to see it. The
Cur6 of Saint-Germain-l'auxerrois, had a memorial presented to the queenmother, designed to prove that it was a mortal sin to be present at these
representations. This memorial being signed by seven doctors. the Abb6
de Beaumont, the king's preceptor, procured one signed by twelve, and
containing a contrary assertion. So they continued without scruple to
do as before.
f The storm once over, no efforts were spared to conceal how very
nearly there had been a rupture, and above all, how easy it would have
14




158                   THE  PREACHER
was not the pope himself under the charm,-the pope, who received from Versailles, almost word for word, the condemnation
which he was to pronounce at Rome, in the quality of infctllible
jaudge,* against the Archbishop of Cambray?
been; but the memoirs of the time, those of d'Aguesseau in particular,
leave no doubt upon the subject. Under any other than a Louis XIV.
the assembly of 1682 would either never have taken place, or its authors
would have been punished by excommunication; but as the Roman
church understood very well, that in ceasing to be onze, she is no longer
anything, Catholics of all opinions and all nations, have an immense interest in obliterating certain pages of her history.
X Nothing ever written against Roman infallibility can be more curious
than the whole history of the trial and condemnation of F6n6Ion. He
publishes a book; the pope sees and speaks of it in the most flattering
manner. A letter from the king arrives; he requests that the book shall
be pronounced a bad one. The pope elects a committee of ten doctors;
this committee meets sixty-four times. At length a vote is taken, and
the judges are found to befive aygainst five. According to the usual rule,
this is an acquittal; the pope openly avows his satisfaction. But the
king insists. He demands, he exacts another examination of the book.
A committee of cardinals devote thirty-six sittings to it, and finally decide against its author, but in such gentle terms, that the pontiff, also
influenced by his personal sympathies, does not know how to express the
condemnation. The cardinals propose to him to enact a series of canons,
in which he shall not touch upon the book, but in which he shall confine
himself to establishing the true doctrines of the church on the contested
points. This medium he likes; the committee is deputed to prepare the
canons. Thereupon arrives a thundering message from France,-almost
a declaration of war. The pope groans, becomes angry-and —pronounces. F6nelon is clearly designated,-clearly condemned, —and this
judgment, preceded by three years of hesitation, manifestly wrested from
the feebleness of the pope, manifestly contrary to the opinion of the
majority of the judges, nevertheless presents itself to the Church as infallible,-inspired by the Holy Spirit. We ask now, what was, what
could be the belief in the Church's infallibility in the mind of him who
had exacted the condemnation; in that of Bossuet, who directed the
whole affair; in that of F6n6lon, who knew all its details? Much has
been said of his submission, but what does it prove, save that he found
it necessary to submit? Fifteen days after his condemnation, he wrote




AND  THE  KING.                      159
Can we then be astonished, that a preacher should be ill at
ease in confronting a man who had opposed himself to the Pope!
as follows to the Abb6 de Chanterac, his agent at Rome: " You have
accornplished a hundred times more than I had dared to hope. God has
permitted an unjust success." A man who says to you, God has permitted
my condemnation, is certainly not very strong in his convictions of the
infallibility of the tribunoal 




CHAPTER Xlll.
LETTER FROM CLAUDE TO BOURDALOUE.-SEVERE REPROOFS FOR FLATTERY
TO THE SING.
THiE conclusion to be drawn from all that we have said, is not
that a preacher was excusable for eulogizing the king upon all
occasions; it is, that we would be unjust if we claimed to be
judges of all this, from the middle of the nineteenth century;
and also, to return to our story, that Claude would perhaps have
done better to take the circumstances a little into consideration.
But he was no courtier; he called things by their right names.
Here is his letter:' VERSAILLES, AMarch 15, 1673.
" Monsieur," Do not seek to guess who I am. You do not know me
by sight, and perhaps not by name; and it is scarcely two hours
since I saw you for the first time. But God sees us both; that
is enough. It is in his sight that I am writing, and it is in his
sight that you will read.
" In the eyes of the world, you have just added a new gem to
your orator's crown; in the eyes of religion, I much fear that you
have but added a new scandal to those which are presented to
view at court.
" Yes, Monsieur, you have profaned the pulpit; and if I were
not convinced that you had yielded to a miserable impulse, if I
did not know how much in reality you respect both your minis



TIHE  PREACHER  AND  THE  KING.                  161
try and the word of God, I should not hope to make you feel
how you have just been degrading and prostituting them both.
"In vain would you defend yourself by citing the exaogeration
of the praises of all kinds, by which the king is overwhelmed. I
know that it would not be difficult for you to quote flatteries an
hundred times stronger than yours; but one word from the pulpit means more than twenty in the mouth of a poet or an orator
of the Academy, and you may be certain that you have done
more harml to the king in half an hour, than his professed flatterers do in a whole month.
" And what is this king, of whom, in the face of religion, you
have dared to make a hero, a saint, a demi-god? You represented
Europe to him, as full of admiration of his having consented to
cease his conquests,* yet you know, with all Europe, how unjust
and cruel these conquests have been. It would be necessary to
go back to the invasions of the barbarians to find any thing to be
* One of the most artful, and unfortunately one of the easiest tricks
to which flattery resorts, is to persuade conquerors that they make war
against their will; for no man is so fond of shedding blood, that he is not
enchanted at hearing himself called gentle and humane. This unlucky
idea is found in almost all the sermons preached before Louis XIV., and
nevertheless, in his reign war had become, as it were, the natural state
of things. It was so customary to see a new one undertaken every year,
that it was spoken of beforehand, as one would speak of a tax to'be paid,
or of the return of a season. A father would say, " My son will make
his first campaign in such and such a year." Against whom? Nobody
knew,-perhaps the king himself had not yet decided; but he was to be
relied upon for it. And yet this did not prevent the constant presentation
to him of touching pictures of the rending of his paternal heart upon
seeing himself forced to command fresh bloodshed. The name of pacific,
was even added to that of great; witness these words of Cardinal de Rohan, grand almoner of France, on presenting the body of Louis XIV. to
the Chanoine of St. Denis in 1715:-" The prince whom we lament has
left magnificent titles behind him, and the remotest generations will
admire as we do, Louis the great, the just, the pacific." This word is
frequent in the inscriptions and medals of his reign.
1 -x




162                   TIHE  PREACIIER
compared with the fi-ightfiul war of the past yearj,' whose motive
is still a mystery, and whose sole object seems to have been to occupy the leisure time of an army of a hundred thousand men, at
the ex.pense of an inoffensive nation.  And even if this war had
been as just as it was the opposite, would that be any reason for
cherishing in the aggressor's mind the idea that he had been glorious in his successes in arms?  This famous passage of the
Rhine,t I have heard people who were present, say that it was
mere-absurdity to make suich a commotion about an engagement
without difficulty, and almost without danger.  These forty cities
captured in a month; it is well known that many of them were
but paltry towns, and that the best fortified of them had scarcely
any one to defend them.  Crushed, but not conquered, Holland
is ready to revolt; the politicians say, that by the end of this
year the French will not have an inch of ground left there;t
all this glory wrill one day in the eyes of history be as false as
it now is in the eyes of religion, and as it ought to be to yours.
Forced, however, to remember that the glory of heaven is preferable to that of earth, you told the king so, but in what terms?
Do you think it a good way to induce him  to look higher, to
repeat over and over to him that there is nothing under the sun
to be compared to him?  In order to tell him  in a few words
that the day will come when he will no longer be anything,
you exhaust your eloquence in showing him that he is now every* The war in Holland, 1672.
f " If the king had only thrown himself, mounted, into the river, as he
might have done almost without danger, Alexander and his Granicus
might have hid their diminished heads." Memoirs of CHOISY. Choisy appeared convinced, however,'that Louis XIV. possessed much natural
courage; " but," he says, " he could not take a step forwards, that twenty
courtiers did rot hasten to form themselves into a rampart around him,
conljuring him not to endanger himself."
4 This was really the case.




AND  THE KING.                       163
thing.  You do not exactly conceal from him  that his glory will
pass away; but you speak to him of this glory as the most brilliant and the most legitimate that any man has ever possessed.
As for its brilliancy, perhaps you are right; but it is not in
the pulpit that you need speak of it; as for its legitimacy, I
know that all his enterprises have not been campaigns of HIolland, yet this is not tile only one from which it would be well to
obliterate much.
"' After the hero comes the saint.*  Here, allow me to quote.
"The subject was perseverance; you had described and inculcated it.'But who will persevere?' you asked;' where are
these faithful and steady souls?  Thou alone, oh God, thou alone
knowest them.  I have reason also, however, to console myself;
I know, and the whole universe knows with me, that there is one
heart here, formed by thy hand, a heart opposed to all fickleness,
consistent in its conduct, steadily attached to the laws which it
takes to guide it; who having formed mighty designs, has performed prodigies of valor in their execution; in order to do this,
has sacrificed not only its repose and pleasures, but even its advantage, and interests.  How far may not the perfection of thy
law carry this firm  and fearless heart, oh God! And in this
sense who ever has been fitter than it is for the kingdom  of
heaven?'t
"This, Monsieur, is more than flattery; it is blasphemy.  And
among those things which posterity will scarce creedit,-again to
employ one of your expressions,-these your words are not what
will be found least strange, least incredible.
" T/hat which you really do k'nzow, and which all the cuniverse
X Would it be very difficult to find saints in the Calendar who were
not even so good as Louis XIV.? The Church has sometimes bestowed
this title with a liberality most embarrassing to those of its defenders who
know something of history.              f Literal.




164                 THE  PREACHER
knows also, which posterity will know still better, trust me,-is
that at the very moment when you wrote, studied, and recited
these lines, the mlan to whom they are addressed, was abandoning himself to the most shameful scandals; that the king of
whom you were making a saint, was actually in a state of mortal
sin.
"The Scripture declares, that adulterers shall not enter into the
kingdom of heaven; you, you affirm in the presence of God, to
an adulterous prince, that he is fitter than any other to do so.
" Morality, —I will not say the Scriptures,-but simple morality,
teaches us to consider its laws as innate in the minds of men,
and consequently binding upon all; and you praise the king
for being steadily attached to those-which he has dictated to
himself.
"The king hasfoxrmed mighty designs. Yes, but besides those
which have been mighty, in the proper sense of the word, are
you ignorant how many there have been which were only for
the misery of France and Europe? And the expression, prodigies of valor, (the passage of the Rhine, probably!) of which
you make use in the same sentence, leads me to believe but too
certainly, that his military designs are those whose grandeur
you allude to most particularly.
"The king is opposed to all fickleness.  But in what?  If not
so in his most sacred engagements, can you commend him for
being so in the carrying out of his designs?
"The king sacrificed his repose. Why that is the thing which
is the smallest sacrifice to an ambitious man. Do you believe,
in all sincerity, that it is a drudgery for him to go now and then
to see the taking of a city?"* Do you consider the owner of
* It is remarkable that Louis XIV. never fought a battle, and that all
his exploits were sieges; and further, that he left to his generals, his
brother, or his son, all those of which the success was not perfectly cer



AND  THE  KING.                       165
a field very praiseworthy for going thither once a year in order
to return loaded with the grain which has been sowed there and
reaped for him?  These campaigns of the king are actual
pleasure trips; he takes thither his wife, his mistresses,* his
poets, his whole court; he is followed by all his conveniences, by
all the luxuries of a princely life, and all this is depicted to him
as a life of fatigues and privations!t
" Further, you say that he has sacrificed his pleasures; sometimes for a few days, but the remainder of his time has he not
given himself up to them without bounds?  Are not he and his
court immersed in splendor and luxury?
"And this, Monsieur, is what consoles you I Allh  tears ought
rather to fail you for lamenting the fate of a man exposed to
such temptations; you should not be able to find words strong
enough to delineate to him his dangers!  But no, you seem  to
delight in this idea.  A little further on you say,' Yes, Sire, it
is your Majesty who is here my whole consolation.'  And as if
it were not enough to give yourself as security for the sanctity
which he does not possess,-' Why do I speak of myself?' you
continue;'let me go further! The angels who protect your
train. This circumstance did not escape those few critics who allowed
themselves to remain undazzled by his glory. In the mocking little circle
of the Prince de Conti, he was called " the besieging king."
* The Queen, Madame de la ValliEre, and Madame de Montespan were
once seen together in the same carriage. A peasant remarked naively,
that he had just seen the three queens.
f " If he carries on so tedious a war," wrote La Bruybre in 1693, "it
is only to secure for us a happy peace; it is to arrive at that height of
his wishes, public happiness, that he devotes himself to the labors and
fatigues of a troublesome war, that he exposes his person, and that he
braves the inclemency tof the heavens and of the seasons."  An eulogium
of Louis XIV. could not be written without some phrases in this style.
It is almost like begging for pity for this poor king, exposed from time
to time to a shower of rain a




166                  THE PREACHER
kingdom, the saints, who day and night continue their prayers
for your sacred person, even God, if I may venture to say so,
will he not find, in the stability of your'character, a consolation
for the unfaithfulness of the greater number of Christians.'*
The king, then, is unquestionably saved; you assure him, that
the gates of heaven will be opened wide to receive him.  But
this is still not sufficient; he possesses too many virtues for one
solitary man; God will console himself through him  for the
vices and imperfections of others.'If I may venture to say
so,' you add, and you do venture! And your hand did not
wither when tracing such impiety! At Rome, under a religion
which permitted worship to be emperors, I do not believe that
it was ever carried further than this.*
" I became heated, Monsieur.  I resolved, nevertheless, to be
calm, to confine myself to drawing your attention to words, upon
which I prefer to believe that you did not reflect seriously. My
grief has conquered me.  Strong in the rectitude of my intentions, I have set aside the man of genius, and have been so bold
as to consider you but as a brother; I have used, perhaps have
abused the right bestowed upon me by this name. I have too
great an esteem for you, to think that you will be offended by it.
"The power of speech is a mighty power. If the monarch
be responsible for the use he shall make of his,-the orator also
has an account to give. The more talent and power given him
for the bringing of souls to Christ, the more will be required of' Literal.
f " But for that fear of the devil, which God left to him, even in the
midst of his greatest irregularities, he would have set himself up to be
worshipped, and would have found worshippers."-Saint-Simon.
An inscription composed by the Jesuit M6nestricr, contained," Numini majestatique Regis."
It is true that nsamen has not altogether the meaning divinity; but it is
not far from it.




AND THE KING.                     167
him in that day when they shall be judged. You can do much
for their salvation, but you can do yet more for their perdition;
for in proportion to the reluctance with which men draw near to
the straight gate, is the eagerness with which they precipitate
themselves towards the other, if you are so unhappy as to open
it a little."
In spite of all that we have said in explanation, if not in excuse of Bourdaloue's conduct,-it is difficult to conceive how he
could pay so little attention to this letter, as to venture, after two
years only, —upon the repetition of a composition which had
drawn upon him such condemnation.  However this may be, we
have seen how rapid and sincere was the awakening of his conscience in Claude's presence.




CHAPTER XIV.
CLAUDE ALONE'WITII BOURDALOUE.-THE LATTER ACKNOWLEDGES hIIMSELF
WRONG, AND REQUESTS CLAUDE'S ASSISTANCE IN HIS SERMON.-READS IT
TO CLAUDE.-TI-TE LATTER BEGINS TO DICTATE A PERORATION.
WHEN Bossuet and the Fen6lons had reached the bottom of
the staircase, they perceived, not without astonishment, that the
minister had not accompanied them.
Yet they had seen him rise, take his hat, and direct his steps
towards the door like themselves.  They had not, however, perceived, that Bourdaloue had taken him by the arm, saying in a
low tone, " Remain."
Then returning after conducting his visitors out, he said:
"We are alone; I have need of it.-Yes, I remember this letter.  I have kept it-here it is-"
And he took it out of a drawer.
"There it is-I should have done better to burn it and obey
it, than to keep it without paying any regard to it.-Yes, that is
it.-' Do not seek to discover who I am-' I remember, however, that I sought much to discover; I made a thousand guesses;
but the letter itself overturned them  one after the other.  I
thought of a number of persons at court, of Monsieur de Montausier, of the Marshal de Bellefonds, —of some others; but
* Ftriend of Bossuet, and of the Duke de Montausier. The independence of his character was not at all times equally praiseworthy, for he
was once disgraced for having refused to serve under Turenne, and the




THE  PREACHER AND  THE  KING.                 169
these gentlemen I knew, and the author of the letter declared
himself to be unknown to me.  I was assured that there was
Porft-Royal in it; if I had thought of Monsieur de Fenelon,whom I had in effect never seen, but whom I knew by reputation,-I should probably have fixed upon him.  But the idea did
not strike me.  Two or three expressions made me almost suspect a Protestant hand; others counteracted these, that of nortal
sin, for instance, which I know that you do not allow-"
" I put it on purpose."
" MWhy?"
"I did not wish that you should suspect with whom you were
dealing."
"     Ah! perhaps I should have better heeded you!"
"A Protestant!"
"A Christian."
"There is a word, my brother, which is worth your finest
sermon."
"But that is not all," resumed Bourdaloue.  " Do you know
why Monsieur de Condom-"
"Monsieur Bossuet?"'"Monsieur Bossuet, I mean. You are particular as to this name?
"Well,-yes.  I do not recollect to have seen that Saint Paul
had himself called Monsieur of Antioch, and still less Saint Peter
-Monsieur of Rome-"~
second time for having given battle against the orders of his general, the
Marshal de Cr6quy.
* Still less. Claude doubtless alludes to the impossibility of establishing historically, not only that St. Peter was bishop of Rome, but even that
he was ever there. Tradition fixes his death in 66, the same year with
that of St. Paul. Now the book of Acts mentions him, without interruption, as being either at Jerusalem, Cesarea or Antioch, until 52. From
that time, we lose sight of him; but in 58 or 59, St. Paul writes his epistle to the Romans. In the whole of this long letter, there is not a word
of St. Peter, and at the end, when the author names and salutes as many
15




170                    THE PREACHER' Controversy, Monsieur de Charenton!" said Bourda l ouo,
smiling; " must I remind you of our agreement?"
"Forgive me; I shall not forget it again.  You were saying,
then, that Monsieur de Condom?-"
" Oh! say plain Bossuet; I shall not dispute with you in regard to that. —But, however, do you know why you found him
here?  He came to advise me not to flatter the  king tomorrow-'
" He   But he has often flattered him  as much as you, perhaps more. —What a fit of severity 1"
"In truth, I have not always seen him  as he was to-day.  He
has even given the king, frequently, both in his discourses, or in
his books, maxims which I would not give him, and which I
think very dangerous."
" Do you mean perhaps those on royal authority?"
" Precisely. Ile sets no bounds to it; the nations have but
duties, their kings have but rig/hts.  You Protestants ought to be
more shocked at this, than any others, with your somewhat republican ideas."*
"More distressed than shocked; for such maxims only tend to
prepare for the overturning of states and dynasties.  In his
as twenty-seven persons, he still does not say a word of him, whom it
would have been natural to salute and mention first. Evidently, then,
St. Peter was not at Rome in 58. In 61 Paul arrives in this city; the
Acts relate his stay there, but continue silent about Peter. In 62 or 63
he writes four long epistles from Rome; Peter is not mentioned in them.
In 66, the year of his death, he writes to Timothy. " All have forsaken
him," he says. Where, then, vwas Peter? 
* See Bossuet's writings against Jurieu and Basnage. Alarmed for the
results of their ideas in regard to the sovereignty of the people, he insists
more and more, with a kind of terror, on the dogma of absolute authority.
Thus he sometimes goes so far, that the most ardent defenders of th:is
dogma would not venture at the present day either to reproduce his ideas.
or even to employ his expressions.




AND  THE  KING.                        171'Politique tiree de l'Ecritwre,' Monsieur Bossuet has repeated and
amplified all the most exaggerated tilings that were said on this
subject in the still pagan and already barbarian Rome of the
earliest Christian emperors. *' Kings are gods, and participate
in some sort in the divine independence.'' The prince himself
can render justice when he knows that he has clone wrong; but
against his authority there can be no refuge save in his authority.'1   And twenty quotations of the sort might be made.  If
the king should practice all that M. Bossuet has said of royal
authority, literally,-the Turks would be a free people compared
with the French."I'."It must, however, be said, that this same book is full of very
wise things, very severe things even, in regard to the responsibility
of kings before God, in regard —but you are rig'ht; my sermon
also is full of them, full of just such things.  B3ut let us return to
it, I pray.  M. Bossuet has had a long conversation with the
king; he has almost forced from  him the promise that he will
* "Sacrilegii instar est dubitare an recte judicaverit imperator; an is
dignus sit quem elegerit etc."-Code of TiIEoDosIus.
The laws of Gratian and Valentinian abound in declarations of this
kind. See MONTESQUIEU, book xii.
f "Policy, drcaon fromr the Scriptures," book iv., clap. 1st, entitled,
" Royal authority is absolute."  This chapter is a very good reply to those
who might be tempted to assert, as has often been attemupted during the
last ten years, that catholicism is, and always has been, friendly to liberal
ideas. If it has sometimes claimed the rights of the people, it has been
to confiscate them for its own profit; wherever it cannot hope to substitute
itself for royal despotism, it is its firmest support and warmest defender.
$ During the war of the succession, at the time of increasing his already enormous taxes, Louis XIV. experienced some hesitation, and demanded of several doctors, whether he could conscientiously consider
himself as master of the possessions of his subjects. He might have
spared himself the trouble, for Bossuet had decided the question as positively as he could desire. At any rate, the doctors whom he consulted,
would have taken care to leave him in no embarrassment.




172                 THE PREACHER
put an end to his irregularities; he wants me to strike a hard
blow to-morrow. When you came in, I was beginning to read
him my sermon; he had promised to help me,-take his place-"
"Willingly; but what will he say?"
"What matters it! It is I who ask you to do so."
"And you do not fear —"
"I ought only to fear one thing, and that is, to be judged too
leniently. That will not be the case with you."
" No —but you run a great risk of being served beyond what
you may wish. Since you authorize me to speak with all frankness, I shall perhaps blame things which even at present do not
appear blamable to you."
" I am prepared for anything."
"Well, read on."
Bourdaloue read his text; then commenced;
" Sire"" I stop you here," said Claude.
"In regard to the text?"
" No, but this word sire. Is there no way of leaving it out?
You seem by using it, to make an agreement only to speak to
the king and for the king."
"It is an agreement which is not kept. After the first two or
three phrases, usage permits me to say,' my brethren,' as if the
king were no longer there. It is what I generally do; you will
see."
"If it is a mere form, I do not insist; but it appears to me
unfortunate. After having commenced with the king, it seems
natural to finish with him also; and from thence come the complimentary perorations. But go on, if you please."
He continued, and for a long time Claude had only to keep
silence and admire. It is true that now and then there occurred
Catholic forms of expression, of which he could not approve,




AND  T'H E lING.                    173
which he himself would not use; but that did not prevent him
from following with delight the long series of proofs and reasons,
where, as has been remarked, "the most studied arguments resembled sudden inspirations."*  And, besides, the subject itself,
the miraculous contrast between the Saviour's humiliation on
earth, and his greatness as God, between the horrors of the cross
and the glories of heaven, —this was enough most profoundly to
impress the soul of such an auditor as he.
It is true, that the orator, after reading one or two pages with
some monotony and a degree of embarrassment, had gradually
become at his ease.  And even more, -owing to some remains
of his agitation, to the beauty of the discourse, perhaps also, who
knows? to a slight shade of vanity, his enunciation had something more animated, more penetrating than in the pulpit; freed
from the anguish of recitation by heart, he threw into it a warmth,
a rapidity, a feeling, which had perhaps never been before remarked in him.
At the end of the first part, he raised his eyes.  Claude was
motionless, and did not even appear to perceive this mute interrogation.  His silence was the highest praise.
Towards the end of the second part, Bourdaloue's voice suddenly lost its firmness; his brow  clouded.  Recalled thus, in
spite of himself, to the sad reality of his office of judge, Claude
understood that they were approaching the delicate subject:
-" Who will persevere?  Where are the souls who are faithful to their promises, steadfast ill their resolutions?  Nevertheless, I have grounds for consolation-"
Bourdaloue was silent, and bowed his head.  "We are there,"
he said, "you know the rest."
"Well! write-"
"What?"
* Dussault.
15*




1'74      THE PREACHER AND THE KING.
"What I am going to dictate to you."
"Dictate to me?"
"Yes. You can do what you please with it."
He obeyed. This situation of scholar seemed to him, however,
somewhat strange; in asking for aid, he had not expected to receive a master. But it was only his first feeling of astonishment,
for he already understood Claude's heart too well to be offended
at his manner, or to attribute to him a wish to humiliate any
one. And in truth Claude was very far from this. He had just
had some ideas which he thought good, and did not wish the
inspiration to cool. Besides it seemed to him more natural to
dictate them to Bourdaloue, leaving him the freedom of interrupting him when he would, than to write them himself and give
them to him as a lesson to be learned.




CHAPTER XV.
ARRIVAL OF FATHER LA CHAISE.-HE GIVES HIS OPINION OF THE SERMON.BOURDALOUE S UNEASINESS.
BUT the first line was scarcely written, when, " Good evening,
my dear brother, good evening!" cried, (entering without being
announced,) a man whom Claude recognized as belonging to the
same order with Bourdaloue, and whose physiognomy offered a
singular mixture of cunning and goodness, of circumspection and
frankness.
"You are alone," he continued; "good! I begin to be somewhat reasstired —"
He had not seen Claude. The chamber was quite large; and
as the minister was in the habit of walking while he dictated, the
Jesuit had entered by accident, when he was at the further extremity. And he remained there.
Confused, Bourdaloue could only make a slight motion in that
direction as if to inform the new comer. But he, not perceiving
it, unceremoniously took a seat.
"What is this that I have heard?" he resumed. "That you
were going to play me a trick to-morrow, and a trick-"
"I!
"Yes. I am told that M. de Condom has been to see you;
that his visit was connected with to-day's affairs; and that it
goes so far as to be a question of nothing less than a public exhortation of the king, not to perform his Easter devotions without having sent away Mme. de Montespan —"




176                   THE PREACHER
"And if it should be so?"
"If it should be so!  VWell, you are really admirable!  You
do not perceive then, into what a frightful embarrassment you
would throw me?  If it should be so!  Why, if the preacher of
the king allow himself to say such things, pray what becomes of
the confessor?,"
"Apropos of confessor, I thought you were in bed.  I heard
that you had been bled —"
" Twice, brothelr, twice,-and if the first was the comedy, the
second was not, I swear to you.  I had gained enough bad blood
in the interval.  What a position, good God, what a position!
And how well poor Father Feriier would have done to live ten
years longer, and leave me at Lyons with my folios and medals!"
"You do not always say that.  You did not say so yesterday."
"Alas! it is not certain that I shall say it to-morrow.  If you
but knew what the king is for me!. He heaps upon me all the
favors which can most dazzle and overwhelm me.  I don't speak
* Besides the arguments, religious and otherwise, which have generally
been used for or against confession, there is one very simple question to
be asked, it seems to us; —have the Roman Catholic sovereigns been, upon
the whole, more religious and moral than the Protestants. If there were
an equal amount of weakness and vice on each side, we might even then
ask what was the use of this superfluous expense of confessors; still more
may we ask this, if it be true, as we think, that there has been more morality, or less immorality among sovereigns without confessors, than
others. But without insisting upon these vague comparisons, let us confine ourselves to a fact which none will deny; namely, that the immoralities of Roman Catholic sovereigns have been many times displayed, in a
manner unequalled for audacity and shamelessness.  After this, is it
enough to remark, that confession did not hinder these scandalous displays! May not we add, that it was in some degree the cause of them.
It may be doubted whether a man who respected religion and feared hell,
Louis XIV. for instance, would have openly given such scandal, without
the unfortunate facility of depositing every month, every week, every
day, if he saw fit, his burden of sins, at the feet of a man intimidated or
carried away from duty.




AND  THE KING.                      1'77
of pensions; I have already twice as many of thena as I need,
and he has often expressed his regret that he cannot present me
with benefices.*  It is I who keep the list of them.  He tells me,'Do not forget your friends.' But giving is nothing to him,
and so he seems to seek out methods of giving to me, in order
that his benefits shall have the greater possible value.  Stayit was but a fortnight ago that he saw me pluck a primrose in
the park of St. Germain.'You have flowers?' he said to me.'I wish that you should have a garden.' A week passed.  I
supposed that he thought no more of it, or that he waited until
we should be at Versailles to give me a little piece of ground.
Not so. I learn that he has had an immense garden bought,
and the orders are given for the building of a delicious house
in it."
"Where is it?" asked Bourdaloue.
" At Menilmontant."t
"Oh! oh! Five leagues from Versailles?"' "Yes, it is rather far-but I am not sorry for that."
" Nor he, I suppose.  Provided that he sees you once ca month,
it probably does not signify much to him."
" Nor to me, neither.-But, however, he had thirty ways of
getting rid of me; I confess that it could not be done with a better grace. They say that I am his courtier; it is rather he that
is mine. During my pretended indisposition of yesterday, how
many times -do you think he sent to inquire after me? I am
sorry I did not count; but there were at least ten messages —"
"And you attribute that to his desire to know that you are
better l"
"On the contrary, my good friend, on the contrary. -I believe,
* It was contrary to the rules of the order.
f It is this garden which has since become the cemetery called Pere la
Chaise.




178                   THE  PREACHER
however, that he would be sorry to have me die, for then he
would have a new confessor to take, and a new education to begin, while mine, alas! is three quarters finished;* but so long as
it does not go to that length, I have every reason to think that
he will never be displeased with me for being ill at Easter.
However that may be, such an interest for my health is no less —
in the eyes of the court —you understand-an immense distinction."t
" And you call that an education three quarters finished? You
are very modest."
" It is finished, you think?  Well, you are mistaken.  It is
not; it will not be, please God.  There is such a thing as a conscience, Father Bourdaloue-"
"And people often act as if they had none, Father La Chaise."
" And so you have resolved to have enough for two, it appears.
-I have been rightly informed, I see; it is to-morrow that your
zeal is to signalize itself at my expense..I should like to read it,
-this famous sermon!"
"Yes?  Well, there it is."
"You allow me?"
"Certainly."
"But I see nothing  there —" exclaimed Father La Chaise,
after having rapidly run over the first part.  "But I see nothing
here either,'' he exclaimed again, after having run over the second part a little less rapidly.
"Ah, the conclusion- well-let us see. —Well, the leaf is torn
out l"
* " It is more difficult to fulfil one's duties, than to find priests to dispense one from doing so." —MONTESQUIEU. Persian Letters.
1 Louis XIV. having one day whispered a few words in the ear of
Madame de Brinon, superieuse of St. Cyr,-this lady, hitherto humble and
modest, became insupportably haughty.




AND THE KING.                      V79
" Here it is, here it is."
"All crumpled?"
"I-yes-aun accident-while studying-while  reading — a
somewhat abrupt gesture —"
"My dear friend, you are quizzing me. If you tore off this
conclusion it is because you have another one."
"No."
" No?"
" No, I tell you, upon the word of —"
"Are you going to say on the word of a Jesuit, like your PortRoyal friends?".
"You ought to know that I never jest upon those subjects
which religion and my habit order me to respect."
And yet it was somewhat jesuitically, in the Pascalian sense of
the word, that Bourdaloue had replied no. Father La Chaise
had asked, "have you another?"  No, signified "I have not,"
and this was true; but the question evidently meant, " are you
going to write another?" and thus this no approached somewhat
to a falsehood. Was it jestingly, or seriously that he had said
it? We incline to think that there was a little of both.  Then
we must not forget the uneasiness in which he was kept by the
presence of Claude; he did not in reality exactly know what he
was saying.
"I go for no," said the confessor, who had already recommenced reading, this time attentively, line after line.
"But it is admirable, all that i" he cried, after the first few
phrases.-" What talent! what art! How the ideas flow into
one another! How well it is brought out! I have reason, however, for consolation-"
He thought he heard a movement at the extremity of the
chamber. But hearing nothing further, he resumed, "for consolation I (still reading,) I know, and the whole universe knows as




180                 THE PREACHER
well-good! good! And who has ever been fitter than he for the
kingdom of heaven!-Admirable! Admirable i!"
In short, one might have imagined that Father La Chaise knew
Claude's letter, and was striving to reverse it from beginning
to end.
Bourdaloue was in agonies. IHe felt that his cause was not
so widely separated from  that of his companion, that these
scandalous commendations might not bring condemnation upon
him the author of the eulogy,-rin the mind of the minister.
What tormented him the most, was the thought of the conclusions to which Claude would probably come, in regard to the
principles and tendencies of the Jesuits. So, burning with impatience to cut it short, he was sometimes upon the point of calling to him, sometimes he sought in his mind for some method
of supplicating him  not to appear, proposing to himself afterwards to excuse to the best of his ability, if not his companion,
at least his order.
In the meantime, the Father continued. All that he thought
particularly good, he read aloud. When he arrived at that
sentence which Claude had called blasphemy, he could no longer
contain himself; he was enthusiastic.
And this enthusiasm was sincere. A man of some mind,in the habit of seeking and finding only one of the branches of
the oratorical art, in preaching,-every brilliant or dexterous idea
seemed to him excellent from that very quality; he troubled
himself very little about the principles; still less about the religious and moral effect. In argumentative compositions, he detected with incomparable address the smallest or the best concealed faults; at such times he was again in all his vigor, the
late professor of philosophy, the man who had for twenty years
attracted all the youth of Lyons to his instructions. In compositions with which feeling had anything to do, he noticed no



AND THE KING.                      181
thing but the style. A valiant champion of the laws of logic,
he generally treated those of religion and morals very lightly.
WVe have already had occasion to remark with how many honorable qualities this laxity was combined in him.  " He was of
common-place mind," said Saint Simon, "but of good disposition.
Just, upright, disinterested, polite, modest, very much of a Jesuit,
but moderate, and without servility." Voltaire calls him " a mild
man, with whom the road to reconciliation was always open;"
but it is rare that a conciliatory person has at the same time enough
strength never to be so at the expense of those things in which all
conciliation is blamable. It is not hypocrites alone who say with
Tartufe; "There is a way of arranging matters with heaven."
This language. is still oftener that of lukewarmness or of weakness. La Chaise was one of those men who have the misfortune to be vividly impressed neither by good nor evil.
"Perfect, —really,-perfect!" he said to Bourdaloue, returning
him his manuscript.
"Yes? And yet certain scruples have presented themselves-"
" Say rather that they have been presented to you."
"That is not the question.  Presented or not, I have them.
Nnd if you will-"
"Let us have them-  "
"Well,-would I say to the king in private, what I am going
to say to him before all his court? Would you say it to him, you?"
"A pretty question! Does one ever use the same language
in a tete-a-tete as in the pulpit?"
" No, as far as style goes; but the ideas? Do you think that
what is false in itself, can pass for true in the pulpit?"
" True! true!  Who talks of that? Who is going to examine whether the praises given to the king in public are the
exact expression of the truth?"
" And suppose he takes them as truth!"




182         THE PREACHER AND  THE KING.
" My dear brother, you must confess that one would not expect these reflections from him who wrote these two pages here —"
Bourdaloue cast down his eyes.
"And who, is preparing himself to recite them  to-morrow,"
added La Chaise, in an incredulous and questioning tone. And
as Bourcldaloue did not reply, he said: " You are not frank with
me,-it is bad; you will persist in throwing me into perplexity,-it is bad —very bad.  In fact you are quite pale-"
He took his hand, and said in the most caressing tone:
" Have you reflected well, my dear brother. If you go and
talk severely to the king, you exile yourself from  the pulpit of
Versailles.  Would it not be better to remain in his good
graces, and keep in your power the means of bringing him  afterwards, but gradually and without violence,* to the change
which we all desire?  Yes, all, for you do not do me the wrong
to think that I care more about my garden than the king's
salvation. Come, let us discuss the matter. You have a splendid composition there, which will give the greatest pleasure to the
king, and the greatest honor to you.  It is the last sermon of
this Lent-be prudent, and I promise you that you shall preach
again next year. Then, do what you choose. Be terrific from
the very first sermon.  But to-morrow I The day but one before
Easter!  Once more, I ask, do you think of such a thing?
Who will thank you for this great effort of zeal and courage?
The court?  Doubtful.  The king?  Still more doubtful.  No
one, you see, no one-"
"Except God!" said Claude.
~'; Christianity is like a great salad. The nations are the herbs; the
doctors are the salt; vos eslis sal terrce. Macerations are the vinegar,and the oil, the good Jesuit fathers. A Jesuit smooths everything." —
FATHER ANDRE: Sermon on Zeal.
"Since," adds the author, " a drop of oil always spreads; —Put one
Jesuit into a province, and it will soon be full ofthem."




CHAPTER XV I.
FATHER LA CHAISE STARTLED.-HE DEPARTS, AND CLAUDE CONTINUES HIS
DICTATION.
A THUNDERBOLT falling at his feet, could not have produced,etc."
If this phrase were not so old, and were not to be found in all
romances, we should not know a better one to describe the effect
of these words upon the reverend father. Stupefied, scared, his
eyes immoderately stretched open, wandered from Claude to Bourdaloue, which latter, almost as much confounded as himself, was
not very capable of commencing an explanation. Claude was
silent.  He remained at three paces distant, standing motionless,
and still half enveloped in the shadows which obscured two-thirds
of the room.
" Who-who is this   Who is this man " at length asked
Father La Chaise.
"It is a-it is —my secretary."
"A plague take your secretary! He has given me a fright."
This word fright expired on his lips. Claude had advanced a
step or two; the light fell brilliantly upon his severe countenance, and his glance was very little like that of a secretary in
the cabinet of his enlployer.
"Your-your secretary?  Monsieur is your secretary?"
"Monsieur," said Claude, "if your conscience were easy in re



184                THE PREACHERIt
gard to the words which I may possibly have heard you speak,
you would not be so startled to see me here."
"Startled!-I! —My conscience! —By what right?"
" Oh! I know very well that I have not a confessor's
diploma-"
"But who are you, then? Who is this, MIonsieur Bourdalone?"
"What difference does that make?" resumed Claude. "IHowever, shall I tell you who it is? It is an honorable man, monsieur, whose indignation is aroused when he hears calculations
like those which you have just been making. It is a Christian,
to whom you will not deny the right to groan for the injury
which you do to religion, and for the wretchedness of the souls
which you cause to perish-"
" He insults me 1" cried the father, " in your presence I in your
house! And you do not make him hush! Do you join with
him then? In that case, I have only to retire —"
"Make me hush, monsieur! And by what right? let me ask
in my turn. You say you are insulted. Is it my'fault if truth
is an insult to you? For in fact, it is only truth that I have told
you; truth, such as you would hear it from all pious lips, if they
dared tell it to you; truth, such as you would read it in all, even
the least pious hearts, if God permitted you to read them. You
have, like the king whom you are aiding to undo,-you have,
(and it is the beginning of your punishment,) those who undo you.
You are sought after, flattered; you are, in fact, the first and the
most powerful of the ministers of the crown. Tremble! It is
never with impunity that one is placed near to a throne, The
truth, which you conceal from the king, others conceal firom you;
but also upon you falls all the odium of the vices which you tolerate, and consequently encourage in him. There is not a
courtier so corrupt, so shameless, so interested that the king




AND THE KING.                     185
should continue in his vices, as not to see that it is your duty to
withdraw him from them, and that you lie to your conscience, to
your charge, to your God. But pardon, pardon me. God is my
witness that it is from no bitterness, no personal animosity-"
La Chaise no longer heard him. At the first words, the poor
Jesuit had risen, and in spite of all Bourdaloue's efforts, had not
ceased his progress towards the door,-menacing Claude at some
moments, and at others overwhelmed. When he had reached
the door, Claude also wished to stop him, but in vain. In a few
seconds he had reached the foot of the stairs.
"It is useless," said the minister, sadly; "he is gone. Be sure
to tell him, I beg of you, that I did not expect so sudden a departure, and that I should have been glad to shake hands with
him. He would have seen that the purest zeal was the only
source of my reproaches, and that charity had not for an instant
quitted my heart. But where were we? There is no time to
be lost. Have you the courage to go on."
"I must have it. Good God! what an evening!  What a
scene 1"
"Did I do wrong in showing myself a?
" Oh! no. When you interrupted him, it seemed to me as if
he were Satan himself, there was so much art and so much seduction in his words. And yet he is not bad; he is weak-"
"' Well! and do you not know, that in this world the weak do
more harm than the wicked?"
"I have said it often in the pulpit, but I have never understood
it as well as to-day- Go on, I am ready."
Claude recommenced his walk, and sometimes quickly, sometimes a little less rapidly, according as words came more or less
abundantly, he dictated to him about four pages.
" I shall never dare to say that!" *cried Bourdaloue, at a certain passage.




186       THE PREACHER  AND THE KING.
Claude continued without heeding.
"I shall never dare to say that!" he repeated, throwing down
his pen after having written the last words.
"Yes, you will dare," said Claude. And he went away.




CHAPTER XVII.
BOURDALOUE REMAINS ALONE.-COMMITS TO MEMORY AND RECITES HIS PERORATION.-BOSSUET HEARS AND APPROVES OF IT.
BOURDALOUE, however, remained seated. In committing hastily to paper the rapid improvisation of Claude, he had scarcely
been able to take it in as a whole; he had not even endeavored
to do this. Agitated, uneasy, his mind had only followed his
pen. Claude had been gone a quarter of an hour, before he had
even glanced at the pages lying before him.
At length, he appeared to perceive them; his eye rested upon
them, at first casually, then with more and more attention. Hie
read, he re-read his new peroration, and at every sentence, (for he
was accustomed to read aloud,) his voice became strongelr, his accent more spirited. Look at the musician whose eye falls by
chance on a beautiful composition which is new to him. He
runs through it at first carelessly; he does not sing, —he scarcely
hums it. Gradually he becomes aroused; one measure pleases
him, then a second, —then another.-His enthusiasm is awakened,
and to the real beauty of the composition is added the brilliancy
of an improvisation.-The applause is unanimous.
No one applauded the orator, for he was alone; but he himself applauded; he was more and more astonished, more and
more struck.
We have not this passage. It was not found among Bourdaloue's papers, and the sermon has come down to posterity with




188                 THE PREACHER
the pages which the author tore out.-Why for the sake of his
honor were they not lost!
"That is it," he at length exclaimed; "that is it! I shall
leave out nothing, T shall add nothing. —They may say what they
will.-What a pity that the author should be a-   But who
will know that, after all? And if it is well received, if it touches
the king's conscience-"
He stopped, and became thoughtful.
" If it touches the king's conscience," he said to himself, " it
will do me much credit; —much credit for a courage,-which I
shall not have had of my own accord; —much credit for an eloquence which is not my own. And what is to be done, however?
-Bah! God will provide.-I will go on, at all events."
And, leaving the paper, he began to repeat the first lines by
heart,-then the following,-then more still.-In short, he had
finished when he scarcely thought he had learned half. He
could not recover from his surprise; he had never found his
memory so prompt; he had never before so well understood the
Abbe de F6n6lon's favorite maxim, that a passage really written
with enthusiasm is always quickly learned, even when one is not
its author.
As he finished, the door opened, and a man hastened in an agitated manner toward him, with his arms extended. —It was Bossuet.
He had returned from the chateau.-In hearing from the
staircase the sound of the preacher's voice; he had not been able
to restrain as before at the sight of the shadow, a slight smile of
pity. But as he ascended, the voice became more impressive;
the words, which he began to distinguish, seemed, like the tone,
to have something new and penetrating; it was Bourdaloue, and
it was not he. Motionless behind the door, his head bent forward, and his hand on the latch, he listened.-His astonishment,
his admiration continued to increase; and as the periods were




AND T1HE KING.                     189
too rounded and flowing for him to believe them extemporized,
he could not conceive how, in less than two hours, the orator had
written so much, and memorized it so well. But what astonished him the most, was, to find the man whom he had left so depressed, suddenly raised to such a height, -for he was a long way
from supposing that any one had aided in this; he had even forgotten that Claude remained with Bourdaloue after the departure
of the Fen6lons and himself.
One of the greatest pleasures which we can have, either through
the mind or the heart, is to hear expressed with precision and
power our own ideas; and sentiments which are dear to us, but
which we have never yet expressed ourselves, because we should
have trembled for fear of expressing them tamely, or badly, —and
for this reason, the greatest triumphs of eloquence have always
been owing, much less to any novelty of ideas, than to the ability, or rather the enthusiasm with which the orator seized upon
those which he knew to be already existing in the minds of his
audience.* Never, perhaps, had this enjoyment been more vividly experienced by Bossuet than in this moment. In indicating
to Bourdaloue the principal ideas to be added to his discourse, he
had not concealed from himself, what a difficult task it must be.
A man of experience is rarely at a loss to know what to say;
but the how to say it puzzles the most skilful. We do not doubt
but that Bossuet would have succeeded very well; but it was no
less an agreeable surprise for him to find that which he had left
in the germ, fully developed, and developed with a copiousness
and vigor which he scarcely flattered himself that he would have
been able to attain.
"And I who came back to help you!" he cried.  "And you
who had asked me to do so! —Truly, when one writes so slowly
and so ill, one absolutely requires aid!-"
*" Tantum de medis sumptis accedit honoris."-H-IonAcE. Art. Poet.




190        THE PREACHE-R AND THE KING.
"You heard me?" said Bourdaloue, turning pale.
"Yes-certainly-"
"All."
"Almost all. As far as I could judge, you were just commencing as I arrived."
"Why did you not come in?"
"And interrupt you? I took care not to do that."
" At all events, are you satisfied?"
" And you,-are not you?"
He sighed. Nothing is sweeter than praise, even when we
do not think ourselves entirely deserving of it; but when we feel
that it belongs entirely to another, it is a torment to us. I-Tow
then could Bourdaloue remain silent? If any other than Claude
had been the author of these pages so highly approved of by
Bossuet, Bourdaloue would not have hesitated a moment to
undeceive him; perhaps he would have done it, difficult as
the confession would have been, if Bossuet had given him-time,
and had not immediately begun to relate to him  his recent
interview with the king. He contented himself, accordingly,
with resolving to undeceive him at some future time; unless,
indeed, this conclusion of the sermon should fail, or give offence, in which case he would take upon himself the whole responsibility.




CHAPTER XVIII.
LOUIS XIV.-MADAME DE MONTESPAN.-TIIE DUKE DU MAINE.-BOSSUET AGAIN
WITH THE KING.-DEPARTURE OF MADAME DE MONTESPAN.
LET US retrace our steps a little. What had passed between
Bossuet and the king?
Upon hearing himself summoned by the monarch, so soon after
having sent a letter which he had almost repented having written, he could not but be somewhat uneasy. What did the king
want? To thank him for having spoken, or to order him to
be silent? Both suppositions were equally in accordance with
the promptitude of the message. The darkness of the streets,
and the solitude of his chair, giving free course to his excited
imagination, he seemed at one moment to behold the king irritated, excited, throwing off angrily the yoke which he had
attempted to impose upon him; at another, he fancied he heard
him reiterate, but humbly and seriously, the same " WhTat is to
be done?" which had remained the first time without result.
On the other hand, having gone out at night, and without informing any one, he could not at all understand how the king
had known where to send after him. This last point puzzled
him extremely; an excited mind finds mystery in everything.
There was, however, no mystery in this, as we shall soon see.
Instead of one letter, the king had received two, and by accident they were brought to him at the same time. From the
address of the one, he perceived that it came from Bossuet 




192                  THE PREACHER
and he had still less trouble in guessing from  whom came the
other.  But with which should he commence?  He hesitated.
Not that he was not burning with impatience to open the second; but he thought that he owed it to his conscience and to
Bossuet to commence with his letter, and if it were only for
form's sake, to take the arms offered him  before engaging in a
new combat. The first carried the day; but he had scarcely
broken the seal when he took the other and opened it.  While
unfolding it, came another twinge of conscience, and he ended
by throwing them both down.
He soon returned to them; and as they had fallen into a
dark corner, lie took that which first presented itself. It was a
sort of medium between his inclination and his scruples.
He did not repent of having done this, for the letter he had
picked up, wvas that of Mme. de Montespan.
Written in the presence, and almost from the dictation of her
two sisters, this letter nevertheless bore the impress of a kind of
emotion which the king was little accustomed to see in the marquise.  She said not a word of Bossuet, but the influence of his
visit was visible.  There was less levity, less arrogance; a calmness evidently affected, but which on any other occasion she
would not even have taken the trouble to affect. Further, it
was but the amplification, sometimes abrupt, sometimes insinuating and sophistical, of her last words to Bossuet.  The Icing is
master, she had said, and she repeated this to him in every way.
It is well understood what this means; whoever affects to remind you that you are the master, you may be sure that it is
neither in the desire of having you use your rights, nor in the
intention of obeying you.  The king asked nothing better than
to order nothing, or not to be obeyed; but lie would have wished something more positive; a firmer resistance, or a more sincere submission; more direct reproaches, or the absence of all




AND THE KING.                      193
reproach, a letter in fine which would either have again bound
him fast in his chains, or which would have completed their destruction.  This was neither the one nor the other, and when we
are in a state of indecision, we do not like it to appear that the
whole charge and responsibility of the decision is left with us.
Disappointed, he took up Bossuet's letter again.  The moment
was a favorable one. His mind and heart seemed freer; it was
the agreeable surprise which one feels,-even while still burdened
with more than one reason for distress,-upon perceiving that a
sacrifice which is to be made is less severe than one had believed.
However, notwithstanding this beginning of a return to reason
and order, it would have been impossible to follow without anxiety the alternations of docility and pride, of resignation and
anger, which depicted themselves on his countenance as he went
on. All the contradictory impressions which Bossuet had desired
or feared to produce upon him, might have been seen rapidly
succeeding each other at every line, and at the end the question
would still have remained to be decided, as to whether the general effect were favorable or otherwise.  It was in vain that this
letter was bolder than the boldest things which Louis XIV. had
ever heard or read; he had been allowed so to contract the habit
of arranging the most positive teachings, the severest lessons, to
suit himself, that it had become in some sort impossible for him
to take them literally, even when he could not possibly doubt
that they were addressed to him and only to him.  Thus, it was
not so easy to wound him as one would have believed; his pride
was so great and so deeply rooted as to produce in him  quite
the contrary effect from that which it produces in the generality
of men.  With an ordinary amount of pride you are touchy;
with an excessive amount you are more tractable; you do not
dream that any one could have any intention to wound you.*
* The social or hierarchical position often produces the samne effect. A
17




194                  THE  PREACHER
Thus the king was far less offended than Bossuet had feared be
would be; it might almost be said that he was not at all so, and
that if he seemed irritated, it was only because he had found so
many good reasons, where his heart, stronger than his head, had
only desired to find bad ones.
These reasons, however, could not be absolutely without effect
upon a man who was not destitute of judgment, nor even of some
conscience. Still too feeble to be led by them to an explicit
determination, he had at least the strength to wish for aid in
this rude operation.  It was therefore that he sent for the author
of the letter.  Ie did not very well know what to say to him,
but he desired to see him again.
Unhappily, this favorable state of mind was not to last until
the arrival of the prelate.
Scarcely had the king given orders that he should be sent for,
when a third letter presented itself to his view, in the place where
he had first thrown down the two others.  It had arrived in the
letter of the marquise, and he easily recognized the large childish
scrawl of his son, thile Duke du Maine.
He was the eldest of their children.*  The king was fonder
of him than of his legitimate son, the dauphin; and if this preference had not been the violation of a sacred law, it might be
said to be just; for the pupil of Mme. de Maintenon, at six years,
was as agreeable and sprightly, as Bossuet's at fourteen was the
contrary.  His character changed subsequently.  Without ceasing to be an agreeable man, and, no offence to Saint-Simon,
who detested him, an honorable man,f he was not all he had
general runs less risk in being familiar with the common soldiers, than
the inferior commanders.
* They had had four; a son, dead young, the Duke du Maine, the Count
du Vexin, and Mademoiselle de Nantes, afterwards Duchess de Bourbon.
f See his portrait in the memoirs of Mme. de Staal-Delanuay.




AND  THE  KING.                       195
promised to be,* but at this time, the wit and vivacity of Henry
IV. had revived in none of his descendants so strikingly as in
this child.  Hie was at this time at the waters of Bareges,f
whither Mme. de Maintenon had taken him  by order of the
king andhis physicians, for a somewhat serious infirmity;: his
little imlpsessions du voyage had already furnished him  subjects
for several letters, very probably reviewed by his governess, but
in which enough things of his own wele left to amuse his mlother
and the king extremely.~  It was one of these letters received
this very day, that Madame de Montespan had judged proper to
accompany hers.
Here are some passages:
" BAREGES, the 30th of March, 1675.
"I am going to write all the news of the inn to amuse thee,
my dear little heart, and I shall write much better when I think
that it is for you, Madame —-.
* The orders of the king aided probably to make him choose the retired life, which he finished by preferring to all others. It would not do
for the son of Mme. de Montespan to eclipse the heir to the crown.
+ The influence of the king upon public opinion was never manifested
with a more scandalous eclat than upon this occasion. The Duke du
Maine received everywhere upon the road honors which certainly would
not have been rendered to the dauphin travelling like him incognito.
Bordeaux harangued him, the commandant of the citadel of Blaye saluted
him with the firing of cannon. Saint-Simon energetically abuses this turpitude, and with good reason; he only omits one little fact, which is, that
this said governor of Blaye, who put Guyenne into commotion to receive
" this bastard," was no less a person than the Duke de Saint-Simon, his
father.
t The extreme weakness of one leg. He was never entirely cured of it.
j These letters were published two years afterwards, in a little volume entitled, " Miscellaneous works of an author of seven years."  The
epistle dedicatory, signed by Madame de Maintenon, is by Racine. It is
not easy to know how far the Duke du Maine was the author of this little
book; but he was certainly more so than Louis XIV. had been of a trans



196                   THE  PREACHIER' "Madame de Maintenon works every day for my learning, and
she hopes very much she will succeed, and so does your darling,
who will do his best td be clever, for he is dying to please the
king and you.
" I have received the letter which you wrote yesterday to your
dear little pet.  I will do all you tell me to, if it is only to please
you, for I love you superlatively.  I was enchanted, and I am
yet with the little nod which the king gave me when I came
away, but I was very discontented that thou didst not seem
more sorry.  Thou wert beautiful as an angel."*
Thus was explained the apparent indifference of Madame de
Montespan.  Hop last word was not in her letter, but in that of
her son, in tile interesting prattle of this child, discontented as he
said, to see her so cold at his departure, and who, without knowing it, rendered her an immense service. These few lines, in fact,
contained all that the most practised mind could have imagined
most likely to move the king. In the first place, it is his son
who writes,-a son whom he loves, a poor child whose birtl he
may indeed be reproached for, but whom  no one in the world
will reproach him for loving, lie struggles then no longer; he
gives himself up to this with confidence; he perceives not that
the agreeable prattle of the son is but so many concealed arguments in favor of the mother.  And in what does the child wish
lation of Casar's Commentaries, published in 1648, at the printing-office
of the Louvre, by "Louis Dieudonne, roy de France et de NVavarre;"
which, however, did not hinder him from passing his life without knowing a word of Latin. It appears that the Duke du Maine took his title
of author seriously, for eight years after, at the death of Corneille, he
presented himself to fill this vacancy, and he -was about to be unanimously
elected, in spite of his fifteen years, if the Duke de Montausier had not
represented to the king how strange this election would be. In flact,
however, the young prince was more worthy of it than many of the great
lords who deigned to have themselves elected.
* Literal.




AND  THE KING.                     197
to employ his talents,-those talents come to him  from her?
His sole object is to please the king.  " He is dying to do so,"
he says. He was enchanted, and still is, with "the little nod"
which the king gave him when he left. And thenl " thou wert
beautiful as an angel." All  the king knew that only too well,
and this naive eulogium was worth more than the most eloquent
arguments.
Thus he was no longer so anxious to see Bossuet. However,
little accustomed to waiting, he began to find that the prelate
delayed very long.  The usher of the cabinet came to say that
he had been sought for everywhere, and that they did not know
where to go for him. The king gave orders that he should be
looked for again, and at last somebody was found who had recognized his chair at Bourdaloue's door. A page ran thither,
and the king was duly informed of it in order that he should
be less impatient.
At first he paid no attention to the fact that Bossuet was at
Bourdaloue's; he was besides aware that they were friends.
Gradually the thing seemed to him  less natural.  What could
Bossuet have to do with the Jesuit at night, the evening before
a day when the latter was to preach?  Louis XIV. was curious.
Without ever ostensibly lowering himself to play the spy, or to
have the part played for him, he was very fond of knowing all
the little gossip of the court.*  On this account he said that it
was more trouble to him to govern his house than his kingdom.
Only, because he' saw into his house closely, and into his kingdom from afar; great things were found more easy to conceal
from him than little ones.t
* "These secret discoveries broke the necks of an infinity of people
of all classes, without their ever having been, able to discover the reason."
-SMNT-SIMON.
f At the time of the terrible dearth in 1)709, " everybody wvas implored
177*




198                   THE  PREACHE R
When Bossuet at length entered; "You come from  Father
Bourdaloue's?" he said, drily.
Bossuet saw that something was suspected.  In fact the king
had guessed.  It was not difficult; we have already seen Father
La Chaise come to Bourdaloue, speaking without hesitation of
the motive to which the nocturnal visit of the prelate was attributed.
Bossuet evaded the question, alnd without even leaving the
king time to finish his phrase, he said: " I am  sorry that your
Majesty should have had the trouble to send so far for me."
" And I am sorry that you should have had the trouble to
go so far in my service."
Louis XIV. scarcely ever used raillery.  He has been commended for this, and with justice, for it is a sort of treachery for
a prince to make use of arms which propriety forbids to be turned
against himnself.  These last words were ironical; but there was
more of sadness than banter in the tone.
" In your Majesty's service 2" said Bossuet.
"In my service,-according to your opinion at least.  Father
Bourdaloue preaches to-morrow, does he not 2"
"God willing, Sire, he does."' Before me?"
l He hopes to do so."
"It is not certain, nevertheless."
"How, sire —"
"That depends upon what you shall tell me. Do you know
his sermon "
"The text and the first page."
"It is a sermon on the Passion?"
" Certainly, but what does your majesty wish to know?  I
not to speak of it to the king, in order not to make him die of grief."MEMOIRos oF THE DUCHESS OF OFRLEANS, mother of the regent.




AND  THE  KING.                     199
think my letter is frank enough to show you that I would not
fear direct questions."
" Very well, here is one.  What was your object in visiting
Father Bourdaloue?"
" Your majesty has said, in your service.  The same kind of
service to which all my proceedings to-day have been devoted.
A service from  which your majesty, I see, would willingly dispense me, but from which God would not dispense me."
" Go on. What did you do there?"
"I informed him of all-"
"You dared?-"
"Does your majesty then imagine that I had much to tell
him!  Ah! sire, every one knows it.  These walls have eyes
for you as well as others.  People may be silent, but they cannot help seeing."
The king appeared struck.  He was not senseless enough to
imagine that his irregularities were not perceived; but he had
never said to himself quite seriously, that they must be seen.
Without going so far as to believe that a courtier's soul was as
unimpressionable as his countenance, he had habituated himself
not to go beyond the exterior, and not to disturb himself as to
what might be beneath that.*
He remained thoughtful an instant.  Then said; "You advised him, then, not to forget me to-morrow?"
"For a long time, sire, he has remembered you daily in his
* This, to a certain degree, was also the habit of the courtiers. The
journal of Dangeau furnishes curious instances of this. It is well known
what tears and anger there were in the Orleans family, when the king'
declared his intention to unite one of the daughters of Madame de Montespan to the Duke de Chartres. What says Dangeau? Two lines. " The
king has arrtmged with Monsieur, the marriage of his son with Mademoiselle de Blois, and Monsieur the Duke de Chartres appears well
pleased with it."




200                THE PREACHER
prayers, and he has prayed God to open your heart to his exhortations. Can you then find fault with my having demanded his
assistance in this struggle between you and me, or rather between
God and you?"
"I am very willing to take my part of the sermon, but I do
not wish that it should be made at me."
"But, sire, if you took your part, would it be necessary to
make it at you? But no, you do take it; you only take it too
imuLch."
"I do not comprehend you."
" You take the eulogiums and leave all the rest. That these
eulogiums are also your part, no one in France is more ready to
acknowledge than I; but they are the king's portion; what you
leave, is the man's portion. The first may ruin you; it is only
the second which can save you."
"Let the first be left out then, if you will; but I will not
permit that the other be directed at me."
"Have I said that it would be? Do you think that Father
Bourdaloue is a man wanting in respect for you? And without
lacking in this myself, could I not advise him seriously to attempt the entrance of a heart, into whose depths you have permitted me to look?"
" Very good!" said the king, somewhat reassured; "but woe
to whoever should attempt making a show of me! You have
sometimes compared me to Theodosius. Let no one seek to
complete the resemblance by anything analogous to his public
penitence! Thank God! I never ordered the massacre of the
Thessal6nians!"
Alas! and the wars of the Palatinate?  And the horrors
committed in Bretagne, for some slight indications of sedition?
And the war in I-olland just ended? And the dragooning about
to commence? And,-but it was not the moment to point out




AND  THE  KING.                      201
to hill that it was Theodosius who should have been offended at
the comparison.*  Besides, it is probable that Bossuet did not
judge of these things quite as we do.  When we see that Mme.
de Sevigne, a wife and mother, (and such a wife! such a mother!) laughingly relates the abominable cruelties of her fiiend the
Duke de Chaulnes,t we comprehend that people did not consider
peccadilloes of this kind of any great importance when the king
did them, or had them done in his name.
"Be not uneasy," replied Bossuet; " St. Ambrose will not be
tlhere to arrest your steps at the door of the chapel.  Only come
there, and I will hbe responsible for all that takes place.  But you
unhappily have time to put yourself on your guard against the
efforts of the preacher —"
" I will not do that."
"That is to say, you do not intend to do it; but your heart
may again be stronger than you.  And who knows if it is only
your heart that you have to combat? Will you permit me a
question in my turn, sire?"
" Say on."
" From whom is that letter which I see there beside mine?",
The king averted his eyes.
"It appears that I am not mistaken," resumed Bossuet. " And
your majesty has replied-"
* There is an account of the campaign of 1673, written by Louis XIV.
The concluding lines are as follows: "I accordingly finish this year,
having nothing wherewith to reproach myself, and believing that I have
let no opportunity pass by, which was favorable to the extension and
strengthening of the limits of my kingdom." And again; "I have succeeded, therefore I have nothing with which to reproach myself."
{ "A whole street has been driven away into banishment (at Rennes).
Sixty of the citizens have been taken; to-morrow the hanging begins.
This province is a fine example for the others,-above all, to make them
respect their governors and governesses, not to say hard things to them,
and not to throw stones into their garden."




202                 THE PREACHER
"As yet nothing.  Besides, the contents are not such as you
appear to believe. Here, read it."
He was, in fact, somewhat surprised to find nothing more vehement. "It is better than I had hoped," he said.  "Will it then
be only your majesty with whom I have to struggle l"
" What! I have just promised all that you wish!"
"Your majesty has promised to be present at the sermon,
nothing more; you consent to hear plead the cause of your own
salvation, reserving to yourself the decision. Thus then is your
fate placed in the power of another, at the mercy of the thousand
circumstances which may influence the manner in which he endeavors to touch you. If he be in an eloquent vein, you will
perhaps hear him; if he be not so, your heart will cry out victory!  Ah, sire, confess that this is the true extent of your
promise-"
He was right. The king. but followed, like too many others,
the deplorable mania of seeing in a preacher only an adversary,
and in a sermon only a pleading. Now, this supposed adversary
is the best of our friends; and we have everything to gain in
losing this suit. We know it; we confess it —and we continue
nevertheless to regard as so much gain, all the little triumphs,
real or supposed, which we succeed in carrying against the logic
or the morals of the orator. "How they fight, my brave Englishmen!" cried James II. at the battle of the Hague. He forgot,
poor king, that it was against him. What else than this do we
do when we secretly approve the desperate struggle of our passions against the truths which a preacher announces to us 
When we are beaten, completely beaten, we submit witji a good
grace, and as if we had never dreamed of resisting; but as long
as resistance is possible, we resist.  Thus proceeds the game.
"If the plague were the stake, one would still wish to gain," is a
vulgar saying. It is the same around the pulpit; in this serious




AND  THE KING.                     203
and terrible game, where nothing less is at stake than the life or
the death of souls. Not a hearer who does not know that it
is his interest to lose; not a hearer who does not secretly wish
to gain.  Thence comes that close attention often taken for
piety, but which too often has no other motive than a desire to
find the orator wrong;* thence proceeds the marvellous aptitude
to perceive the smallest errors of thought or style, and to convert
them into self-defences; thence, finally, the universal tendency to
despise a whole discourse to which we could have foumid nothing to
reply, for the sake of some sentences which may have displeased us.
And what is to be concluded fiom  these observations, if not
that the preacher ought constantly to be on his guard, in order
not to risk the danger of losing thus in a moment all the fruit
of his discourse? All his efforts must tend to diminisbh, to destroy, if not the cause, (for God alone can do that,) at least the
principal effects of the unhappy tendency to look on him as an
advocate who pleads, rather than a judge who pronounces in the
name of the law. Since your hearer will not agree to have any
judge beside himself, enter as it were into his way of thinking;
-put yourself out of sight; appear to acknowledge his right to
judge himself; yet as his object in claiming this right is, in
reality, but to have the power of not using it, grant it to him
only on the condition that he makes use of it.  Close every door
to him; force him to become his own accuser in the secret of his
thoughts, and in the solitude of his remorse; this is the true end,
the true triumph of pulpit eloquence.  The more you humble
yourself to be only an instrument il the hand of God, the less
X "It is not to seek food that ye are come down to Egypt; ye are spies;
to see the nakednles- of the land ye are come."-MAssILLON. Sermon? on
Preaching.
f" My discourse, —of which, perhaps, you think yourself the judges,will judge you at the last day, gund will be a new burden upon you, as the
prophets declare," —BossuET. Funeral oration of Anne of Gonzaga.




204                 THE PREACHER
your hearer will be tempted to believe himself dealing with a
man, and to set himself up against you. You must bring him
to feel himself in the sight of God, under the scrutiny of that
eye from which nothing is hidden; instead of remarking with a
secret joy the weak portions of your discourse, he fniust himself
be induced to ]end a helping hand to sustain and strengthen
them. A passion to be combated, is like a river to be shut in
behind its embanklments; in vain you may have imprisoned it
the whole length' of its course; if there remain one single spot
where the embankment is interrupted, it is as if you had done
nothing.
And the passion of the king was seeking some crevice in the
embankment within which he was forced to imprison himself,
and Bossuet was quite right in saying that it would be the same
thing the next day, if he were allowed time to collect his strength.
When the king saw himself so well understood, he was silent.
"Yes, once more," said Bossuet, " this is the true extent of
your promise. I hope that you will have no opportunity to
prove it to me to-morrow, and that Father Bourdaloue will
leave you no way of escaping fiom the pressing consequences of
his discourse, with a few criticisms; but since you already know
what these consequences are, how much more Christian and more
admiirable it would be to anticipate, and to do to-day what you
know that God will demand from you to-morrow by his lips!
Do you remember the vexation you one day caused to a preacher
who was to deliver a sermon before you? Prevented by business,
you did not come to the sermon, and the orator, whose discourse
was filled with your praises, found himself forced only to recite
fragments of it. Well! do the same thing to the preacher tomorrow; go to hear him, but after having destroyed all foundation for the things which he intends to say to you. Take fiom
this discourse the merit of appropriateness; force the afithor to




AND  THE KING.                     205
destroy the half of it. Ah he will not complain of that! Ile
will bless God for it; and even if hle were not to be told of it until the moment of entering the pulpit, it will not be difficult for
him to replace the severe words which you have forced him  to
prepare, by thanksgivings, and accents of blessings and joy."
The king was going to yield.-" Speak," be said; "what
ought I to do?"
"Do not repeat this question, sire; it frightens me. What
good would it do for me to answer it? Do not ask me anything
more,-act.  Let Mme. de Montespan quit Versailles; and if you
ask me afterwards what is to be done, then will I gladly answer you, by shedding the bhahn of religion upon your wound."
"Well! be it so," replied the king, " we will no longer recoil,
-God will owe me the reward-"
He would have done better not to add these words. The only
reasonable and Christian recompense of him who ceases to do
evil, is to receive pardon for the evil he has done, and surely the
price is great enough. But this error was only one of the forms
of the systems of piety which the king had made for himself, and
which no one had yet dared, or wished to hinder him from making.  Believing himself bound to nothing,* or to scarcely anything, it was natural that he should regard the accomplishment
of the commonest duties as meritorious; and in the same manner that he accepted the most magnificent praises for the most
insignificant labors of his business as king, so he expected the
most magnificent recompenses for the least labor of his position
as a man and a Christian.  All the good that he did, or
thought he did, was in his eyes as it were an act of condescension, ac kind of service rendered to God, and with which
God could not fail to be gratified.  Ah! how many people
* "God would look twice before he damned me," said a certain La
Tremonville, in his naizve pride of birth.
18




206                   THE PREACHER
have nearly the same idea, although far enough from  having even as many reasons as a Louis XIV. for imagining that
they can act towards God as one power to another! It was
not until many years later that lhe began to comprehend that
the law of repentance was perhaps made as well for him as for
others.  And yet it is doubtful whether, even on his death-becld,
and at the moment when he made those noble confessions* which
history has registered, he had a correct idea of the duties of a sinner, and the conditions of divine Inercy.t
Bossuet did not set him right.
He sat down, then, and with the feverish resolution of a man
driven to the last extremity, he tore in two one of the letters, took
the blank page and wrote.  He repeated the words in a low tone
as he wrote them.
"'Mme. de Montespan-will resign-immediately,-the superintendence of the queen's household.  She will quit the courtto-morrow morning-and will not return without orders.  Our
captain of the guards-is charged-to  take in hand-"  -A
scratching was heard at the door.4 —" What is it?" inquired the
king without stopping.
"A note, sire."
Bossuet took the note from  the usher's hands.  It was again
the handwriting of the marquise.
"Will your Majesty take my advice?"
* These confessions are found in all accounts, with some few variations
of words. The Cardinal de Henry, preceptor of Louis XV., had a copy
of them hung at the head of his pupil's bed. The young king was even
made to learn them by heart, as well as the most beautiful passages of
Pett CarUene, but as to engraving them upon his heart, which is quite
another thing, they troubled themselves but little about that,
"li He loved glory and religion, and he was prevented all his life from
knowing either."-MoNT SQUIEU.
t It was the custom not to knock, but to scratch at the doors of royal
apartments. Was this in order better to imitate dogs?




AND THE KING,                    207
"Well 2"
"Burn this note."
"Without reading it l"
"Without reading it."
" Monsieur de Condom, it is not our custom to condemn any
one unheard."
It was the king which returned. Besides the desire which he
had to read this message, he was not sorry to recall to Bossuet,
even while yielding, that he was still able not to yield if he chose.
And he read with one glance,
"You are king, you regret me-and I go. When these lines
are put into your hands, I shall no longer be at the chateau.
" ATaI-INAIS."
Mme. de Montespan had at first counted with certainty upon
the effect of her first letter. Coldness had appeared to her the
best method of bringing the king back to her. In blending with
her cause that of her son, she had considered the victory as
doubly certain. Calm and almost gay, she had quietly waited
for the king. She listened to every sound in the gallery; she
prepared to finish by tenderness, the work which she imagined
commenced by her indifference. She had nearly been right in
imagining this, as we have seen; and it is certain that if she had
only been able to allure the king into her presence, her object
would have been secured. But he did not come. Half an hour,
an hour passed; nothing proclaimed the king's approach. She
finally sent out some one on a voyage of discovery, and the only
thing that she could hear was, that he had sent for Bossuet.
Ten minutes after, she had set off, and her chariot was rapidly
whirling her to Clagny.*
Ifad she had time, or presence of mind to study out the terms' This was a chateau which the king had given her at a short distance
from Versailles.




208                  THE PREACHER
of her note, or had they flowed naturally from her pen?  WVe
cannot tell; but these two lines signified a great deal, and the
most refined art could not have arranged them better. " You
are king, you  weep, —and I go i"  These words were said to Louis
twenty years before, by a woman whom he loved with all the
ardor of youth,-her whom he wished to make his queen; the
gentle and beautiful Mancini. lMime. de Montespan had not ventured to use word for word, this already historical phrase. " You
weep," would have been too much; she had been obliged to restrict herself to you regret me; but the allusion existed none the
less. The king was carried back twenty years; an adulterous
passion found itself placed, as it were, under the protection of
the recollections of this pure and legitimate love. Besides this,
it was the reversing, the revocation of her letter. After having
told hini in two pages that he had the power to send her away,
she recalled to him by one line, that it was also in his power to
retain her. In announcing her departure, she gave herself the
air of a victim; and finally, in signing herself Atthnais, she well
knew that Louis XIV. loved this name, that he thouglht it poetical, noble, perfectly in harmony with the style of beauty of her
who bore it; it was as if a magic art had reproduced upon the
paper all the beauties of this majestic countenance made to please
the most majestic of kings.
Thus the effect was immediate and irresistible.  The king
grew pale, and the pen fell from his hand.  " Gone!" he said,
" gone!"  And although he endeavored to give these words only
the intonation of surprise, it was easy to perceive beneath this
quite another and a strong and deep impression.
" Gone i" lie repeated, passing his hand across his brow; and
this time he no longer controlled himself; his voice was changed;
his eyes filled with tears.  "Gone! and I was just about to order
her to go."




AND  THE KING.                   209
He was already blaming himself for this. If- she had been
there, he would have thrown himself at her feet; if it had not
been for Bossuet's presence, he would have hurriedly sent after her,
and an hour would not have passed before she triumphantly reentered the palace from which she had just been exiled.
Bossuet took the only position he could take —that of appearing neither sorry, nor even astonished; if not entering into the
king's grief, of treating it, in fact, as a simple and natural thing.
After some words to that effect, he said to him, "Render thanks
to God; has he not come to your aid? Who knows whether
you would have had the courage to send the order which you
were just writing? And if she had refused to obey it, who knows
whether you would not have been very glad. God has approved
of your intention; he has shortened the trial. You spoke of.
reward; is not this a beginning of it? Scarcely have you put
your hand to the work, when the half of your task is completed
for you. What do I say i the half! It is almost the whole!
I can well understand that you are not yet so convinced of this
as I am, but wait three days, and you will tell me whether I am
not right."
The king scarcely listened; from time to time he, appeared
not to be listening at all. The idea of a separation presented
itself to him for the first time with all the seriousness of reality.
So long as a sacrifice is not yet accomplished, and we do not yet
know by experience how we shall support it, we cannot know
either whether we are really decided to make it, or whether our
resolution is not produced by a passing impulse. IHe who had
just written so formal, so dry an order, believed himself dreaming when he reflected that she was no longer at the clateau, that
he should not see her in the evening, that he should not find her
the next day. Hle did not, however, appear altogether insensible
to the considerations of which Bossuet spoke. He confusedly
18*




210        THE PREACHER  AND  THE KING.
understood that it was better the thing should have happened in
this way, and that the object of his temptation should have abruptly quitted his door of herself; but as to thanking God for it,
as for a mercy, and the commencement of a reward, it was an
idea which he could neither have of himself, nor receive firom
any one else.
Despairing, then, of going any further, and very happy besides to have got so far, Bossuet retired. Another reason for
quitting the king as soon as possible, was that he feared his return to the subject of the sermon. It was in effect somewhat to
be feared, either that the king would refuse to go to the chapel
the next day, or that he would exact the taking from the sermon
all that could directly or remotely bear any relation to what was
passing; two things which were equally feared by Bossuet; for
he saw, on the one hand, that if the king once took it into his
head not to hear the sermon, it would be impossible to make
him give up the idea; and on the other, that he would have
more need than ever of the instructions of religion.
It was with this idea that Bossuet returned to Bourdaloue,
and related to him the scene which we have just described.




CHAPTER XIX.
BOURDALOUE AND BOSSUET.-DISTINGUISHING PECULIARITIES OF TIIE PROTESTANT
PULPIT.-PULPIT ELOQUENCE.
BOSsUET'S conclusion, then, was that nothing should be changed
in the composition which he had just heard. Bourdaloue said
neither yes nor no. Besides his embarrassment at finding himself borrowing the plumes of another, he felt, and not without
foundation, that his position in regard to the king was more and
more critical.
Bossuet having asked if Claude had staid long, and how they
parted; " very pleasantly," he said, charmed that the latter half
of the question dispensed him from answering the first.  " He is
a man of feeling and a man of talent."
"I know that; but —"
"Well l"
"He ought to have felt that all times are not equally fit-"
"For giving lectures, you would say?"
"Well yes.-A visit-a first visit-"
"He apologized amply for that.  Without M. de Fenelon.By the way he looked at you very often, M. de Fenelon! Many
of his remarks seemed allusions —"
"To what?" said Bossuet hastily.
"I do not know to what."
"We have been acquainted such a long time. However, you
must confess to nme that Monsieur Claude-"




212                 THE PREACHER
" Only spoke the truth.  If it appeared harsh to us, so much
the worse for us."
" It is true that these ministers pique themselves upon saying
it to everybody."
"I wish that I had always deserved that reproach —"
"I also. But you must acknowledge that it would be unjust
to conclude from that, as the Protestants do, that our preaching
is generally complaisant and feeble."
" I certainly do believe that it is not the case with our cures,
particularly our country cures. They, on the contrary, go too far
in the other direction; they cannot preach a sermon without damning the whole world. But how should a stranger, or a Protestant
of Paris, judge of Catholic preaching, if not from the discourses
of the preachers of Paris and Versailles? By what will we be
judged in the future, if not by the few sermons which shall have
been preserved,-by yours, by mine perhaps?  And then, if
the judgment be unjust, if it be even said that our Church uses
two weights and two measures, one for kings, the other for the
people,-who will be responsible for this, if it be not ourselves? I shudder when I think what might be said of me in
one or two centuries, if I am  judged from many a page with
which the king and court have been most enchanted. This
wretched peroration-"
" But do not speak of it any more," interrupted Bossuet. "If
you were wrong in writing, never has wrong been better repaired.
And now permit me an observation. I do not say that you
ought not to listen to Monsieur Claude because he is a Protestant;
but neither is this a reason why you should listen to him like an
oracle. IIe subdued you, in fact, completely.  These people-"
"These people have decidedly better notions than we in -regard to the dignity of the pulpit."
"Thev have not always had them   "




AND  THE  KING.                      213
" Perhaps not, a hundred years ago; but had we them
either?  I doubt whether anything is to be found in their history comparable to the buffooneries of the orators of the League.
In the midst of the commotion and bad taste of the time, they
knew how to speak nobly.*  I know nothing more beautiful of
this kind, than the famous harangue of their Theodore de WBze
at the conference of Poissy.  After the good sense of the public
had condemned buffoonery, there were traces of it remaining
among us at least forty years longer than among them.  Our
sermons were still all variegated with profane quobtations, which
they bad completely banished from theirs, and the truth is, that
this miserable practice never has been universal among their
orators.  In our Church, it is you alone who have completely
freed the pulpit from them."
" You also."
"True, but it was after your example-and probably a little
also, like yourself, after the example of the Protestants; for I
doubt not that the gravity of their eloquence has contributed,
even without our being aware of it, to correct the faults of ours.
The sermon occupying an important place in their worship, they
have naturally been led to elevate its tone, and to give it the
nobleness and majesty of a real act of worship; it is their
* It is scarcely necessary to recall the fact that Luther in Germany,
and Calvin in France, greatly contributed to establish the language. The
Chiristian institutes of Calvin abounds in pages, which one might believe
to have been written a century later. As to their polemics, we know
very well that they were not of the most polished,-but was it inferior
to the style of the time? No. At its worst, it was on a level; and in
many respects far above it. In our days, have not some gone so far as
to accuse Protestantism of the superannuated style of the old Bibles of
the 16th century? If this were even, a just accusation, it would still be
somewhat awkward; for truly if the Protestant psalms are as verse little
worthy of Racine, the Latin of the Church is still further from resembling
that of Cicero.




214                 THE PREACHER
mass. A minister who ascends the pulpit considers himself as
performing an office of no less gravity than we when we are
about to approach the altar.  It is not a more solemn  act for
us to open the tabernacle and take out the sacred vessels, than
is for him the simple flact of opening his Bible and reading his
text."
" I can understand very well how much nobleness their sermons receive from this fact, but you do not say all. W~hat has
been the consequence of their so exalting the value of the sermon? That tliey have their churches crowded with people for
whom the sermon is the whole service.  To go to the sermon has
become with them equivalent to our vulgar to go to mass, and a
great error is concealed beneath this expression."
"Without doubt; but it is said that far fiom partaking in
this error, their ministers do all in their power to combat it. The
reading of the Bible, the singing of the psalms, and above all,
the prayers, form the chief part of the worship, and this they
do not cease to repeat. They acknolwledge, then, as we do, that
the sermon is, and ought to be, but an accessory; and if their
hearers sometimes fall into the extreme of which you speak,
I believe that ours are pretty generally in the contrary extreme.
It cannot be denied; preaching with us is in some sort a side
dish. It is scarcely connected with the service; and it only
plays a part from time to time, thanks to the talent of some
preacher."
" Do you believe, then, that it would not be the same with them,
and that,the place of worship at Charenton, for instance, would
always be equally full whether Monsieur Claude preached or
not 2"
" I did not say that. The reputation of the minister will always have an effect, at Charenton as at Paris, upon the number
of the audience. What I meant to say was, that preaching with




AND TIIE IKING.                     215
them, has a value of its own, a life of its own, an importance independent of the talent of those who devote themselves to it;
in short, that it is not, with them as with us, one day everything,
and the next day nothing."
" I understand you. But if the crowd gives itself up to the
influence of these fluctuations, nothing hinders that we preachers should consider the pulpit as possessing a permanent importance and dignity. As for myself, I never ascend it without
making every effort to feel properly the grandeur and sacredness
of the office I am about to perform."
"You can do that better than I, not being given up to those
wretched pre-occupations of the memory which give me a fever'for an hour beforehand."
" It was one of the chief reasons which induced me to adopt
the practice of improvising.  I had perceived that when I was
going to deliver a memorized discourse, the moral and divine
side of the sermon wnas always a little obscured in my eyes by
the material and mechanical act of reciting a lesson.  I may say,
however, that the first very soon regained the ascendancy.  Once
in the pulpit, this puerile agitation was very soon replaced by
that manly and noble excitement without which I cannot imagine
an orator. Not only has this latter nothing which is derogatory
to the dignity of the pulpit, but it is intimately connected with
it; it would only half exist without this feeling. I pity those
who boast of feeling no emotion whatever at the moment of
preaching.  It is doubtless a proof that they have talent and assurance, two excellent things; but it is also a proof that they
lack a third still more important;-the comprehension of their
task; they do not know what they are about to do."
" Oh! as for that," said Bourdclaloue, " God knows that I have
never preached without striving all I could, that it should not be
lightly. WVhat a moment is that, when, mounting the steps of




216                   TIIE PREACHER
the pulpit, you begin to command by your elevation, and your
glance, these multitudes of men,to whom you are going to speak
of their God, their salvation, their eternal future   For an hour
I shall have them there, under my hand; for an hour, they will
be as it were, more mine than God's. WVVhat an office! But
also what a responsibility! These souls toward which God permits and orders me to act in his name, I know well, that he will
not demand an account of the result of my discourse to each one
of them; but that he will certainly one day ask if I have done
all I could, if I have neglected nothing to banish from my discourse, my habits, my whole life, everything which would have
been of a nature to dishonor or even weaken my authority;*
and whether this poor earthen vessel, from whence flowed the
milk of the Word, was at least as purie as the coarseness of the
clay allowed.  Oh! when one reflects on all this, it is scarcely
possible to mount up to the pulpit with a light heart and an unruffled brow.  Happily strength comes to us at the moment of
the combat.  You know the story of the soldier, who, the day
following an assault, clambered tup the rock which he had been
obliged to scale the day before, in the midst of the discharge of
the enemy's cannon.'I cannot comprehend the thing,' he said;'it would take me an hour to get to the top; and yesterday I
seemed to have wings.'' I think so indeed,' said another;' we were
drawn on by pistol-shots.' And so with the orator. This soldier
* "There are men so holy, that their very character is sufficient to persuade. They appear, and the whole assembly which is to hear them is,
as it -were, already impressed and convinced by their presence. The discourse which they deliver does the rest."-LA BRUYERE.
And yet, whatever influence may be produced by the holiness of the,preacher's life,-all is lost if he seems to count upon it, —if he makes the
slightest allusion to it. Whatever right a man may have, according to
a popular expression, to walce himself the saint of his sermon, he must
take good care not do it.




AND  THE KING.                     217
had, perhaps trembled at the foot of the rock;.once the ascent commenced, he had found wings. I have remarked that the very days
when I felt the most agitated in commencing, were those upon which
I was sure to experience, very soon, the most courage and energy.
Because-perhaps without knowing it, without articulating a
word, I had raised to heaven one of those silent glances which
are more eloquent than all the prayers in the world, and that by
having alarmed myself in regard to the imlmensity of my burden,
I had arrived at the consoling conviction, that God would not
leave me to support it alone.  Then I was happy.  I went on
confidently; I seemed to hear an echo of my feelings from the
depths of all hearts-"
"Yes, yes!" cried Bossuet, " when the preacher feels that he
is hearkened to, that his hearers yield, that their souls are touched, —he experiences all the sentiments of a general who follows
with his eye the progress of the battle, and sees it turning to his
advantage.  I said this one day to the Prince de Conde.  Far
from  finding my comparison ambitious, he added that this
kind of victory far surpassed the other, and that we ought
to be prouder of one soul taken by assault, than of a battle
gained."
"We ought to be. The prince was right.  It is unhappily
not always there that the orator's pride takes its source.  In
vain we may feel the spirituality and divinity of our office; it is
extremely difficult for us to feel it enough to escape entirely from
the seductions which they present in an external and human
point of' view.  At Athens, Rome, Paris, in an assembly of the
people, a senate, a church, no matter where, Pagan or Christian,
when you adopt the profession of speaking in public, you are exposed to the temptations of vanity; you become an orator. In
spite of the best intentions,and the greatest efforts, you will never
be sure of giving yourself up so entirely to your audience that
19




218                  THE PREACHER
you forget self altogether. No one of the victories which an
orator is called upon to achieve, is more rarely successful.  Did
Cicero forget himself when he rolled forth his magnificent periods on the misfortunes of his country?  Did Demosthenes forget
himself, when he delivered such vigorous sentences against
Philip?  One might think so, from the rudeness of his style;
but unluckily history is there; and we know the labor and polishing which these discourses cost him.  And yet they were sincere, these two heroes of ancient eloquence; they loved their
country; they did not say a word which they did not feel; yet
vanity insinuated itself none the less beneath the flo-wers of the
one, and the nervous syllogisms of the other. The danger is
twofold to the Christian orator, because it is concealed, for the
very nature of the ministry of the pulpit permits the inspirations
of pride to be confounded with those of faith and zeal. Are you
preaching to empty benches; you will believe that you are only
distressed because the church is neglected, and it will perhaps be
in a great measure because you are neglected. Does it happen
that you draw a crowd?  You will fancy that you rejoice only
for God's sake, and perhaps it will be still more for your own.
And where shall'we place the limit?  How shall we know exactly where ends the Christian joy we feel at having many hearers in order to be able to save many, and where commences the
human pride of drawing more people to hear us, than some other,
of playing a conspicuous part in a city, in a country? And
finally, on another hand, as to the results of preaching, and its
real effects upon souls, how can we be certain of sincerely attributing to God all the glory of success, and to ourselves, ourselves alone, all the shame of failure?"
It would be somewhat difficult to say how far these were Bossuet's sentiments also. Doubtless he acknowledged their excellence, and desired to be penetrated by them, but was he?




AND THE KIING.                      219
Various occurrences of his life prove that he was sometimes;
various others prove that he was not always.  God alone can
decide questions of this sort.
The hour was too far advanced for him to answer, in detail,
the observations of Bourdaloue.
" I am not uneasy about you," he said to him. " You describe
all these dangers too well to find them really terrible; you feel
too strongly the necessity of God's help, ever to imagine to yourself, after a victory, that you have got on without it.  Courage,
then, and God grant that you may soon have a great success to
attribute to him. To-morrow."
"To-morrow, or rather to-day, for listen, it strikes midnight."




C IIAPTER  XX.
INFLUENCE OF THIE PRIVATE CHIARACTER OF TItE PRLEACIIER UPON HIS IIEARERS.
— iIEMIO' IZIN G.-EXTEMIPORIZATI ON.
"I ow do you like him?" inquired the A-bbe de Fn6elon of
his uncle, as they left Bourdaloue's residence.
"I will not pronounce," replied the marquis.  "You were
right in wishing' to defer this visit.  We were there at an unfortunate moment."
" I was just going to remark that to you.  We have not really
seen Father Bourdaloue; the visit is yet to be made."
"Is he then generally so different from what we have seen
him?"
"Different, no  I do not know a more even character than
his.  You have seen the churchman, and a little also of the
preacher to-day; but you have not had opportunity to become
acquainted with the agreeable manll, the man of talent-"
"And that is not what I wanted, either.2'
"You do not quite understand me.  I know that there are
churchmen, who consider themselves as lacking nothing because they have talent and are agreeable; I should take good
care not to commend such as those. But it seems to me that
it is possible to be agreeable with gravity,-and witty with decency.  It is difficult, but it is possible, and of this M. Bourdaloue
is a proof. At table, for instance, he excels in keeping the guests
breathlessly interested.  He relates admirably; he calls forth




THE PREACHER  AND THE KING.                  221
thought,-he causes laughter; the hours fly.-And if you should
afterwards go over all he has said, you do not find a single word
unworthy of a priest."
" I believe you,-and still,-I have alleady a little less desire
to see him again, and to associate with him. Laugh at my
scruples if you will; but it seems to me that if a man is really
desirous to be edified by the sermons of any preacher, he should
avoid seeing him elsewhere than in the pulpit. It is better that
I should never hear a man who is to speak to me of God and
my salvation, speak of less serious things, that I should never
hear him laugh and jest, even with decorum, and within bounds.
I' do not insist that laughing or jesting should be interdicted to
him; but if I cannot condemn him to unchanging gravity, I can
at least condemn myself not to see him in those moments when
he is not grave. In truth, it is one of the reasons which induced
me to delay becoming acquainted with Father Bourdaloue. Not
that I had any particular reason for thinking that in this instance to know the private man would spoil the preacher for
me, but it seemed to me more prudent to leave untouched the
illusions by which I had always seen him surrounded.-You will
not go and tell him all that-I hope —"
"Why —do you think he would be offended.? It is only a
proof of your respect for religion. You are so anxious to honor
it and to see its full power, thatyou do not wish to expose yourself to the liability of seeing the frailties of its ministers. You
must however confess, it is fortunate that people are in general
less scrupulous, and that the familiar intercourse which one may
have had with a preacher out of the pulpit, is not necessarily an
obstacle to the efficacy of his discourses. For myself, impossible
as it would be for me to listen with profit to a preacher whom I
had heard talk unbecomingly in private, it is still quite easy for
me again to recognize the man of God in him with whoml I may
1 9




222                  TIIE PREACHER
have happened to jest in an innocent conversation.  I-Iowever, it
is fortunate that there are some preachers, as you would] wish all to
be-always grave, always serious; but it is well also, that there
are also those who are fitted to hold intercourse with the world."
"Perhaps so; but it seems to me that all those who meddle
with the world go too far."
"_All? you go too far there; and a second time I beg you
to except Monsieur Boourdaloue.  But your observation is only
too true; if not for all, at least for many.  We are but men,
alas I it is a difficult position. —Use and abuse are so nearly conlnected.  Some can talk of nothing' but religion; others, on the
pretext that it must not forever be dwelt upon, never talk of it
at all; but when they preach, they have the air of performing a
task, —of going into the pulpit because the bell has rung, and
they are paid for it.  If it were necessary to decide without alternative between these two classes of preachers, you may well think
that I should not hesitate to deqide for the first; but as to approving of them altogether, I cannot do that."
" I see, indeed, that there must be a imedium; but where is
it to be placed? And above all, how keep to this medium?"
"It is not a thing which can be pointed out by rules.  If a
preacher should ask me about this, I should tell him,' Be a true
Christian, and all will go right of itself.  You will then have
neither the puerile tone of piety of those who seem to think
themselves always in the pulpit, nor the entirely worldly language
of those men who know not the lang'uage of Christianity or the
Bible; you will neither seem to be continually preaching, or to
be preaching only at certain hours.  Does it follow that everybody will be satisfied with your conduct?  No,* certainly not.
You must expect to be accused of worldliness by some, and pre-. "The people of the world are so strange; they can neither suffer
our approbation nor our censures. If we wish to counsel them, they




AND  TIIE  KING.                     223
cision by others.  But go on your way.  Two contradictory accusations are always the most satisfactory; they indicate that
you deserve neither the one nor the other.' "
" Yes; provided always that these two accusations fall upon
the same subject, for a preacher could with justice be accused of
intolerance in his sermons, and worldliness in his conduct."
"Yes; and somine unfortunately do not understand that.
Forced to confess that habitually they have neither the gravity
nor the piety which they should have, they.look upon a sermon
as an opportunity for making up for this, for reinstating thlemselves as it were.  They seem  to say,' it will be seen whether
the ideas, the doctrines, the language of religion are less familiar
to me, than to any one else; it will be seen if I do not know how
to be severe-' And so they are severe, but awkwardly so;
they seem to do penance at the expense of their audience, who,
indeed, are very little moved by this transient piety and borrowed severity; and it is indeed fortunate if they do not draw from
it inferences unfavorable to religion itself, and visit upon those
preachers who are sincerely pious and severe, the discredit into
which the others have fallen.  This indeed, is the great evil.
There are few people capable of looling at things in such a light
that they will not allow the responsibility of our weaklesses to
rest upon our religion.  It is unjust,-absurd; and yet so it is.
If there is too great a difference between your language in the
world, and your language in the pulpit, you will perhaps be listened to as an orator; but as for real and salutary influence, you
will have none.  You must not seem, then, to possess two different characters, —nor must your sermon seem to be something out
of the way and exceptional, something for which you gather together all your strength, and metamorphose yourself.  Your entlink it ridiculous; if we applalud thelm, they look upon us as persons
inferior to our character." —Pers'iacm letters.




224                 TI-IE PREACHER
tering the pulpit must seem to you to be a simple and natural
action, the necessary consequence of your every-day life; you
must, in one word, appear there as you do elsewhere, ennobled,
but not changed. And I cannot help blaming certain little
things, very innocent in themselves, but contrary to the spirit
which I should wish to see actuate our preachers. Nothing, for
instance, is more painful to me than to hear a sermon spoken of
as a labor. It is complained of, fretted about. The composition
of it does not get on; the memory is bad; it is this thing or
that thing.-A  conscientious preacher is certainly justified in
finding his task a heavy one; let him lament this if he will, since
lamentations bring relief; but let it not be in the tone of a schoolboy to whom his master has given a double task."' These complaints would not be so frequent, I think," said il.
de Fenelon, " if preachers were permitted to read their discourses.
The exertion of the memory is always accompanied with a certain excitability, which easily turns into ill humor. A man
studying hard is not altogether at his ease."
" Yes,-we have just seen the proof of that. But the remedy
would be worse than the evil."
" Why so? I know people who read better than they recite."
"So do I; but there are a great many more who recite better
than they read. And when I say better, I do not mean more
correctly, nor more agreeably; I only mean that they make more
impression, and that is my touchstone. And even admitting the
two to be equally well done, do you count as nothing the destruction of all oratorical illusion by the presence of a manuscript?
You know my system; I would have improvisation; —and in default of it, I would have the appearance of it.-And how could
that be managed with a manuscript!"
"You exaggerate. If the reading be cold and monotonous, I
admit that the unlucky manuscript will succeed in completing the




AND  THIE   ING.                      225
destruction of its effect; if it be energetic and feeling, we will
very soon forget that it is reading; the heart once captivated,
the eyes will not rest much longer.  I experienced this five years
ago, at a funeral service in honor of the Duchess of Orleans. Monsieur Mascaron had the same week delivered the eulogium of the
Duke de Beaufort.  That of the duchess also presenting itself,
lie had scarcely time to write, much less to commit it to mlemory.
Well, the implession it made was not perceptibly lessened, and
yet this discourse is not one of his best.  But do you know what
is really to be deplored?  When a preacher who is reciting his
sermon, has the misfortune to stop short,* and be forced to recur
to his mlanuscript, as has more than once happened to Father
Bourdaloue.  Ohl! then the whole charm is destroyed: it Would
be a thousand times better to omit a sentence, to cut short a period, or to repeat in other words what has already been said.
But in a continued reading of the discourse-"
"The illusion triumphs, it is true.  And yet observe another
thing.  If it be ever permitted to read discourses, and it becomes
an established usage, it is impossible that it should not have a
bad effect upon the composition of sermons.  The orator who
writes intending to memorize, writes accordingly.  Ile imagines
himself reciting; thus he searches the most striking forms, the
most precise expressions; lie would not willingly give himself
the trouble of learning by heart insignificant phrases, dragging
sentences, or repetitions.  Deprive him of tllis incitement; it is
like a spring only half wound up.  For one orator who would
let this make no difference, who would struggle conscientiously
* A preacher excused himself to Louis XIV. for having involuntarily
paused for a few seconds in several portions of his discourse. " Ah well,"
said the kiDng, " in a discourse so full of good things, one is glad to have
some moments, from time to time, to arrange them in one's head." This
compliment was much talked of; but the orator would undoubtedly have
liked better not to receive it.




226                  THE PREACHER
and with talent against the temptation of writing more rapidly,
you will find ten who will not resist it, and who will soon be
contented with less trouble.  You will have all the disadvantages
of extemporization without its advantages.'The pen,' says
Cicero,' is the best mistress of eloquence;' but he supposes this
pen animated and excited by the prospect of action.  You will
tell me of some preacher whose discourses habitually recited, might
be read, without apparently losing effect or appearing less finished. Well, do you not suppose, that if this same preacher only
wrote intending to read his sermons, they would be in danger of
losing a great deal? And if the custom becomes universal, if
the country where this takes place does not still retain a sufficient
number of preachers who recite, to counterbalance the influence
of the others, the very art of preaching will in a short time become extremely modified.  Look at England and Holland.
There, in consequence of reading their sermons, they have finished by not writing any more, for the discourses still called by
this name, are scarcely anything but treatises upon doctrines and
morals, or dry and lifeless dissertations; the author does not
seem at all to imagine that it might be well sometimes to have
a little life in them. These preachers even care so little about
leaving the least illusion, that one may hear them sometimes
speak of their pen, their paper, exactly as if they were writing a
letter.'The pen drops from my hand, brethren!''This;' said
M. de Saint-Evremond, who lived a long time in England,' is
one of the most vehement movements of eloquence which the
English allow themselves.-Let these sermons be read or recited,
it is all one. They lose nothing by being read; neither do they
gain anything by being recited."
" It is not I who will be their champion," said M. de Fenelon;
"but they are perhaps better than the deafening style of certain
sermons recited by heart."




AND  THE KING.                   227
" I will not deny, that the prospect of reciting, of giving free
play to voice and gestures, may not contribute to lead astray a
preacher naturally inclined to be bombastic. It is not to be denied that the custom of reading sermons, tends to make peaching always grave and dignified; but is this guaranty against excess of gesture, a sufficient compensation either for the dangerous
facility of which I was just speaking, or for the deterioration
which cannot fail to result, —of thought, of style, of the details,
and of the whole? That is the question. After all this,-here
is what I would like to give as the only rule. Let your discourses, I should say, be argumentative and quiet enough to be
read without losing by it, and at the same time animated enough
to bear a steady and energetic recitation."
"It is a good rule, I believe; but do you fancy that Father
B3ourdaloue has ever dreamed of it?"
" And consequently has not always followed it, by a great deal.
A great number of his sermons seem only written to be read,
and his recitation is too often nothing more than a reading.
But, even if he had always observed my rule, that would be no
reason why I should think that it had always been present to his
mind. The laws of eloquence, like those of poetry, are never
better observed than by those who are not thinking of them.  It
is one of the highest characteristics of genius to observe rules,
without knowing them, or at least without having endeavored to
explain them to itself."
They talked on for a long time. M. de F6n61lon was not seriously in favor of the reading of sermons; he was only less opposed to it than his nephew, and this is in general the case with
elderly persons. Beside the direct advantages which this method
may have, it is not to be disputed that a preacher who is not endowed with a retentive memory, might employ much more profitably, both for his flock and himself, the long hours which he is




228                   TIHE  PREACIHER
obliged to spend in the memorizing of his sermon.  But the
Abb6 de Fen6lon had fixed his attention upon loftier considerations, which did not permit him  to stop at such as these; he
comprehended, that in this apparently insignificant question, were
involved the highest interests of religious eloquence.
lIe had also, already talked With Bossuet many times upon the
subject, and it was for the sake of these considerations that the
latter had written to Bourdaloue, counselling him to escape by
extemporization from  the mechanical fatigue of memorizing his
sermons. This letter, as we have seen, was then in Fenelon's hands.
To extemporize, if the word be taken literally, is to speak
without preparation.  In this point of view, there is no real extemporization save that which has been preceded by no especial
labor.
But it is not this, it will be understoodc, which  30ossuet meant
by extemporizing.  It is certainly a very good tling that a
preacher should be able to discourse ex abrutgto, if not on all
subjects, as the sophists boasted, at least on those of which his
office summons him most fiequently to speak; but it would be
better that lie should be all his life incapable of speaking without preparation, than that he should abuse the facility which he
might have acquired by habituating himself never to preach
otherwise.
Here is the great obstacle to pulpit extemporization; and it is
also the great argument of those who condemn it.  Extemporization, they say, is a thing at once too difficult and too easy.  Too
difficult, if it is attempted to give it the propriety and precision
of a written discourse; too easy, if the preacher only aims at
talking on for an hour at a time without hesitation or appearance
of embarrassment,   This last talent, in fact, is no great thing.*
* "If speech (la parole) is the noblest of all things, words (les paroles)
are the most insignificant."-SAINT-CYRAN.




AND THE  KING.                       229
The proof of this is, that minds of the lowest order have possessed it in common with the most superior.*  Very often, it is
nothing more than one of the characteristics of mediocrity; you
have a great many ideas, because you take the first which plresent themselves; you have plenty of wvords, because you do not
fear to employ those which are feeble or improper; or perhaps
because, troubling yourself little about ideas, you have all the
time to think of composing your phrases.
And if it be thus at the bar of the tribune, what will it be in
the pulpit?  With this latter, all subjects may be brought into
connection.  Whatever you begin to speak of, there are twenty
more which bear on it; twenty, consequently, into which it
only depends upon yourself to plunge, as soon as the first appealrs
exhausted.  Thus fieed from  the salutary fear of coming to a
sudden stop, you are at liberty to prepare yourself but slightly,
and even at the end of a certain time not to make any preparation at all.  What is the consequence?  That the discourses of
those preachers who extemporize, are made frequently but a collection of ideas,-beautiful, perhaps, if they are men of talent,
edifying, if they are pious, accurate to a certain point, when each
one is considered separately, but which considered logically, ouglht
to be distributed over a great variety of subjects.  Many come
at last to have, as it were, but one single sermon, which they turn
and alter in a hundred different ways; and it is well if they do
not finish by hlaving only one idea, which will be all Christianity
for them, which they will see everywhere, and put everywhere.
They will be able to edify you once, perhaps even twice; but as
they always make variations often very little varied, on one and
* And a multitude of great minds might be mentioned, who have never
had it, nor desired to acquire it. Newton, while in Parliament, never
spoke but once, and then in regard to a broken pane of glass, sitting near
which he feared would make him take cold.
20




230                  THE PREACHER
the same theme, that is to say on two or three doctrines and two
or three ideas, you will soon have enough of it.
If some few escape firom this injurious result by the sole force
of their genius and of an astonishing copiousness, it is none the
less evident that a conscientious labor is, and always will be, for
the great majority of preachers, the only means of avoiding it.
If, then, you are not firmly resolved never to extemporize, save in
case of strict necessity, without having studied and meditated,
do not begin it at all. If, after having begun, you are agreeably
surprised to get along far more easily than you had hoped, mistrust this first success; impress it upon yourself, that the merest
ciphers have met with the same, since it is a thing where no-'
thing but boldness is required.  "It is with extemporization,"
says some one, " as with the art of swimming; whoever dares
to swim, swims; whoever dares to extemporize, extemporizes."
With this difference, however, that the more one swims, the
better one swims; while it may happen that the more you extemporize the worse orator you will be.
A very simple method of forcing yourself never to extemporize
without sufficient preparation, is to write your sermons, as if they
were to be memorized, and to preach them then, as if they had
only been meditated, not written.  But in this case, you must
not go so far as to half learn them, for then, in spite of yourself, you will run after fragments of sentences; you will hesitate
and drag; it will be less an extemporization than an ill-learned
lesson. This medium, then, is worth nothing; commit the sermon
thoroughly, or not at all.
If there be some one idea which you are particularly desirous
of expressing well, some argument which you are afiraid of
weakening, nothing need prevent you from committing that passage in which it is contained; only be careful not to change
your tone in passing from extemporization to recitation.




AND THE KING.                      231
The exordium in particular might be committed.  As it is important to make a good beginning, and as, on the other hand,
inspiration does not always come at the commencement, you
will not repent having taken measures to get over this.  At all
events, as the exordium requires particular care, it is not sufficient to arrange the principal idea only; it is well also to prepare the principal details.
As to the ideas which are to form the body of the discourse, if
you are not sure enough of your memory, not to fear losing the
chain of these, you might. make a little memorandumn of them,
which you could place in such a manner as to be able to glance
at it without stopping.  But do not allow this paper to become
a pillow for indolence; neglect nothing that may obviate the
necessity of your recurring to it. Besides, the very thought that
you have this refuge, will contribute, by giving you more assurance, to make you do without it.
If it be important to determine before-hand how you will
commence each of the different divisions, it is no less so to know
how you will finish them.  Without tlis, you will run the risk
of shortening them, or, what, is worse, stretching them  out disproportionately; for an ill-prepared orator is like those people
whose visits are interminable, because they do not know how to
take leave and go away.
Upon the whole, there is nothing really essential in all this,
but the obligation of preparing one's self, of seeking in extemporization a means of preparing better, not of preparing more
rapidly.  This principle admitted, each preacher can and ought
to be judge of the rules, the method of procedure, and the resources which suit him best.




CIIAPTER  XXI.
THE LlfiE, ELOQUENCE AND REPUTATION OF BOURDALOUE. —MASSILLON. —
ABBE IMAURlY. —BRIDAINE.
ALTHIOUGH we have touched upon many points, historical and
others, ielating to Bourdaloue, it will still be permitted us to pause
a moment in order to take a more general view of his life, reputation and works.
As far as his life is concerned, this is soon accollplished. The
date of his birth (1632), that of his death (1704), those of the
Leints or Advents when le had tile honor to preachb before the
lking,-these are all that we learn fromn biographers concerning
him.  There are scarcely any of the illustrious men of his time,
save La Brulyere, about whom history has been so sparing of details.
And, nevertheless, there was iio man in France, not even excepting the king, whose life was more open to view; more public.
But, as a preacher, his history is in his sermons; as a confessor,
it remained buried in the consciences of which he had the direction.  One day, when  he had passed his sixtieth year, he sucldenly became alarmed at having lived as yet only for others. His
hair was growilng white; death, fioml which he had never averted
his eyes, began to appear to him more distinctly.  And then be
wrote to the chief of his order for permission to give up preaching,
and to go and hide in the country the remnainder of a life, of which
he trembled lest he had not yet profited enough for his salvation.




THE PREACHER  AND  THE KING.                   233
A sublime selfishness, to which his superiors had the wise harshness not to yield. If you have received the gift of sacred eloquence, it is a proof that God would have you remain in the
pulpit, and not elsewhere; and if you be really called there by
him, there it is, also, and not elsewhere, that you will best work
out your own salvation.  As to fatigue, do not speak of that.
"Have we not all eternity for our repose 2" said Arnauld.
As to the reputation of Bourdaloue, whether as orator or writer,
-the brilliancy which it has resumed in our days, is one sign of
the return of the public taste, and of literature in particular, to
solid and serious things. Now, this could not be the case in regard to the reputation of Bourdaloue, without thereby casting
more or less reflection on that of Massillon.  The latter for a long
time had the misfortune, we will not say of being too much
praised, but of being too openly preferred to his illustrious rival;
in proportion as people were just towards the one, they became
severe towards the other.  "The greatest glory of Bourdaloue,"
said D'Alembert, "is that the superiority of Massillon should be
still a contested point."  Massillon's greatest glory, we would say
at the present time, is that he yet has the honor to be put on a
footing with Bourdaloue.  " Oportet illum  crescere, me autemz
minzi,"* said the Jesuit, when, old, and broken down, he beheld
the first successes of the young and brilliant orator; and behold
posterity reverses it. It is for you, Massillon, to decrease, and for
you, Bourdaloue, to increase.
Is this as it should be?  We think so.  Not that we approve
of those people who cannot praise one man without undervaluing
another; but in this case there is something more reasonable and
better founded than the old mania for criticism, or rather the old
mechanical necessity of the human heart.
From continually hearing the style of Massillon commended,
-H "He shall increase, but I shall decrease."-JoiN iii, 20.
20*




234                  THE  PREACI-IER
we have contracted the habit of considering himl as nothing
more than an able artificer in style.  From this cause, his immense
reputation in the eighteenth century, a period when style was
everything; from this also, the loss of this reputation, which could.
not fail to take place in the nineteenth, when principles have iesumed the precedence of form, and thought the precedence of style.
It is scarcely necessary to say, that in expressing this latter
fact,'we do not intend in the least to plead the cause of the errors
by whichl it may have been accompanied.
It is undoubtedly to be lamented that certain authors, in restoring to thought her empire, have so far disregarded style, as
to trample under foot the simplest rules of taste and gramrmar;
but it would also be deplorable if it were insisted upon that they
should be judged by their faults alone, and that the good and
admirable points of that system whose unskilful apostles they are,
should be disregarded and disavowed.
VWhat was it they arrived at, after all?  At what do we all
aim, at the present time.  All, I say; for when an idea is that
of the age, sooner or later everybody will adopt it; there will be
for awhile some quarrelling about words, but people will agree
as to the ideas.
What do we aim at?  It is that style should be nothing, independently of thought, and that no one can attempt to make
himself a reputation by his style alone;-to live by his style, as
was formerly the expression.
Not that style does not possess, and should not always possess
an immense value.  To-day as yesterday, as in the eighteenth, as
in the seventeenth centuries, as at Rome and in Greece, it is the
surest guaranty of the duration and glory of a book. But something besides is requisite.  The book must also possess another
kind of value; we only consent to admire its manner upon condition of being able to admire its matter also.




AND THE KING.                       235
From this comes, we repeat, the actual discredit into which
all those have now fallen who lived on their style.
The eighteenth'century, then, rendered Massillon a very poor
service in placing limn at the head of writers of this class; but
it appears that Massillon himself had desired this dangerous
honor.  In the consecration of the last twenty years of his life
to the polishing and repolishing beneath the influence of a wornout century, of the discourses which had gained him  so many
triiunphs, lhe had the unfortunate skilfulness to metamorphose
themn gradually into literary compositions.  The bishop of Clermont allowed himrself to be captivated by the interested praises
of the Encyclopedia, just then coming into notice.  Hle thougllht
it was only wisdom to conceal beneath flowers, that religious sap
which alone makes a sermon live the life which it should live;
and he himself did not live long enougll to see what injury he
had clone to religion, to pulpit eloquence, and to himself.
The principal author of Massillon's reputation, —his reputation
of the last century, that is,-with -which his name has colme
down to us, is Voltaire.  There are still many people who consider themselves as praising Massillon in recalling the fact, that
the author of the Henriade boasted of always having upon his table
a Massillon beside a Racine.  Now, when Voltaire praises any
one, —above all when he appears to take pleasure in doing so,
you may be very sure of not having to go very far to discove;
his motive.  Here, nothing can be more evident.  In the first
place, he hiad to atone for his injustice towards Bossuet.  He
only adored Racine in order to have thus the right to abuse Corneille, and this too was as good a method as any of making the
honest public believe that he knew how to admire what was
beautiful wherever lie found it, —even in a sermon.  Then Massilloni had also given evidence of a somewhat indclependent spirit,
and although for this lie had prudently waited until the old king,




236                   TIIE  PRI,EACHER
slept with his fathers at St. Denis,e it was enough to gain  him
the favor of Voltaire and his disciples, delighted as they were to
open to him the ranks of their army.  They took possession of
him on account of a few pages of some Lent ser-mons, just as
they had taken possession of Fenelon on account of Telernachzs;
they made a philosopher of him  in the new sense of the word.
Nothing but this is necessary to explain Voltaire's enthusiasm, and
the presence of the Leznt sermons on his table.
Although Massillon lived until 1742, he assuredly did not favor
the singular part he was made to play, any more than FenSlon,
who died in 1714; and yet we cannot go so far as to consider
him  entirely innocent of the evil which has been done in his
name.  All that is most declamatory in the writings of the age,
on the subjects of liberty, morals, the rights of the people, the
crimes of kings; all that the preachers of the eighteenth century have been most loudly accused of; their cowardly complaisance towards the manners of the age, their altogether worldly
morals, their care in avoiding ideas and even expressions which
were too Chlristian,f-all this is in germ, and more than in
germ in many portions of Lent se-rmons; and this, we do not
hesitate to affirmn, was the principal cause, if not the only one,
of the noisy success of these discourses.  A noisy success it was,
X Some passages in his sermons seem to prove the contrary, Among
others, the second part of a discourse upon afflictions (2d Sunday in Advent,) preached before the kingi, says the title-page. But as the misfortunes to which he alludes in this, are subsequent to the year 1104, the
period when he last preached at court, it is evident that these pretended
boldnesses were added afterwards.
1' The name of Christ, for example. It is asserted that a fashionable
preacher, after having taken for his text these words of St. Paul, "I will
know nothing among you but Christ, and Christ crucified," managed not
to repeat this name a single time. It was easy; instead of speaking of
devotion to the Saviour, he spoke of devotion in general, one of the favorite themes of the theo-philanthropy of the day.




AND  THIE KING.                      237
most certainly.  The young king before whorn they had been
preached, was made to learn them by heart; the magistrate had
them in his office; the fine lady, upon her toilette table.  They
found themselves, to their astonishment, not only reading sermons, but charmed with them; " And I am  pious too 1" they
seemed to say to themselves; and so tbe people of the world,
raised to the very clouds him who all at once had so completely
reconciled them witlh themselves.
After that, what could young- preachers do but enter upon this
path which seemed to be the only one to be pursued in the
future? To the always flattering attraction of oratorical triumphs,
was added that of a certain philosophical and political influence
to be exercised upon this century of commalotion.  After the
death of Massillon, and even before, the preacher became,-not the
advocate of-God against all, but that of the little against the
great.  He no longer even says thejpoor; he says the olppressed;
what he claims for them is no longer aid, but their rights.-And
not only does this language become universal, but people persuadle themselves that it is essentially that of the pulpit.  The
ideal of the Christian preacher is traced as it best may be after
this system. —Everybody helps.-There is not much belief in
God; but that is no reason why people should think themselves
less capable of saying what is and what ought to be pulpit eloquence.  " The sacred author," says Marmontel, " combats the
cupidity wthich drinkzs the blood of nations, the luxury which
qu.uenches its thirst with their swoeat,-the cruelty of the rich, which
is never softened by the sight of misery,-the spirit of tyranny
which esteems fortune but as a means of purchasing, slaves-*
* Here is the close of the tirade. "It is for the preacher to seize the
man thus perverted, as Hercules seized Antoeus,-to make this colossus
lose his footing, to hold liim suspended over the abyss of the tomb and the
future, and to stifle him with remorse."  If we could forget what pre



238                   THE  PREACHER
etc., etc."  And this is the way in which they set about travestying Christian equality into social equality.  Not a word of
humility, repentance, or regeneration.  Towards the year 1780,
Jesus Christ was no longer designated save as the legislator of
Christians; in 17 93,he was called the friend of the human race,
— like Marat,-or still better, the first of the sans-culottes.  This
was logical.
It is to be remarked that one of tile men who best described,
after it was too late, the fallacies and dangers of this tendency,
was one of those who in the second half of the century had contributed most to the perversion of preaching.  A priest without
belief, an abbe without morals, Maury had been one of the most
brilliant representatives of that Christianity of the beaux-esprits,
which in the morning harangued in a church, and in the evening in the saloons of Helvetius, iolbach or Grimm.  He also
for a long time considered pulpit eloquence only as one of the
battering-raims destined to attack inequality and abuses;* he
also was ready to award the palmn to whoever should cry the
loudest against the cupidity which drinks the blood of nations,
and the luxury which quenches its thirst with their sweat. Read
the exordium said to be by Father Bridaine, the famous composition which Mlaury holds up to us as a master-piece and which
so many people still have the simplicity to consider as such. In
a treatise on rhetoric, quote it as a model; and if you wish
to exercise young people in declamation, make them learn it; but
not without warning them that if the page be beautiful, it is but
cedes, and the totally false application which the author makes beforehand
of this last idea, we might consider the image a fine one, and worthy of
Bossuet.
* Corrected and re-written after the revolution, his Essay on PulpitEloquence finished by becoming a tolerably good book; but in the first
editions it might have been entitled " Essay on the art of preaching without believing one's self, or making any one else do so."




AND  THE  KING.                       239
as the amplification of a rhetorician.  There are things in it
which may be Bridaine's, but there are also many which can only
be Mcaury's.-x   And yet the latter cries, " What a strain! what
simplicity!  Here, it seems to me, is the true model of apostolical eloquence!-"   Encyclopedical eloquence, he should say.]
And now let us congratulate Bourdaloue upon never having
received eulogiums susceptible of so unfortunate a construction.
With the exception of those passages which relate to the king,
-passages, besides, which never form  an integral part of the
sermon, and seem  only to be added in compliance with custom,
-we must confess that no preacher has ever better seized the
principle of Christian equality, or better clothed himself with it,
or better remained in his true place.  He does not say, like
Bridaine; " Although rich and powerful, you are sinners." No;
he would have thought that he was granting them too much, in
supposing that they could have imagined the contrary.  " The
* "Until now, I have preached the judgments of the Most High, in
straw-thatched temnples; I have preached penitence to the uafortunate
who were destitute of bread; I have announced to the good inhabitants
of the country the most alarming truths of my religion. What have
I done! Unhappy that I aer! I have saddened tile poor; I have carried
terror to these simple andfaitllful souls which I should have pitied and
consoled. It is here, where our eyes rest upon the great only, upon the
oppressors of snffering huranity, it is here alone, that I should have made
the sacred word resound with all its thunders. The necessity of salvation,-the last judgment, —eternity, —these are the subjects which I should
undoubtedly have reserved for you alone."  This last line would suffice to
render dubious the authenticity of the whole. And let it be noticed, that
the first idea of the passage, that which comprises oratorically its principle merit, is false. Before preaching in Paris, Bridaine had appeared in
the pulpits of Lyons, Marseilles, Bordeaux, and many other cities, whose
churches, so far as we know, are not strawv-thatched. (See life of Bridain e,
by Abb6 Caron.)
qf Some curious details in regard to this subject may be found in the
Su'npplement to Ecclesiastical Rhetoric, by Father Louis of G-renada.




240                  TIE PREACI-IER
proof that you are sinners," he seems to say, " is that I am here,
I who preach repentance unto you."  And he holds to this
proof, and forces you to need no others.  Never, not only in the
pulpit, but in politics as well, inl literature, in anything whatever,
has a iman more fiankly availed himself of a conviction, and a
mission.  Now, the best manner of availing one's self of these,
is to go straight on, and never to talk about it.  It is said that
the principal Grandees of Spain never take their titles in public
acts; they would not even seem to suppose that any one in
the wvorld could be ignorant, or deny that they belonged to
them.  This, also, not from pride, but from a deep sentiment of
his rights and his duty, is the feeling of the preacher who has
true faith in religion and in the mission which he has received
fiom her.  You will not see him displaying his credentials; but
he will not be able to speak without your feeling that he has
them, and in good form, not in his pocket, or in parchment, but
in the very depths of his hearlt.  With Bossuet and Bourdaloue
especially, in the mlidst of the constant and majestic exercise of
their pulpit rights and duties, you scarcely find here and there
a word or two where the orator appears to have wished to draw
attention to them; a hundred years later, when France believed
in them no longer, and when the preachers themselves scarcely
believed in them, it is not a few simple words which we find in
regard to them, but deafening tirades; one might think that
they wished to hide by this noise the cracking asunder of the
tottering pulpit, which they no longer dare to support.  Ask
the Abbe Poulle, for instance, what is a preacher; he will reply, "a minister of the living God, carried in the air as it were
upon a cloud, from whence come lightning and thundler;" and
after six pages in this strain, the only thing which he will have
succeeded in proving to you is, that he understands nothing of




AND  THE  KING.                       241
the true dignity or the true rights of the ministry whose externals he imagines himself to possess.;
"Bourdaloue," says Voltaire, " is the first who has made us
hear from the pulpit reasonings always eloquent."  It would be
more correct, as has recently been observed,t to say eloquence
always r'easonable; and so mluch the more, because this new
manner of presenting the idea would lessen the injustice and
incorrectness of this word the first, against which we have already
protested elsewhere.  Always eloquent, indeed, Bossuet is not
always rigorously reasonable, while Bourdaloue, if he is not always eloquent, at least never ceases to be in accordance with the
severest exactions of good sense and logic.
But, this little question having been settled in passing, a
graver one remains.  We would speak of Bourdaloue considered
as a writer, and more particularly of what concerns his style.
For a long time friends and enemies were unanimous in refusing him all merit on this score.  Friends and enemies were
under a great mistake; but this mistake had become a kind of
axiom, and it is only a few years ago, that some independent
minds dared to forsake it.
Bourdaloue is neither elegant like Massillon, nor majestic like
Bossuet, nor grave like the Pascal of " The Thoughts," nor witty
like him of the " Provincials," nor concise like La Rochefoucauld,
nor dry like Descartes, nor gracious like Fenl61on.  What then
* The discourse from which this phrase is taken (Sermon on the word
of God), is exceedingly curious from beginning to end, as a confirmation
of what has been said above. Mingled with the most beautiful pictures,
come the most singular confessions in regard to the powerlessness, the
faults, and the tricks of the preaching of the age. It is Hercules raising
his club with a terrible air, and warning you that it is made of pasteboard. The complete history of preaching in the eighteenth century,
would be a good commentary upon this sermon.
f In the magazine called " The Sower."  Three articles on Bourdaloue,
signed Alex. Vinet.,




242                  THIE PREACHIER
is he?  HIe is himself; and the signet of his individuality,, as
we say in these days, is profoundly impressed on every page, or
we may rather say, on every line of his discourses.
Now, it is no small thing to be individual in style.  We say
the language of Bossuet, the language of Pascal, and we are no
less justified in saying, the language of Bourdaloue.
This language is that of the end of the seventeenth century, a
little less regular, occasionally, than it generally was towards
1.680, but reduced, so to speak, to its simplest and lowest expression.  Bourdaloue seems to have recourse to words only, because it is impossible to do without them; he does not seem to
understand that any one could have an idea of employing more
than are necessary.  Language is in his eyes but the garment
of thought, and not a luxurious garment, but a necessary one, in
which the least amplitude would be superfluous.  You will find
in his writings entire pages, and series of pages, where not a
single word could be found which would bear taking away.
All that we have just said, is not praise, as may well be seen.
There is a medium between too ample a cloak and one which
fits tight to the body; and Bourdaloue would certainly have
done better to spare his stuff less.  But in spite of that, shall we
blame him for it? No; and for two reasons.
The first is, that he evidently makes no attempt to be what he
is. No matter if his phrases are concise, it is easy to feel that he
did not strive to make them so. It is his nature to be sententious, and the reader has no trouble to become so while reading.
The second reason is, that Bourdaloue's ideas are wonderfully
adapted to this kind of style.  Endeavor to clothe Bossuet's ideas
with the same; it will be as if a painter should attempt to carve
a chain of mountains into geometrical figures. Try to put a page
of Massillon into this language; you can do it, but it would all
go into two phrases, perhaps into one. Bourdaloue's ideas are




AND THE KING.                      243
encased in his style like stones in a wall; each one of them is at
the samle time straitened and at liberty; straitened because it
cannot move, and at liberty notwithstanding, because it has all
the room it needs.  And it is the combination of these two apparently contradictory facts, that creates the particular sort of
originality which we remark in his style.
He owes this originality also to the very absence of the ornament in which so many writers seek theirs.  It would be difficult to find a writer more sparing of figures and images.  Save
those which had already passed into the language, and which
from constant employment were no longer considered as figures,
there are many of his sermons in which none at all are to be
found. If he finds one under his very pen, hescarcely points it
out. If, perchance, lie allows himself to unfold it, it is in half a
dozen words; he always remains within the bounds to which he
might go, without even then running the least risk in the world
of being accused of amplification.
Sparing of words and images, it is with thoughts alone
that he builds; accordingly, of these he consumes an enormous,
an alarming number. His exordiums, for instance, seem the
work of a novice, who understands nothing of the art of husbanding his strength; there are so many things in them, that you
think it must necessarily be at the expense of the body of the
sermon.  Go on,-and you will see if this expenditure has left the
least vacuum, the slightest impoverishment.  Another experimuent.  After having read the plan of one of his sermons, take
one of the points which he puts forth, and see how you would
develop it.  This development well fixed in your niincl, read his,
and you will see that in'two or three pages he has used up all
the provision of ideas which you had made for eight or ten.
After this, if hle avoids imagery, it is because he distrusts it,
and fears to mingle thin ears with this abundant and admirable




244                    THE  PREACHER
harvest of rank and full ears.  A vacuum! he has a horror of it,
as nature of old: and this again accounts for his so rarely addressing himself to the passions, and for showing himself as
sparing of feelings as of figures.  Is it because he is wanting in
feeling?  No, but lie interdicts this to himself; he is fearful that
it will leave no result behind.  Is his subject, for instance, the
sufferings of Christ?  He says, "You have been touched  and
softened a hundred times by the sorrowful history of the Passion,
and now I wish to instruct youe.  The pathetic and affecting discourses which you have heard, have often moved your hearts,
but with a fruitless compassion, or at most a transient remorse.
My design is to convince your reason, and to tell you something
mzore solid, whichl  may in future serve as a foundation for all the
feelings of piety which this mystery must inspire."*  And that
which he says of the affecting scenes of the Passion, he can say
with still more reason of less pathetic subjects.  Thus, this idea
is found in almost all his exordiums,t and it is an engagement
to which it is not difficult for him to be faithful.
We will not return to what las been said upon this subject in
the first pages of this work; but we are now better able to answer one of the questions of the Marquis de Fen6lon.
" How is his success to be accounted for?" he had asked.
It must be confessed, first, that the criticism of an established
oratorical reputation is a very singular office. A man has been
admired and applauded by all who had ears to hear him; he
has advanced fiom triumph to triumph; he has stirred his age;
-and here we are cavilling at him, asking him why le did this,
and why he did not do that; boldly telling him  all our little
* Exordium of one of his sermons on the Passion, It is the sermon of
1675; the one whose history we are now relating.
f Even in his panegyrics, the most beautiful traits of virtue and piety
cannot induce him to change his tone; his object, he says, is not to praise
the saints, who have no need of it, but to give them successors.




AND  THE  KIN G.                     245
secrets which he had but to use, and all our great scruples in
regard to faults which were, after all, only the children of his
genius! You gained the battle, oh Bourdaloue! yet here are
those who will tell you what you ought to have done to gain it.
But after all, this is not so absurd as one might think.  In
spoken eloquence, the end justifies the means; as soon as a
preacher succeeds in drawing a crowd, his process is gained;*
but in written eloquence, far from all the sensations of time, place,
voice, and gesture, far from  all that strikes and affects, we are
but critics.  As soon as we have the time and the power to
judge, we have from that very circumstance the right to do so,
and whatever enthusiasm an orator may have excited, we are in
nowise bound to take part in it, if we find no reason to do so.
Well, we must confess that we were a long time unable to explain to ourselves the popularity of Bourdaloue; and if our
philological researches had not been the occasion of our reading
all or nearly the whole collection of his discourses, we would in all
probability still be searching for the key to his success, or rather
we would have long given up the search as vain.  But this key
once found, hesitation is no longer possible; and instead of asking why Bourdaloue succeeded, it is a great deal more natural to
inquire how it would have been possible for him  not to succeed.
Bourdaloue, then, was popular from  the very excess of that
which is generally most destructive to a preacher's popularity.
The greater part of those who fail, fail only because they reason
too much; but the more he reasoned, the more he was admired.
It is because there are various kinds of popularity, and various roads for reaching them. See, for instance, how it is with
* " The eloquence of Bourdaloue seems to have the impenetrable sol.
idity and the irresistible impetus of a warlike column, which advances
with slow tread, but whose order and momentum announce that all is
going to give way before it."-MiIArroNTEL.




246                  TI-IE PEACH-ER
sovereigns.  One becomes popular from  his affability; the nation is accustomed to look upon him as a father; another friom
his pride; the nation associates itself with his pride; one in
economizing; another in lavishing.  It is the same with orators,
-those sovereigns of the tribune or the pulpit.  One succeeds
because he comes down to the comprehension of every one; another because people love to see him soaling into the most elevated regions; this one because he can be listened to without
effort, without trouble; that one, on the contrary, because he
leaves you not a moment's repose.  The latter is Bourdaloue.
You like him because he presses you, fatigues you, conquers you,
gives you scarce time to breathe.  You follow him, in fine, as
followed Napoleon those old soldiers who were always grumbling,
and only marched the better for it.
Once having taken up this style, he could not follow it by
halves; and just as a king, sometimes warlike and sometimes pacific, can be popular neither as pacific nor as warlike, so it is doubtful whether Bourdaloue would have been what he is, if he had
believed hi-mself occasionally obliged to change his style.
And since we have mentioned Napoleon, his assuredly is
a popular name even in the countries which he crushed.  And
that one which he crushed the most completely, France, why is
she so proud of having had him  for a ruler?  Because, while
crushing her, he made her conscious of his power. Thel more
of her blood he shed, the prouder was she when a new war came,
of still having more to give him.  Afllatis mutanclis,  we have
Bourdaloue.  The more he requires fiom  us, the more, without
explaining to ourselves the feeling, we thank him as it were, for
having reckoned upon us; and if, on tle one hand, he humbles
us by the severity of his arguments, on the other he exalts us
and flatters us, so to speak, by forcing us ourselves to use our
reason to its utmost extent.  The attention which he claims is'




AND  TIlE  KrING.                     247
like a tax upon our reason; in vain we may find this tax a heavy
one; it is impossible not to be gratified that tile orator has
thought us rich enough to be able to pay it.
It is true that lie stops there.  "Satisfied with exercising human reason to its utmost, lie seems to fear to disturb the ilnagination and touch the heart,' says Dussault.  Did lie really fear
to do this?  One is almost tempted to believe, that in this respect
he had, if not an actual system, at least something more than a
simple impulse of his character.  Perhaps he thought it necessary to the dignity of the pulpit, that the preacher should never
quit that reserve which in any other we should call coldness, but
to describe which, we feel that we must find a word which seems
less like a reproach.  And what word shall it be?  As we find
none to satisfy us, we like better to leave to each one the task of
expressing as he will, that which he may have felt upon reading
Bourdaloue.
A man, who, withoutt ever hastening his steps, or slackening
them either, and who, his eye fixed iupon his goal, passes through
the midst of flowers without pluckingthem, without even looking at them, without appearing to be sensible of the perfume
which they send forth,-certainly this man is not ardent in the
same way as he who comes and goes, who runs, who flies, taking
handsfull of flowers and showering them  over those who follow
him.  And yet this man, apparently so cold, has a certain sort of
ardor.  He has his own peculiar energy; and if it is not that of
activity, it is that of perseverance and strength.  One draws you
on by means of his rapidity, the other by never stopping'; one
takes possession of you by rendering all fatigue unnecessary, the
other in forcing you to share his own.
Andc here is the secret of Bourdaloue's power.  And are you
any the further advanced for knowing it?  Alas! the secret of
a great orator or a great poet, is like the armor of an ancient




248       THE PREACHIER  AND THE KING.
warrior, which one finds in the depths of a tomb. Here is the
sword, —naught is needed but an arm which can manage it.
Here is the helmet,-but where is the head strong enough to
wear, and large enough to fill it 2




CHAPTE R XXII.
SECOND COUNCIL OF THE PtIILOSOPIHERS.-CLAUDE ON TIHE STUDY OF TIIE SCRLIPTUrES, AND TILE CHOICE OF TEXTS.-POETIC BEAUTY AND SIMPLICITY OF THE
BIBLE.
THIE next day, then, about ten  o'clock, all our company
of tile evening before, were in the Avenue of the Philosophers;
several other members of the Council had also just made their
appearance; we may notice especially the Abbe de Vares* and
the Abbe F16chier.  It was not the usual hlour  of meeting'; but
as the services of the day would detain everybody at chapel a
great part of the afternoon, Bossuet had been begged to advance
the time.  I-Ie would have liked better to omit it; after such an
agitated nigllt, and with the prospect of the painful scenes which
were perhaps about to take place, a morning of repose would
lhave been ag'reeable.-But they depended on him and he would
not have been able to decline without giving his reasons.
The hour, however, had passed, and he had not arrived. (We
will see presently what was the cause of this delay.)  In the absence of the principal, several groups had been formed.  Some resumed the conversation of the preceding evening upon pleachers
and sermons; others already touched upon the subject for the
day.  This was, as may be remembered, the study of the fourteenth chapter of Isaiah.
Amlong the latter, was the Abbe de Fen8lon.  He did not ap* A particular friend of Bossuet.




250                   THE  PREACHER
pear to have re-read, or closely studied the text of the chapter,
but his imagination had fed upon it.  The noble images of the
prophet had passed and re-passed before his eyes; and there had
remained a kind of calm  and gentle exaltation, which was reflected in all his words. They listened to him; he listened to
himself as well, and it was not himself probably who took tihe
least pleasure in listening.
The Abbe Fleury passed by with two or three of his friends.
He listened for a moment and resumed his walk.
Some steps farther on, he said,
"Are you not struck  with the different coloring which the
images and ideas of Scripture take, according to character, taste,
and different kinds of talent?  Who would say that our fiiend
Fenelon was speaking at this moment of the same chapter of
which M. de Condom  spoke to us yesterday?*  And yet it is
very probable that they understand it in fact in the same manner, and that if they were but to give a simple translation of it,
they would only differ in a few words. It is one of the most
beautiful prerogatives of the Bible, and according to my opinion,
one of the strongest proofs of its divinity, that it thus furnishes
to the most dissimilar minds, an equally wholesome and nourishing food.t True, this privilege is not so entirely peculiar to
it, but that some few men can. also claim it for the products of
their genius.  It is thus also that Homer, Virgil, Plato, and some
* This difference is striking in their works, when they have some passage of Scripture to paraphrase, or even to translate. Bossuet excels in
rendering the power and grandeur of the Prophets; F6n6lon often
weakens these a little, but he has not his equal in expressing the more
gentle images of the Gospel.
ft " A drop of water which is not sufficient for a man, will satisfy a bird.
The sacred waters have the peculiarity of suiting themselves to each one.
A lamb may walk through them, and at the same time they are deep
enough for an elephant to swim in."-DE SAcr.




AND  THE  KING.                    251
few others, seem often to change their nature according to the
nature of the minds which come to rejoice or learn from their
enlightenment;-but still it is not difficult to perceive the difference existing between their works and those of the sacred writers.
They reign over the imagination, the Bible over the soul; they
gain an influence over us by flattering us, the Bible by subduing
us. Even in those of its books where it only seems to address
itself to the imnagination, you feel yourself retained by something
still more powerful and more searching.  I should say, that the
influence of the profane poets is like a perfume which acts agreeably on the senses, while that of the Bible is a perfume which
penetrates into every pore, and that the man thus impregnated
transmits it naturally to all he touches."
"It is for that reason," added the Abbe de Cordemoi, "that
it is important for a minister thoroughly to know  his Bible.
But there are two ways of knowing it thoroughly.  You see
men who know the best of it wonderfully; at the first word of
any passage they will tell you without hesitating, the chapter,
the verse, the page; blind their eyes, and present them the book
open at the page designed, and they will still put their finger on
the verse for which you ask. Certainly there may be in this a
profound respect, a profound love for the Bible; but if so prodigious an acquaintance with the letter does not prove that the
spirit is wanting, neither is it a proof of their being deeply penetrated by this spirit. And in fact it happens often enough.  I
have heard sermons full of passages from  the Bible, which
scarcely answered to the idea which I have of a discourse enlivened or inspired by Scripture. As for myself, I have read and
re-read it a thousand times, and that too with attention, with
pleasure, with happiness, and yet, when I am in need of a certain passage, it is rare that I at once know where to find it. I
remember the author and the book, and I do not think that I




252                 THE PREACHER
would attribute to St. Paul a word of St. John, or a verse of the
Apocalypse to thle Psalmls; but beyond that, my knowledge is
at an end. I have seen laymen astonished at my ignorance;
some have even appeared inclined to be scandalized at it. Is it
my fault?   The more beautiful a verse, the less I think of looking at its number; and far from expecting to remember it better
afterwards, it seems to me, on the contrary, that the more I am
attracted by the sense, the less I trouble myself about the place
of the words."
"What is Monsieur de Cordemoi saying? " asked the Marquis
de Fenelon, taking his place among the little circle which had
gathered around the Abb6.
" What I am saying? You could say it perhaps better than
I.  Let us see; I know that you have reflected much on all
these subjects. How do you think that a preacher oulght to
study the Scriptures?"
" But, my dear Abbe, it would require a whole book to answer you i Who could reply in a few words to such a question?"
" In a few words!  I did not add that condition. Reply as
you will."
"Yes, doubtless," added many of those present; " is there any
danger of our becoming weary in listening to Monsieur de Fen6lon?"
" You wish me to reply?  Well, then. But no, no; it would
be too singular to see me take Monsieur de Condom's place.
Stay, address yourselves to Monsieur —"
We are already acquainted with him whom the Marquis thus
designated; it was Claude; but of all those present, there were
but two who knew him;-M. de Fen6lon, who had thought it
piquant to bring him, and his nephew, to whom he had made a
sign to say nothing. A few instants before, there had been a
third. But this person only knew him too well for his honor




AND THE KING.                     253
and the peace of his conscience. He had disappeared.  It was
Pelisson.
" To me!" said Claude; " do you really mean this? Would
these gentlemen consent-"
They said neither yes nor no; but opened their eyes widely
with astonishment.  It was certainly the first time that an unknown individual had appeared at the council.
" These gentlemen?" said the Marquis; " oh! these gentlemen always consent to hear what is good.  Courage; we wait
uponl you."
"But who is it?" asked the Abb  cl de Renaudot, in a low voice.
"Who am I?" said Claude smiling, for he had heard the question; "it would perhaps surprise you very much to know, Monsieur.  Do not insist. Do you grant me a hearing?"
"My question was not at all in order to refuse it you. Speak,
Monsieur, I beg."
"Very well, then," resumed the minister; "I will confess that
I also have reflected much on the subject which occupies your
attention; and the conclusion at which I have arrived, will perhaps surprise you,-it is this; the best way of studying the
Scriptures in view to preaching, is to study them as if you were
not expecting to preach-"
There was a movement.
"I told you," he continued, "that my conclusion would astonish you; it would have surprised me no less, twenty years ago.
Let us understand each other. I do not mean, as you may well
think, that the literal study of the Bible is to be interdicted to
the preacher, any more than that of the laws and ordinances
upon which he will be obliged to sustain himself in all his
pleadings, is to be interdicted to the lawyer; it is not even a
thing which is left at his option; it is ca duty, which reason,
conscience, interest, in fact everything, imposes on him. But the
22




254                  THE PREACHEIR
Bible is not merely a collection of fiicts to be remembered, and
of doctrines to be understood and imparted; it is a perfect and
connected whole; it is the comprehensive envelope of one single
fact —God manifesting himself to man; of a single result-the
Spirit of God taking possession of the heart of man in order to
regenerate and save him.  And this is the sense in which I said
that the preacher should not study the Bible in view of preaching.  He must place himself in relation to the Bible, not as a
teacher, but as a disciple; not as a man who is going to speak
to others in order to reproach them for their faults, but as a sinner, who feels his own, and desires to feel them more and more;
in fine, not as a soldier who comnes to seek for weapons, but as a
criminal who comes to deliver himself up to the regenerating
hand of grace. He will find these weapons for which he has not
sought, only the better; and after he shall himself have received
some salutary wounds from them, he will only use them with the
more strength and intelligence.
" What I say of the principle of the thing, may be also said of
the form, and of the influence which the Bible should exercise
upon the preacher viewed as a writer.  The reading of the Bible,
with a view to its imitation, as one would imitate Horace and
Virgil, would be a deplorable thing, and I confess I should have
no great opinion of the Christianity of the man who took it in
this way; I should probably be soon obliged to class him among
those people who curl and perfutme thel2roi2hets, as M. de Balzac
says.*  I would have all imitation come of itself, would have it
come from the heart, not the head; I would not have it begin,
therefore, until the preacher be so thoroughly familiarized with
the style of the sacred books, that it inspires his own, but without intention or effort, almost without his perceiving it. Indeed
it is easy enough to discern if this be the case with the preacher,
In ]lis C(hristian Socrates: VIIth discourse.




AND  THIE   ING.                     255
or whether he only imitates the language of the Bible because
he thinks himnself obliged to do so, and expects such and such
an effect from it.  As for mnyself, I am never deceived by it.  Not
that I would not be puzzled enough, sometimes, to tell the grounds
of my conviction; it is a sort of instinct, which leads me to distinguish between two discourses at first sight equally scriptural,
which of them is an imitation coming from the heart, and which
the result of calculation. In the former it is constant; even
where it is not perceptible for the moment in the expressions or
the figures, it is in the progress of the ideas, the tone, in the
whole being of the orator.  In the other there are, as it were,
two styles.  There is the language of God, it is true, but it is
not amalgamated with the language of man; it is only mingled
with it, and often clumsily enough;* and I will even add, for
the contrast is complete, that even in the passages where the
imnitation seems to have been natural, still there is always in
the tone, in the general aspect of it, that something which betrays the man little affected by his own words.  It is an able
counterfeit; the counterfeiter is perhaps in earnest, but it is
still a counterfeit."
The whole council had by this time gathered around Claude,
and surprise began to give place to interest.  M. de Felnlon
appeared delighted with the attention bestowed upon his protege.
" Before quitting this subject," he said to Claude, "I hope
that you will say something to us in regard to the choice of
texts."
"I was about to come to that," said the minister, "for this
question closely concerns, much more closely than many preachers think, the position which the Bible should hold in Christian
* "If Scripture be quloted but tardily, for form's sake, or for ornament then it is no longer the word of God, but the word and invention
of milan."-Fzz LNELON.




256                    THE-  PREACHEI-R
eloquence.  There are sermnons where the author only seems to
have put a text because it is the custom  to do so.  He scarcely
points it out before he abandons it; he does not make it the
subject, but simply the occasion of his discourse.  This abuse
has great disadvantages.  Besides that of making the word of
God play a secondary part, and almost an unimportant one,* another is that of giving access to the Christian pulpit to moral
and philosophical subjects, which are not fitted for it, and which
no passage in the Bible could possibly introduce, if the sense of
the words were more closely regarded.  It is true that the contrary excess is still more frequent.t  A preacher often imagines
himself doing great things, in adroitly bringing in the text, or
some expressions of the text, at the end of each part, and of
each somewhat lengthy and energetic period.  It is sometimes
very beautiful; but sometimes very pitiful and childish. Others
imagine that they cannot better give a high idea of the Bible
than by making to spring from one verse, or the half of a verse,
a crowd of ideas, which no ordinary person perceives there, and
which the preacher himself undoubtedly did not see, until he set
to work to make a sermon from the verse.  Thus, from  a perfectly simple phrase, sometimes issue plans of a singular complication, and of a regularity which would be admirable if it were
not absurd.  It is not only in each portion of the phrase tlat
they would find an extended signification; not only in each word;
the place which it occupies, the importance which it possesses
relatively to the words preceding or following it,-a shade, a' A chapter in the Bible is not a block of marble to be carved;
"Shall it be a god, a table, or a basin?"
The plan is all traced; the statue all completed.  It only remains to
point out and to animate it.
f It has become less frequent since this period, particularly among
Protestant preachers.




AND  THE  KING.                       257
fiagment, a nothing, all furnish nmaterial for so many divisions
to the orator who has a mania for them.  It is fortunate, too,
if these shades upon which he erects his scaffolding, at least exist
in the original, and do not exclusively belong to the Latin or
French translation which he has employed.*  It may doubtless
happen that a word of no importance'in itself, acquires in certain cases a great theological importance; but it is not skilful
in an oratorical point of view, nor above all in a Christian, to bring
even just or good ideas into the pulpit when they can only be
shown to be based upon such slender foundations. All this is
head work;f and that, in the pulpit, is like a miniature hung too
high.  Even those who are the best judges, when near by, cannot tell you its merit at such a distance.
"With still more reason must we condemn those who abuse
their text so far as to draw from it, not only all that can by any
possibility be there, but also what is evidently not in it. An intelligent auditor should always be able to judge in some degree,
upon hearing the text, of what you are going to talk to him.
To deceive him, and speak of things of which these words
have not awakened the remotest idea in his mind, is to play him
a trick little worthy of you, and above all, little worthy of the pulpit.t As for allegories, I do not speak of them. The best of
X Erasmus, in his Eulogium offolly, feigns greatly to admire a certain
preacher, who, resolving the Latin verb evitare, into e, out of, vita, life,
concludes from this that the expression of Saint Paul, evita eos, applied
to heretics, ought not to be rendered, avoid them, but kill them. It is probably a fable, but the satire is a good one.
f " That which goes from the head, dies in the head; it never reaches
the heart."-FENELON.
t The custom of taking their text from the Gospel for the day, often
leads the Roman Catholic preachers to singular exhibitions of ingenuity.
In hearing these words, " They saw Moses and Elias talking with him,"
would any one imagine that the sermon was going to treat of the respect
which the great owe to religion? " Moses and Elias," said the orator, " are
22w




258                     THE PREACIHER
them  always have the great disadvantage of opening the door
to innumerable conceits, Gand the best will never do as much good
as the bad do halrm.*
"I would say, then, of the sermon in relation to its text, that
which Cicero said of the exordiumn in relation to the subject in
general;'Eftloreuisse penitus videatur; let it spring from  it as
the stem of a flower springs from  the centre and depth of the
plant.'  It is, in fact, to be remarked, that flowers with stalks,
the two greatest personages of the ancient law; now in descending beside the Staviour they rendered him homage; thus the great owe respect
to religion."  The author of this fine syllogism is Massillon.  Apropos of
the Samaritan pouring oil and wine into the wounds of the poor Jew,
Regnis managed to preach on fraternal correction.  Sometimes tile text
is but a fragiment of a narrative, The same Reegnis, for instance, made a
sermon on death, taking these words for his text; " A dead man being
carried to his grave."  The same oddities are found in some preachers of
the reformed churches of Germany. (See Reinhnardt's Letters on Preaching.)
*- As a happy example of allegory, may be eited a sermon of Massillon
on Iompurity, the text of which is the parable of the prodigal son. The paternal mansion represents the primitive purity which the youth is about
to abandon. His possessions, which he carries waith him, —hlis health, which
he is going to lose; the swine which he keeps, the imnage of his degradation, &c. But Claude -was right in asserting that this is a daigerous
path; a thousand examples of it mirht be alleged. Massillon himself is
far from always being so happy. In his sermon on CoLfession, he takes
as his text these words of the apostle John, "There was in that place a
crowd of lame and blind, and impotent folk;" and he pretends that the
blind represent those who cannot see their own faults; the lamne, those
who do not confess them sincerely; the impotent, those who are not repentant. We give a still more curious specimen.  One of the missionaries sent by Louis XIV. to accompany his dragoons into the southermn provinces, took one day for his text the parable of the talents.  The
talents, according to him, were the companies of dragoons put at the-disposal of the bishops by the king. It was for the bishops to make a good
use of them; and woe to the former if they allowed the latter to lie hidden in the barracks without causing them to labor for the glory of God
and the destruction of heresy!




AND  THE KING.                     259
those which grow out from the very roots, are the richest which
nature produces.  A sermon like those of which I spoke, is like
a tree all covered with tiny flowers;-a sermon as I would wish
it, is like one of those beautiful and vigorous African plants,
which have only one flower, or cluster of flowers, but whose majestic unity strikes and impresses you.
"And now I come back," continued Claude, "to the subject
from which I set out.  If the textual study of the sacred books
is not constantly accompanied by thoughtful considerations of
their tendency and the spirit of the teachings which they give
us-you may have scholars; but orators you will not have.
Skilful in explaining from the desk of the school, the smallest as
well as the greatest difficulties of the scriptures, they will remain
strangers to the art of impressing and touching from the pullit,
an assembly which is more in need of impressions than instructions.
"I would not wish, however, to embrace in this censure all the
preachelrs to whom this remark may apply.  There are among
them those who feel very well what their failing is, and are the
first to lament it. They may read and meditate upon the Bible,
-they love it, they appreciate it, —but they have not the gift of
making it loved.-Upon reading a beautiful passage, their imagination is excited,-their soul is troubled; it seems to them impossible that they should not be eloquent; and as soon as the
begin to write, they are cold. Perhaps they set wrongly to work;
perhaps, also, and this is extremely probable, they lack some one
of the qualities necessary that the study, even conscientious and
profound, of the sacred books, should enable them to make them
relished by others.  Alas! what can we do but labor and pray?
We labor, we plant; God alone gives the increase.  One may
reach by a step the centre of the sanctuary; another may for
a long time seek the door, and then scarcely be able to get be



260                  THIE  PREACHER
yond the threshold.  Let us submit; and if some possess happy
faculties of mind land soul, which enable them  better than
others to transfer the life and coloring of the sacred books to
their writings,-they ought no more to be proud of it, than
ought the artist upon whom God bestows the gift, of feeling and
representing better than another the grand scenes of nature.'What have we, that we have not received?' said St. Paul.
A celebrated writer of the twelfth century-"
"St. Bernard?" inquired M. de Felnlon.
" Yes, the Abbe de Clairvaux," replied Claude, who did not
wish to say Bernalrd, short, —and who did not wish, either, to
say Saint Bernard, after Saint Paul.  "This illustrious doctor
compared God, in relation with man, to a writer or a painter,
who guides the hand of a little child, and only asks one thing
of it,-that it will not move its hand, but will allow it to be
guided.  Here is the image of the evangelical preacher."
"That reminds me," said the marquis, "of a beautiful idea of
Monsieur de Saint-Cyran:'WVe should consider ourselves,' he
wrote to his friend Le Maistre,'as the instrzument, or the pen of
God, neither exalting ourselves if we advance, —nor growing discouraged if we do not succeed.'
Saint-Cyran was not in the best odor in the Council.  They
thought the idea a beautiful one, but would have preferred its
coming from a different source.
"These, then," Claude continued, " are the conditions upon
which a preacher may give a truly scriptural coloring and style
to his discourse.  As to the different qualities in detail upon
which the study and imitation of Scripture will set its seal, I have
made the following observations:
" The characteristic which has always the most impressed me in
the style of the Bible, as, if not the most striking at least the
~most constant, —is its simplicity.  I do not speak of the simpli



AND THE KING.                     261
city of its narrative; everybody agrees that nowhere is to be
found more artlessness, more grace;-win regard to these qualities,
the same commendation applies to the whole Bible. But look,
in particular, at the instructions of the Saviour. All those ideas,
which so many profound thinkers, when they happened accidentally to stumble upon one, could not express save in learned terms,
in pompous phrases, are expressed by the Gospel with an ease, a
naturalness, a candor, which it is impossible sufficiently to admire. Thus, even those things which it was allowed to man to
discover and comprehend, never became really popular until after
Jesus Christ.  Others, which the genius of man had sought for
in vain, do not appear more difficult or more profound; this is
indeed one of the reasons why revelation has sometimes been
doubted. The simplicity of manner so well concealed the divinity of the matter, that people easily deceived themselves into
thinking that they were equally capable of saying and conceiving
as much.
" However that may be, when called to give these grand ideas as
the foundation for all his discourses, it is in the Bible that the
preacher will best learn to adapt them to the capacity of all. I
do not only mean by this, that he shall express them so as to be
understood by all his hearers; I mean to say that he should be
simple even with those whose more cultivated intelligence might
seem to authorize him not to be so; Jesus Christ was no less so
with the doctors than with the people.
"But the most wonderful thing about the simplicity of the
Scriptures, is the ease with which it allies itself with the sublimest ideas, the most magnificent images. And here, again, is
something by which you will recognize the man who is truly inspired by them. He will be grand without intending it, vigorous without effort; he will affect the imagination without fa



262                   THE PREACHER
tiguing the mind.  The hearer will be astonished to find himself
so high, and to have had so little difficulty in mounting.
"And finally, it is still to the Bible that you owe your attainment of this very elevation.  Let us not exaggerate here.  We
will not pretend that every species of poetry is in the Bible, as
the Mahometans declare that the Koran contains everything.  I
will not say, then, that the imagination of the preacher cannot go
beyond the boundaries within which that of the sacred writers is
enclosed; new ideas, new customs, new sentiments to which he
cannot remain a stranger without closing to himself many sources
of influence, call him, and will always call him to seek new expressions, and employ new images.  But, the more we are disposed to grant him this right, the more we should fear lest he
may abuse it.*  Then let -the poetry of the Scriptures be always
near, to regulate the flight of his own, to ennoble his conceptions,
to put upon his human inspirations the seal of an inspiration
superior and divine. No one is truly a poet in the pulpit if he
be not so through the Bible and for the Bible.' David is our
Simonides,' said one of the fathers,' oou  Pindar, our Alceus,
even our Horace.'t   You are free to employ expressions and
figures which are not in the sacred authors; but they must always bear the traces, or as it were a reflection of what is seen in
them; it must be possible for the hearer to say,' if these images
are not in the Bible they might be there.'
"Now, for this, it is not sufficient that the Bible should be one
of the sources whither you go to seek poetry; it must be and must
ever remain the principal source. You should not consider it as
* This fear was rarely realized in the time of Claude. We wish we
could say the same of the present day. Unhappily it is not in romances
alone, and in verse, that our century often takes religiosity for religion,
and sentimentality for sentiment.
f1 "David, Simonides noster, Pindarus, Aleaeus, Flaccus quoque." —JFnoMm,. Commentary on the Psalms.




AND  TIHE ITING.                   263
a kind of brook coming to mingle its waters with those of a great
river.  It is the Bible which is the great river; all other sentiments, all other sources of inspiration, should be in the eyes of
the preacher but streamlets which come to purify and lose them.selves in its waters.  The streamlets which flow into a river contribute doubtless to augment its magnitude; but the river keeps
none the less its name and its glory.
" As to the poetic worth of the Bible, even humanly considered,
and altogether in a literary point of view, if there were any soul
cold enough to require proof of it, I do not believe such a soul
could ever succeed in feeling it. But'where is such an one to
be found? I have never met with one. I have seen many people make light of the Bible because they did not know it; but I
have seen none who despised it after having read it; and I know
more than one infidel, who in turning over its leaves in order to
attack it, or laugh at it, has been surprised to find himself with
his head bowed and his eye moistened over these pages which
he had been impatient to tear. To be, then, ministers of the Word,
take with liberal hands.  It is a treasure open to all; it is the
only book of which no one runs the risk of being accused of plagiarizing.  Take! These ideas which have already belonged to
so many millions of intelligences, are as fully yours as if you had
been the first to see them; these images, admired thousands and
thousands of times, will be so, as many times more, —they will be
so, as long as the world contains the remnants of a pure and noble
taste. And even if you should not venture to reproduce for fear
of weakening them; even if it should not be permitted you, simple country pastor, to rise in your discourses to the height of an
Isaiah or a Saint Paul, at least you will recall in more humble
proportions the unction and power of these immortal inspirations. What magnificence for instance"But here is one who will tell you this better than I, and bet



264        THE PREACHER AND THE KING.
ter than any one," said Claude, suddenly interrupting himself.
" Come, monsieur, resume your place. Excuse me. I did not
know that vou were there."
It was Bossuet.




CHIAPTER   XXIII.
CLAUDE ON THE SUBLIMITY OF THE SCRIPTURAL IDEAS OF DEATH AND THE
NOTHINGNESS OF MIAN.-FOURTEENTEI CHAPTER OF ISAIAH.
SURPRISED, in the first place, that no one came to meet him,
he tad been still more so to find his place occupied, and that by
Claude. However, either fiom  curiosity or politeness, he approached softly. Nothing had been heard, save the light tread
of steps upon the smooth sand of the avenue; no one had turned
around, and Claude, who alone could have seen him, at this
moment had his eyes somewhere else. So he had stopped outside of the circle, and was completely hidden by those before
him.
The attention was profound. There was no need. any longer
that it should be excited by the mystery which still hung around
Claude's person; known or unknown, he had few equals in the
art of captivating whatever audience was before him, and the
sketch which we have given of his discourse, would doubtless
have appeared in the highest degree feeble and lifeless to those
who had just heard it. They no longer dreamed of inquiring
who he was, to be talking of the Bible with so much enthusiasm
and assurance; his right was written in his words. Bossuet was
carried away like the rest; he no longer remembered that he had
been master in this same spot where he now found himself for
the moment confounded among the disciples; and it had been
necessary for Claude to perceive him and cease, in order to with23




266                 THE PREACHER
draw him from this inferior position, which he dreamed not of
leaving.
Flattered by the compliment, he declined; and in the midst of
the general astonishment, for no one could imagine how or when
he was come, he said;
" No, no, you shall go on, I have too much pleasure in listening to you-"
They know each other then! thought all the assembly; and
those nearest to Bossuet did not delay asking him in a low voice
the name of this mysterious personage. He smiled and made no
reply.
" You wish it?" said Claude; " well, I will continue. And I
shall be more at my ease than Monsieur Bossuet would have been
in what I am going to say, for he would not have ventured to
quote his own works, and yet it is there that we find the most
beautiful things which the Bible has inspired in this century, in
the regions of lofty poesy. I am told that you conversed yesterday, and that it is again to be your theme to-day, on the fourteenth chapter of Isaiah. It is precisely the chapter which I was
about to quote just now. But since you are good enough to bestow on me a little more attention, permit me to go back a little.
"The poetical compositions of the Old Testament can be divided into four or five classes, and thus exercise a diverse influence upon the imagination and style of the sacred orator.
" There are those, in the first place, which are purely descriptive. The subject of these is ordinarily God's greatness, manifested in his works. Job and the Psalms abound in passages
of this sort; in the Prophecies, also, we find them most beauful. These, whatever their fitness to elevate the soul, to extend
the thoughts, the preacher should be careful not to imitate too
unrestrictedly. It degenerates too easily into declamation and
bombast; he fancies himself attaining the highest regions of elo



AND TIIE  KING.                       267
quence, while, after all, it is nothing but rhetoric.  These amplifications also generally produce very little effect; it is a noisy
music in which there is much for the ear and little for the soul.
In a prayer, particularly, all the lofty titles by which God is addressed, and all the displaying of his. glory, is not of so much value as
simple'Lord!' a simple'Lmy God!' which comes from  the
heart, accompanied by a look of supplication!
" It is always a great evil to embroider and amplify the Bible.
Leave it its vigorous beauty;* none but an ignorant or degenerate people have ever had the idea of dressing their godst in
fine clothes.  It is also a somewhat injudicious respect which
fancies it must manifest itself by a great display of expressions
of admiration.  Those who in the pulpit go into the greatest
ecstacies about the beauties of the Bible, are not always those
who have the truest and deepest feeling for these beauties.t  So
much the more, because it is so easy to be carried away too far,
and in praising more common-place passages extravagantly,  one
is deprived of the means of making those which are truly admirable properly appreciated.
" But to return," continued Claude.  "There is a second class
of compositions in the reproduction and imitation of which also
much caution should be used; I mean those eloquent threats,
so frequent in the mouths of the prophets, whether they pronounced them in the name of their Head, or whether they were
* Advice to translators of the Bible. It has been, by very pious translators, disfigured by dint of great care and love. It is true that in the
midst of all his subtleties, the perfume, as it were, of a simple piety is
perceived. "Sacy has curled the Bible," said some writer, "but not
rouged it."
1 Or their saints either, Claude probably thought, but he could not
have said this without betraying himself.
"Xenophon does not say once in his whole Cyropaideia, that Cyrus
was great; but he causes admiration of him to be felt throughout."FENELON.




268                 TH E PREACHER
supposed to come from God himself. They are quick and elergetic; images are crowded into them; it is truly the language
of the strong and jealous God; but if I may dare say so, it is
not altogether that of the God of the Gospel; and as it is scarcely
possible to imitate without exaggerating, it might easily happen,
that in taking the style of a prophet, that of an apostle would be
lost sight of. Undoubtedly there are under the Gospel as well
as under the ancient dispensation, judgments to be pronounced
and chastisements to be threatened, and woe to that preacher
who grows weak in this part of his task! But he should not
forget that he speaks more inll the name of a father than of
a master. The prophet's task was to make God feared; his
above all is to make him loved.
"Not that even in the Old Testament there are not many places
where God is already the God of the Gospel. The preacher need
not fear to draw from these sources. Mingled with the more explicit instructions of the New Testament, these patriarchal figures
will only contribute to make them more popular, more touching,
more penetrating; without altering the lessons of truth, you
will join with tlelm, in some sort, all the charms of fiction.
"There is yet another class of these writings, thanks to which
the happy and holy mingling of the two portions of the Bible
takes place without the slightest effort. I mean those cries and
emotions of a tortured soul, those songs of anguish or of deliverance, which in the Prophecies and Psalms succeed each other,
are woven together and identified, in so pathetic a manner. In
these, we are in the midst of the very purest Christianity.  No
Christian ever wept for his sins with truer repentance than' David for his; never has a soul, alarmed to feel itself under the
dominion of evil, thrown itself with more earnestness at the foot
of the throne of grace. And even in the places where the question
is more particularly of earthly dangers and cleliveralces, there




AND  THE KI~NG.                    269
is in the author's words something so convincing, so feeling, that
the Christian not only can apply them without trouble to the
situation of his soul, but he cannot help doing so. The twentysecond Psalm, for instance,-you cannot read it without a mingling
of Christian feelings; you cannot paraphrase it without giving it
a Christian character.  And this, in my opinion, is. the highest
praise one can give them.  Let the preacher, then, use them frequently, since it is so easy either for him to transform them into a
Christian signification, or to find a striking and original form for
Christian ideas.
" I come at length to that class where the prominent idea is that
of the nothingness of man. Here we may boldly assert that ancient poetry had nothing, absolutely nothing to compare with it.
It is a new world, into which you enter with the Bible alone;
the highest geniuses have scarcely reached the threshold.  And
yet, if there is one thought which every man might be supposed
to have, it is that of his own misery; if there is one where we
may quickly sink into a frightful abyss, it is this.-Well, the books
of the ancients seem to prove the contrary.  Nothing can be
colder, more sententious, than what they have said of death.  It
seems as if their sole end speaking of it, were to find a somewhat
original manner of saying that we must all die. We might
quote forty or fifty of these modes of expressing the idea, all
ingenious but without grandeur, without life, without any of
that indescribable something. which strikes and overwhelms us,
when an Isaiah, a David, a Solomon, or a Jeremiah even cursorily touches upon this formidable subject.*  Death, with both the
philosophers and the poets of the ancients, is always more or less
Charon's bark; what have those who spoke the best of immor* " Profane orators have often run after eloquence; but eloquence has
attached itself to the steps of the sacred writers." —AuGusTINE..De
doctr: Christ.
23




270                    TIIE  PREACIIER
tality, Plato and Cicero, what have they said of death that had
any grandeur?  They were not acquainted with the only book
which would have taught them to speak of it with true sublimity,
and to present the lessons of the tomb in all their majesty.
"But it is not enough only to be acquainted with this book.
Although the source has been open for so many centuries, how
small is still the number of good discourses on death; I mean
those where everything, conception and execution, are equally
worthy of the subject!  For, in fact, if you only aim at making
tears flow, it is the easiest thing in the world; in any sermon
whatever, introduce one or two phrases in regard to death, and
you are sure of seeing some people in tears.*  Does it follow
that you should avoid making them  NReep?  No; but be assured
that it signifies nothing, and that it is a triumph,-if it be one,as fleeting as it is easy.  "Nought dries up sooner than a tear,"
said Cicero.[ In great afflictions, weeping is the greatest relief;f
thus, in a place of worship, in place of increasing, tears only lessen emotion.  A really good sermon on death agitates and calms
you, depresses and raises you, —alarnms  and reassures you,but it does not make you weep; and in the same manner that in
a bereaved family, those who do inot weep, are often the very ones
* This was even truer at the time when Claude spoke, than now. We
will not undertake to explain why; but it is certain that people wept more,
two centuries ago, especially the men. With the ancients, we know how
easily emotion of all kilds broke out into tears. The great public mournings,-the tears, the sobs of a whole nation, which are no longer anything
but metaphors, -were ages ago, facts. With individuals, the power of weeping is generally less as age advances; is it perhaps the same with the
race?
+ Nihil lacrylna eitiuls areseit."
t The impassibility of Louis XIV. was probably owing in part to this
fact.  At the death of his 1mother, his brother, his son, he was seen to weep
violently for an hour or two; afterwards hlie was as calm and as imuch a
king as ever,




AND  TIE IKING.                    271
who feel their loss most acutely,-so at the foot of your pulpit,
it is not always in the tearfuil eye that you read the most alarm
when you speak of death. We may say especially of this subject, what has been said with so much justice of all religious subjects, —that none are so easy to treat indifferently, but none so
difficult to treat well. Even in funeral orations, amid those royal
obsequies where man's nothingness speaks so loudly, how few orators are there, who are capable of being its interpreters! As for
myself, I scarcely know but one whose eloquence answers almost
entirely to the ideal which I have formed of the Christian orator
declaiming against human greatness-"
Bossuet cast down his eyes. Beside him was another person
who did the same, but biting his lips at the same time,-it was
the Abbe Flechier.
" There is no need that I should name him to you," continued
Claude, " and if he were not here-But why should I be silent?
Whether he hear me or not, I am but just. I-Ie has too much
genius not to humble himself beneath the hand of the God who
bestowed it; he has acquired too much glory not to attribute a
large part of it to the divine book to which he owes it. It cannot be otherwise than sweet for a Christian to place upon the
altar of the word of Godl, the laurels which it has gained him
among men.
" Yes, Monsieur," he continued, addressing himself to Bossuet,
" it is this that gives me the greatest pleasure and happiness in
reading your funeral orations.  It is grateful for me to admire
you, because this very admiration is an homage rendered to the
God who has made you what you are, and who has furnished
such sublime food for your genius.
"It is true that independently of the riches of the Bible, you
have had great advantages in the subjects offered you.  A dethroned queen,-a princess suddenly dead at the age of twenty



272                   THE PREACHER
six,-these are excellent oratorical subjects, which form an era,
not only in the life of a preacher, but in the history of a century.
And who knows what the future may destine for you?-Death
concerns himself little as to whether there be room or not in the
vaults of Saint Denis. —But the greater the subject, the greater
need has the orator to seek elsewhere than within himself, the
strength to seize it. A biblical and Christian inspiration alone,
can render him capable of it;-without this he will achieve great
phrases, instead of great thoughts.  And a mere rhetorician is so
contemptible!
"But it is not sufficient to avoid this in generalities,-it must
also be avoided in details.  In this respect, the funeral oration is
a sea full of shoals. I-However noble its execution, however elevated its object, it is an eulogy after all; and even if you never
had to deal save with those heroes truly worthy of esteem  and
admiration, the very fact of praising a man in a place of worship
is a kind of outrage against the glory of God. For this reason we
may question whether the funeral oration does not do more harm
in its quality of panegyric, than good, as a sermon upon death.
" Everything taken into consideration, however, it seems to me
that their use is not so injurious as one would think, or as certain
moralists have asserted. If the praises given to the deceased be
just, everybody knows them  already; if they are false, no one
believes them. But what is always true, is that a great man is
dead, and that this great man is now nothing; what is always
certain is, that he has returned to primitive equality, and that
*" "She must descend to those sombre regions, with those annihilated
kings and princes among whom we can scarcely find room to place her, so
crowded are the ranks."-Frneral Oration of the DucIiss OF OF O ANIS.
When the body of the dauphin, eldest son of Louis XIV., was carried
to St. Denis in 1778, it was remarled, not without a vague terror, that
the royal vault was entirely full. There was literally no place for Louis
XVI. in the tomb of his ancestors.




AND THE KING.                        273
the crowd of the colmmon dead could say to him, in seeing him
join them,' thou art become like unto one of us!"  Now, this
solemn irony of the tomb,-this lugubrious sneering which seems
to resound from its abyss each time that a great personage enters
it,-this is the true moral of the funeral oration.  Do not dwell
upon it too much; you might seenm to be triumphing from jealousy over a brother's humiliation, but on the other hand, take
care not to weaken it.  In announcing that death is regardless of
dignities, or riches,-the orator must not appear surprised at this,
or begin to call for sympathy for the fate of his subject. After
having said to the great, "You must die, like all others," he must
not seem to ask pardon, or tremble for having said too much.*
The most beautiful funeral oration that I know —"
Bossuet made a slight movement.
"It is not one of yours, Mlonsieur-"
A gleam of joy flashed from Flechier's eyes.
" Neither is it one of those which have been most praised in
your rivals in eloquence, if indeed, you have rivals."
Flelchier again became thoughtful.  If Claude had known
him to be present, he would have spared him these little wounds,
which, for that matter, were well deserved.
" It is," he continued, " the famous chapter in question. There
are no artifices there, —no evasions; it is the nakedness of the
tomb.  A king dies.  The nation asks if it be really true.  They
were so accustomed to see him live as if he were never to die, that
they had almost come to believe that he never could die.  But,
in short, he is really dead.  They raise their heads. —For the ilrst
X " We must all die,-all,-yes, sire, almost all," said a preacher one
day before Louis XIV. It seems that the king had made a slight movement at the word "all,-call," and that the poor orator, fearing he had
offended him, could find nothing better than this " almost," to soften the
effect of his "al." Is the anecdote true? If not, it might be, at least.




274                 TIHE PREACHERa
time they dare to fix their eyes upon this countenance before
which they have so long bowed their heads to the dust. They
had fancied it so high, so grand. They had transformed their
monarch into a giant. And now that he lies low,' a few feet of
ground is sufficient for him.' The Lord hath broken his sceptre,'
and the people employ themselves in gathering up the fragments,
and see it was but a gilt' staff, of firagile and worm-eaten wood.'
And the whole earth is at rest; they break forth into singing.
Even the cedars of Lebanon rejoice at his fall, saying,' Since thou
art laid down, no feller is come up against us.' - ut no, he is not
laid down, that is he sleepeth not. Scarcely were his eyes closed
upon this world, when he must open them  in another, and be
witness of his own interment in the depths of the tomb.' All
the kings of the nations are come to meet him.' To salute him?
No; to mingle among the rest of the dead, and contemplate him,
confounded among this nameless crowd. And then burst forth,
beneath the infernal vaults, these voices, these cries, this terrible
and solemn chant of the grave's equality;' How art thou fallen
from heaven? How art thou cut down to the ground, which
didst weaken the nations! Thou saidst, I will ascend into heaven,
I will exalt my throne above the stars of God, and yet they that
look upon thee consider thee, saying, is this the man that made
the earth to tremble l' What a poem, gentlemen i what a poet!
what an orator!"
"Ah," resumed Claude, after a moment's silenqe, " if God ilad
summoned me to address'kings from the pulpit, it seems to me
I could never ascend there without reading them this chapter.
I would have it engrave itself in their minds; I would have it
accompany them, pursue them like a phantom in the midst of
the pomps of their court and the adoration of their flatterers; I
would have them find it upon their palaces in letters of fire, and
upon their triumphal arches, and the hangings of their festive




AND THE KING.                      275
halls. Yes! if they remembered it better during their lives, the
nations would recall it with less joy at their death.  Do you
think that this will not be the case when —"
"Softly, softly!" exclaimed some of Claude's auditors anxiously.  They understood fro-m his gesture that he was about to
say " when the king dies," and their blood firoze at the mere idea
of hearing these words.
"We are alone," resumed the minister;' and suppose he
should hear us. Please God —
lie lowered his voice a little, however.
"' Well; we will leave that.  No; we will not speak of his
death. He lives, and perhaps none of us may outlive him. But
only see, see with what terrible fidelity the prophet seems to have
traced his portrait.  Be assured that the moment will come when,
in that absolute power under which she seems at present to be
proud and happy to stoop, France will see nothing but a frightful despotism.  Be assured that these wars by means of which
he would make himself the hero of all Europe —"
The circle'drew closer together around Claude.  They scarcely
breathled; and uneasy and frightened glances were cast on every
side. If any one had appeared at the end of the Avenue, the
whole assembly would have dispersed in an instant.  It seemed
as if they expected to see the king start up out of the earth, at
the spot where they had seen him the evening before.
Claude continued; he enjoyed their terror.  He repeated all
he had written two years before to Bourdaloue, in regard to the
ambition, the faults, the vices of the king.  " And what man,"
he said finally, " what man ever possessed more pride! The only
duty, the only right of others, in his eyes, is to labor for his
pleasures, for his glory, for the plans of magnificence projected
by him.  Oh yes,' the cedars of Lebanon shall rejoice at his
fall,' for nature itself has felt the burthen of his yoke.  This soil




276                  TIHE  PREACH ER
upon which we here stand, was brought here; these trees,-it
was wished to spare the sovereign the fatigue of seeing them
grow large; so tlhey were planted as they are, and for every one
that flourished, ten died.  And he is made to believe that France
is proud to pay for these enormous expenditures; while they
will one day perhaps be the bitterest grievances of which tile
nation will complain, and which history will record. And all
these kings whomn he has conquered, —all those whom lie threatens or humniliates,-do you think it will not be a consolation, a
triumph to their incensed hearts, to realize one day, in the depths
of the grave, the gloomy fiction of the prophet,'Thou also art
become weak as we! Thou art become like unto us!'"
Claude was silent.  His listeners, by look, mannere, and movement, had long implored him to cease.  Fen6lon and his uncle,
together with Bossuet, were the only ones who had not visibly
trembled; yet it was easy to see that the Marquis himself was
stupified at the boldness of the minister.  Perhaps it may seem
surprising that so grave a man as Claude should so far quit the
respect generally imposed by the name of Louis XIV. even upoln
the most independent spirits.  But, in tle very strongest things
he had said, there was perceptible neither the spirit of a malcontent taking pleasure in speaking evil of his king, nor of a
morose philosopher, happy to degrade thalt which seems great;
he was simnply a fiiend of religion, lamenting to see its holiest
laws trampled under foot by one calling himself most Christian
king.  Besides, he had only ecclesiastics for his auditors, save
one person, whom he was sure of not displeasing by an excess
of severity.  He had, then, no reason not to believe them  actuated, at least in secret, by the same feelings with himself; a
physician talking to physicians, he had not dreamed of cloaking
either words or facts.  Oh! if he had been able to go yet furthler, if God bad opened his eyes for an instant to the mysteries




AND THE KING                     277
of the future, what terrible resemblances. would he have added to
those with which the. prophet had already furnished him I And
when he read these terrible words; "But thou art cast out of
thy grave like an abominable branch, as a carcase trodden under
feet," would not his tongue have stiffened in his jaws, if he could
have suspected that this, word for word, was the terrible history
of that which, one hundred and eighteen years after, was to happen to the desecrated remains of Louis the Great.
24




CHAPTER XXIV.
THE UNEASINESS OF BOURDALOUE AND BOSSUET.
BOUrDALOUE had had time enough since the evening before,
to be thinking within himself of all that Claude had just said.
A  new world had, as it were, been opened to his eyes.  The
king, the court, his own ministry, all appeared to him more or
less under a different aspect.
Thus he had not been able to close his eyes. The night before
preaching, this -was generally the case; but his sleeplessness this
time, had left a sensible anguish behind it.  All night he had
sighed for the day; the day, when it appeared, brought him no
relief.
On the contrary, as the hour approached, he felt more and
more agitated; he began to despair of himself. In vain he
forced himself from time to time, to seek more calmly for the
motives of his apprehensions, in vain he repeated to himself, that
after all, it was only a rather more severe sermon than usual.
An undefined anguish is only the more painful and tenacious from
that very reason.  The unreasonableness of your apprehensions
is proved to you; you admit it, and you do not cease, neverless, to be anxious.  The scenes of the preceding evening, Bossuet, Claude, the appeals of his conscience, the fact, so extraordinary for him, of delivering another's words from the pulpit,
and finally the immense commotion which his words might pro



THE PREACHER AND THE KING.                279
duce,-all these things contributed to keep him in a state in
which he had never yet felt himself, in which he would not have
believed he ever could find himself.
However, the hours of the day dragged on scarcely less heavily
than those of the night, and he" was not to ascend the pulpit until
vespers, that is to say, about four o'clock in the afternoon. Sometimes he set about reading his sermon, but it was only with his
eyes and lips; sometimes he undertook to recite it, but after a
few lines he ceased, and did not remember to go on again. Finally, he went out, but without object, and only for the sake of
going out.
In passing the chateau the idea struck him that he would take
a turn in the park. Our council was still there, with the exception of Claude, who had just taken leave.
His visit was quite unexpected, and none was more surprised
at it than Bossuet.  " What is it?  What has happened?" he
asked, endeavoring to be overheard by no other.
" Wbhat has happened? Nothing. I stood in need of a little
fresh air."
"God be praised i I trembled lest it should be to-"
"To what?"
" I scarcely know; but at any rate I was afraid it might be
something. That would have been all that was wanting to-"
"All that was wanting, you say? Something then already-"
" No,-that is to say,-however-"
" There is something, I see-"
" Well, yes, something. But why did you come? It would
have been a thousand times better that you should not know
it-"
"Perhaps. But since that cannot be, tell me. What is it
about? Do not leave me in-"
"I have seen the king again."




280                 THE PREACHER
" Well 2."
"LIe appears decided not to go to the chapel, or at least to retire before the serlnon."
Bourdaloue contained himself; but in vain, he could not give
himself the air of a man receiving'a piece of bad news. In presence of something you apprehend, it is in vain that reason tells
you, it would be unfortunate if it were not to take place, you
cannot help feeling a certain joy at the thought of escaping it.
"Do not be too certain of this," continued Bossuet.  "L e will
come. HI-e shall come, I tell you-"
The preacher's brow again clouded.
"And how can you force him to come?" he asked.
" Ie will come; —he must-"
The fact is, that Bossuet had not yet formed any definite plan,
and did not very well know how to go to work.
" But what has happened?" asked Bourdaloue.
" The queen sent for me; secretly, as you may well imagine.
I found her in a retired cabinet, pale and trembling. You know
her; the very idea of doing anything unknown to her husband,
is enough to throw her into a mortal agony. She knew of the
departure of Mme. de Montespan; she knew, also, or rather-she
suspected, that I had had something to do with it.  She asked
me what was my share in it, and when I had told her all that I
could properly tell her, she thanked me with tears in her eyes,
conjuring me not to allowv myself to be rebuffed, to continue to
be her protector. That is the word she used. Her protector!
The queen! She opened her heart to me. I found nothing
that I would not have been certain I would have found there, if
I had ever been permitted to read it. What she has suffered!
The insults and tears she has endured and concealed! What
has been observed by the court, is nothing to what she has been
obliged to endure in private.  Would you believe it? She feels




AND  TIHE  KING.                     281
a sincere affection for her first rival.*  The cruel haughtiness of
the second, has inspired her with a kind of gratitude for the gentleness and humility of the woman who knew at least how to
blush for her shame, and who never appeared before her save
with eyes cast down, and as if imploring forgiveness. I was
confounded to hear the queen speak of Mme. de Valliere as one
speaks of a person to whom one feels bound by a common disgrace.  What does she lack, I thought, in what point does she
fail, that she does not at least find people who seem  to be interested in her sufferings,t this unhappy queen?  Alas! she
lacks that for the adornment of her virtue, which so many others
use to adorn their vice; she lacks talent, wit,-and her very
beauty, if she were beautiful, would only serve to render her
want of it more conspicuous.  It was not a wife like her, that
the king should have had. Even when he loved her, (for he did
love her,) he could not find her society agreeable. But what of
that?  Would-he have been more constant to another?  To return. After I left her, and was being shown out by a concealed
staircase  "
"I can imagine," said Bourdaloue.  "It is a complete romance."
" A complete romance, as you say; only much too historical.
Here I found myself on this staircase, however, face to face with
the king!  By what accident was he passing there   N Was he
going to see the queen? It is not probable; he does not often
It was a still sadder and stranger sight, when the poor queen, a short
time afterwards, began to conciliate Mme. de Montespan, in order to obtain from her as a friend, the respect which she dared not exact as a queen.
See in Mme. de S6vign6 (June and July 1675) some curious details in regard to this singular connection.
+ The preceding year, in order to diminish somewhat the scandal of the
isolation in which she was left, the king had been obliged to double the
number of her ladies of honor. (See de S&vign6; letters of Jan. 1674.)




282                 THE  PREACHER
go.  I am a good deal inclined to think that he knew he should
meet me there. However this may be, he looked somewhat surprised. I do not know whether I looked so, but I certainly was,
and very much."
"You came from the queen?" the king said to me.
" She sent for me, sire."
"And you did not tell me of it 2"
"Would your majesty have thought of forbidding me to see
the queen?"
Hle appeared a little embarrassed; "No," he said; "but I
ought to know all."
"' To have told you beforehand, sire, would only have been an
additional insult to the queen —"
"An additional —"
"Does your Majesty believe that a woman easily loses the remembrance of their number?"' Above all, when she is assisted to count them up —"
" There was no need of that, Sire. Mme. de Montespan has
spared her nothing that could most deeply engrave the remembrance of her griefs upon her heart.  Further, I am ready to repeat to you all that she said to me; and I only wish that you yourself could have heard her. Perhaps you would have allowed
yourself to be touched, upon seeing so little bitterness in a heart
which you could not blame for being full of it. The queen is
still what she has always been towards you, gentle, loving, submissive; and her only revenge is to pray tQ God every day,
far less for her own happiness, than for the happiness and salvation of her husband, and that you may have the strengtl-'"
"Listen, Monsieur Bossuet.  I have never had a doubt of the
queen's virtue.*  If Mme. de Montespan has failed in respect to@ Louis XIV. regarded this fact with complacency. I-e strove to consider it and have it considered, as a sort of reparation of all his offences




AND THE KING.                       283
wards her, she was wrong, very wrong.  I shall give my orders
about it; and be sure that ill future —"
I shuddered.  In fcture!  Do you understand?  It was
plainly informing ume that the immorality was going to continue,
-a little more decently,-but at any rate continue.  That was
not his thought at the moment, I know; but this word was none
the less a firesh indication of the depth of the wound.
"That-that shall never happen again," he resumed, coloring.
"The queen ought to confess, in justice, that I have never in her
presence said or done any thing that could wound her.  But, to
return to the affair of to-day; the queen would certainly not wish
me to submit to hear before her and the whole court censures
which-In fact, for twelve hours I have been able to think of
nothing but this sermon.  The whole night-"
"Ah!" interrupted Bourdaloue, "it is but just that I should
not be the only one!"
"In short," resumed Bossuet, "hle declared that he would not
hear you, unless I would promise for you that your sermon should
hlave —"
"And what did you promise?"
" Nothing.  I told the king that I would not insult him  by
taking him at his word, and believing that he really was afraid
to hear the truth."
"But," said Bourdaloue, visibly annoyed, " why exact that he
should submit to hear it publicly? If the end be attained, if
he promise-"
"Ah i but that is precisely what he does not do. What has
towards the queen. This Wvas the ground generally taken in speaking
of him and his irregularities; Massillon himself makes use of it in his
funeral oration. "At least," he said, "lie never ceased to respect the
virtue of Theresa." Louis XIV. excelled, as we see, in facilitating the
labor of his apologists.




284        THE PREACHER AND THE KING.
he clefinitely promised to me?  For I scarcely think that you
will be any more disposed than I am to take this singular in ficture as a promise. No, no! Since I have had the courage to
struggle against the king, I shall have the courage to struggle
against you. I confess that I was not prepared for this latter
combat; but no matter, I will not give it up. Then my best
auxiliary against you will be yourself; you will understand, you
feel already, I do not doubt, what cowardice in the eyes of God,
in the eyes of men even, there would be in drawing back now.
Will you trust me? Do not trouble yourself any more about
any thing —"
"About any thing?"
"Yes, about any thing. Trust to me, and, when the moment
arrives, enter the pulpit. If the king be not there, not a word of
reference to him; to strike at him behind his back would be unworthy of us, unworthy of religion. If he be there, as I hope
he will be, go on your way. Say all that I heard you recite
yesterday, and I will answer for it, that even if the first two
or three phrases should shock the king, you will not arrive at
the conclusion without his being much more inclined to humble
himself than to be irritated."
"But —"
"Adieu. They are waiting for me."
And Bossuet rejoined his friends. And as he passed near
the Marquis, he said, "Was it not to-day that you were to
write to Monsieur Arnauld?"




CHAPTER XXV.
THE ROYAL CHAPEL OF VERSAILLES.
WHEN Mine. de Caylus, by birth a Protestant, relates in her
Recollections, how Madame de Maintenon had her carried off
and taken to Versailles, she says, "I cried a great deal at first;
but the next day I found the royal mass so beautiful that I no
longer hesitated to become Catholic, upon condition that I should
hear it every day."
The royal chapel of Versailles presented, in fact, a brilliant
spectacle, particularly on the days of religious solemnities.  The
majesty of the cathedrals was not to be looked for there; the locality did not admit of that; in 1675, the present chapel was
not yet built, and the former one was rather a vast saloon than
a church. But the most curious and most dazzling object, that.
which scarcely allowed a stranger time to bend his attention
upon the magnificence of the decorations and the service, was the
crowd assembled within these walls; the almost fabulous assemblage of all the great names, all the great fortunes, and all that
was most illustrious in France.  Among all these people, mingled
and crowded in the king's chapel, like the bourgeois of Paris in
their parish churches,-there were very few who did not also possess their chapel, their chaplain, and their chateau; few -who
could not have enthroned themselves somewhere, if they had
chosen, like kings; few who were not or could not have been




286                    TIIE  PREACHER
the heroes of the solemn praises of some village Bourdaloue.
But they willingly renounced all these parish church triumlphs.
They did not regret to exclhange for some narrow and obscure
lodging at the top of the palace, the vast saloons of the habitations of their fathers;  and their lordly velvet in a provincial
church, did not appear to them of half the value of the untapestried end of a bench in the chapel of Versailles.
Louis XIV. liked to see his chapel full.  Without explaining
to himself precisely why, a proud instinct made him  attach so
much the more value to the homage of his court, because this
homage was here mingled and confounded with that rendered to
God. One thing certain is, that the best part was not often
given to God. These services were scarcely regarded as more
than a ceremonial; and sincerely pious people did not hesitate
to go afterwards somewhere else to perform their devotions again,
just as one is sometimes very glad after a state dinner, to take
his seat at a humbler board, where he can at least eat in peace
and satisfy his appetite.  The real centre of the chapel, the point
whither all eyes, all thoughts were bent, was not the altar; it
was the seat of the king.  On sermon and communion days, the
monarch's place was so near the altar, that even with their eyes
fixed upon him, people could seem  to be attending a little to
* And they sold them, if it was necessary. But they did still worse
than sell them; they began not to understand that there could be any
peculiar feeling in retaining them. See how Mine. de S6vign6 ridicules
(July 10, 1675) the family de Belliere, because this old and noble family
is unwilling to part with its ancestral residence. "They could never
agree to sell it," she says, "because it is the paternal mansion, and the
shoes of the old chancellor have touched its pavement. And on account
of this old dotage, here they are lodged for twenty thousand francs of rent,
-for four hundred thousand was offered them for it. What a pity that
MoliSre is dead i He would make a good farce of it." No, _/~damne la
l.larquise; Moliere had too much heart to ridicule those, who doted enough
still to value a little the old home of their fathers.




AND  TI-IE KING.                      287
what was going on; when there was only a plain mass, as the
king remained in his gallery, all eyes had to choose between the
altar and him, and it was but in the most solemn moments, that
the officiating priest could hope to draw them  towards hilself.*
Until the king's arrival, there was moving about and conversation;f a stranger would have fancied himself in a theatre before
the rising of the curtain.  At the instant when the guards took
possession of the doors, —which fact announced that the king was
going to appear,-an absolute silence established itself everywhere,
to the remotest corners.  It was not the king for whom  they
waited; it was as if God himself, until then absent from  the
chapel, had suddenly filled it with  his presence and  glory.
There is a story told of the malice of the Duke de Brissac, major
of the guards, and the astonishment of the king one day, upon
finding the chapel almost deserted.  The duke had nothing to
do but to withdraw the guards, and to say loud enough to be
heard, that his majesty was not comling.
It is true, it would probably not have been so if Bourdaloue
* "This nation, moreover, has its king and its God. The great assemble every day in a certain temple. At the extremity of this temple, is an
altar consecrated to their God, where a priest celebrates certain mysteries, which they call holy, sacred, awe-inspiring. The nobles form a vast
circle around this altar, and remain standing with their backs turned to
the priests and the mysteries, and their faces towards their king. It is
easy to perceive a kind of worship in this usage, for the people appear to
adore their prince, and the prince to adore God." —LA BtRUYiER.
f "The Abb6 de Valbelle informed me, that after mass, his majesty
smilingly presented his almoners with a printed document, which an unknown person had circulated at Saint Germain, and in which the nobility
supplicate the king to reform the manners of his clergy, —who converse
and talk aloud, and turn their backs to the altar, before his majesty's arrival in the chapel,-and to command them to behave with at least the
sanme reverence when only God is in the chapel, as when the king is there.
This petition is very well dra-wn up. The bishops are furious at it.MME. DE SEVIGNE. 19 Jan. 1674.




288                  THE  PREACHER
had been expected to preach that day. Thle crowd may then be
imagined, when this attraction was added to that of seeing the
king, and above all, of being seen by him.  Upon these occasions
the ushers were obliged to forbid the entrance of-the chapel to a
crowd of people who usually had a right to enter; the highest
nobility alone were adclmitted, and there was not even enough
room for them.  They took a great pleasure and a great pride
in hearing at Versailles many a sermon which they had perhaps
already heard at Paris.  They exhausted themselves in guesses
as- to what the preacher was going to add, change or omit; and
finally discovered a crowd of details which had at first appeared
insignificant, to be of the greatest importance.  Then they did
not always agree as to these details; some remembered them
less distinctly than others; some had heard them one way, some
another; and this caused a thousand discussions, a thousand little disputes, the settlement of which was necessarily adjourned
until the moment when the orator in repeating his discourse,
should prove one right and the other wrong, and often both
wrong.  It was still worse when the discourse was finished.
Few works in our day make as much noise on their first appearance, as many a discourse of Bourdaloue was able to cause in a
certain circle; and if sermons have retained, particularly in
Protestant countries, the privilege of being the most fruitful subjects of conversation for many persons, we cannot be astonished
that it was so at a period when politics, newspapers, and all their
accompaniments, occupied scarcely any place in the lives of individuals and nations.  That these conversations were, or are irreproachable in regard to intention and manner, that their sole end
is always to profit as much as possible by the sermon, which is
their subject, is very dubious; but, however, it is always at least
an index of a certain religious vitality, a certain interest for religion.
On the day when all tlhat we have already related had taken




AND  THE KING.                     289
place, the chapel had never been more crowded, or to speak more
correctly, never had such a number of persons found an entrance
impossible.  The ladies having filled all the places, generally reserved for the men, the latter were crowded in the doorways, the
gratings, the outside galleries, everywhere as far as it could be
hoped the voice of the preacher could be heard.  In every corner
there was a dazzlingo confusion of feathers, embroideries, and swords,
for the men came to chapel in all the splendor of their usual costumes.  The women were forced by custom to simplify theirs, but
they strove to find materials and fashions from which simplicity
did not exclude mlagnificence, and many a dress for church, quite
plain in appearance, had often cost much dearer than a ball-dress.
For that matter, it is a pious fraud of which the tradition does
not appear to have been lost.
On this day, then, great was the commotion.  A Good-Friday
to be celebrated, a sermon to be heard from Bourdaloue, the whisperings of the evening before, the grand news of the night, for it
had not been an hour before everybody knew that the marquise
had fled,-this was amply sufficient to pique curiosity, and to deprive all other subjects of conversation of all interest. And yet
subjects were not wanting.  It was in the very hottest period
of the intrigues relative to the distribution of ranks in the army
which was about to unite, (for the last time, alas!) under the
command of Turenne; and this latter, in concert with the Prince
de Conde, had put himself openly at the head of a sort of plot
*to overthrow Louvois. There had been nothing talked of since the
beginning of the week, but certain apologies to which the king
was said to have forced the proud minister to abase himself, before the marshal.-But this was a very small thing compared
with the news of the day.
Add to this, that the king had not been seen all the morning.
His levee had only lasted a few minutes. The courtiers had
25




290                 THE PREACHER
scarcely entered his chamber, when the usher pronounced t~he
" Pass on, gentlemen!" which signified that his Majesty wished
to be alone. On one of the days of public dinners, (grand couvert) Louis XIV. would probably not have recoiled from the
annoyance of eating in public; but these never took place during
holy week, and, alone in his chamber, he had scarcely touched
the three dishes of vegetables, which were brought him as his
whole dinner the Friday and Saturday before Easter. The rumor
began to be rife, that he was going to remain shut up until evening. The people who asserted this, knew nothing more of the
matter in reality, that those to whom they mysteriously went to
communicate it. But it was with this, as with almost all l'umors,
-namely, one person had said perhaps, a second, probably, and
a third, certainly.
They came, however, very near having guessed rightly. The
hour was about to strike, and the guards had not come. The
hour struck,-nothing yet. The newsmongers triumphed.-It is
so delightful to see that happen which one has predicted, even
if it be a misfortune!
The priests were at the altar; the queen in her gallery; Bossuet, in that of his pupil. The poor daupllin did not seem to
understand much in regard to all this commotion, and his preceptor seemed not at all inclined to explain to him its cause.
That which was considered the most astonishing was not that
the king did not come, but that he had not sent word. In the
smallest as in the greatest things, he was never seen to be undecided; he never made his appearance where he was not expected;
and never failed to come where he was expected. Thus every
second, every minute added to the general anxiety, and although
there was some little constraint for the sake of the queen and the
dauphin, it was enough to cast one glance over the assemblage
to perceive all the signs of the most intense expectation.




CHAPIER XXVI.
THE STRUGGLES OF BOURDALOUE, AND THE VACILLATION OF THE KING.
LET US quit the chapel for a moment, and see what was passing elsewhere.
In the sacristy a man was walking up and down. From time
to time he approached the door, listened a moment, and then recommenced his walk. He had an extremely agitated air. His
breathing was rapid and violent; his white surplice was throbbing
above his heart. But as the hour advanced, and the dull murmurs of the chapel continued to prove that the king was not
there, a ray of joy seemed to pierce through the sombre glance
of his eye.
In the cabinet of the king a man was also walking; it was
the king himself. He was not alone.  If it had not been for
that, the question would have been decided long before, and he
would have sent orders to the chapel that he was not to be waited
*for. It had only depended upon himself to send these orders in
the morning; and nevertheless, although quite decided, he had
been in no haste to do it. Besides, having too much the feeling
of his own independence to fear that his will might appear less
firm, because he delayed to express it, he had not felt at his
ease; he had recoiled.  Without distinctly recalling the words
of Bossuet, for he had scarcely listened to him, he thought of
them in spite of himself; and although this was not sufficient to




292                 THE PREACHER
make him change his mind, it was enough.to deprive him of a
little of his habitual assurance,-of that faith in himself and his
own actions which ordinarily did not permit him even to suspect
that he deceived himself, or did wrong. This novel disposition
of mind had not escaped Bossuet in his last interview with the
king, and on this account, encouraged to attempt a last effort, he
had sent the Duke of Montausier to him.
But why not go himself? It was now neither indolence nor
fear, Difficult as had been the struggle the day before, to be
frank and bold with the king, it was now just as easy,-the battle
once commenced,-to remain frank, and to become bolder and
bolder. But he feared that his influence upon the king might
already be weakened by the continued friction of these interviews,
following one another so closely, and the duke had willingly accepted the mission, making him however promise to intervene
anew, if circumstances should require it.
We will not attempt to describe his uneasiness, his anguish.
His visit of the day before to Mme. de Montespan had made almost as much noise as the departure of the latter; in the opinion
of the court, the two events were much more closely connected
than was really the case. To the ordinary respect which all felt
for his, merit and rank, was now accordingly added all the consideration which courtiers cannot fail to have for whoever is
powerful, or seems to be so. To have caused the exile of Mme.
de Montespan! If he had been a nobody, this alone would have
made him a great personage. From the corner of his gallery, he
saw all eyes turned upon him; all the curiosity excited by the
events of the day, and the absence of the king, was transferred
to him. He affected to talk with the dauphin; but some seconds after the hour had struck, the movement of heads towards
his gallery became so universal and distinct, that he could not
avoid raising his eyes. He encountered those of the queen.




AND THE KING.                     293
She looked at him with a supplicating air, as if to recall to him
his promises of the morning. It was too much; he went out.
The Duke de Montausier had been very near arriving too late.
He had found the king coming out of his cabinet to tell his suite
to go without him.
"You are not at chapel?" the king asked, upon seeing him.
"I came from there, Sire. We only await your Majesty."
The king was silent, and re-entered his cabinet.
We have already seen what an influence the old duke exercised over Louis XIV. Bossuet did this also, doubtless, but by his
arguments;. it was enough for Montausier to make his appearance.
He followed the king, and waited. There was a long silence.
"' But it is an actual persecution i" cried the king at length.
"Do they come to look for you, if you happen to choose to stay
away from mass? -"," I never choose to stay away, Sire, except when I am ill.
Then your Majesty knows that there are certain points in which
a king is less free than the lowest of his subjects-"
"Ah!" said the king, " there has been pains enough taken
to remind me of it for the last two days. I thought it was finished. It seems to me I have done enough-"
"You have done nothing, if you do not finish.  A Good
Friday,-two days before Easter! I do not believe that a king
of France has ever failed-"
" No king of France has ever found himself in my present position."
"So much the more reason for you to seek from God the peace
which you do not find a mong men. The chapel.-"
"What should I do there? My mind would be elsewhere.
The service would only fatigue me; the sermon-"
He stopped. " Well! the sermon?" said the inexorable Montausier.
25e




294        THE PREACHER  AND THE KING.
"The sermon? Don't speak to me of it again. I have been
very indulgent to allow so much to be said to me of it-"
"Listen, Sire. It is very easy not to speak to you of it any
more; but it is no longer in any one's power to prevent all the
court, all France from  talking of it.  Come and hear it, and
soon nothing more will be said of it; stay here, and it will soon
be the talk of all Europe.' He was afraid,' they will say-"
The king made a movement.
" Yes, afraid," resumed the duke; " will it be a falsehood?
But what am I saying to you! Chase away these mliserable considerations of pride.  Come, because it is your duty; come, because God and the world have an equal right to exact it. Come.
Ah! Sire, will you be deaf to the voice of an old servant? It is
the first favor he has ever asked from you; it will be the last,
please God. But come,-the hour is already past. In the name
of your salvation, your glory, come-"
And he was very near taking the king by the arm. That
would have been going too far. The king followed him, fascinated;-slowly, it is true, and with a still visible reluctance.
"Come;" he said, once more; and he opened the door.-Bossuet was the other side of it.
"You have been there 1" said the king, stupefied.
" No, sire, I have just come. They were just about to announce nle."
" Let his Majesty pass!-Aside!" cried the duke.
And tile king passed out in silence.




CHAPTER XXVII.
BOURDALOUE S SERMON.
HIs guards only arrived at the same moment with himself.
Nothing having announced his coming, the sensation it caused
was so much the greater. He was pale; and it was remarked,
that instead of casting around the assembly his accustomed slow
and scrutinizing glance, he seemed in haste to bury himself in
his arm-chair.
In spite of the silence established in the chapel by his presence,
it was still easy to perceive something unusual in all looks, and
that indescribable something in all attitudes which betrays agitation beneath immovability, and noise beneath stillness. The service commenced. Never was an assembly more devout in appearance, less so in reality; never had the lugubrious chants of GoodFriday appeared to make so much impression, and never had
they in reality made less. At the most they contributed to
keep alive in all hearts that internal tremor which seizes one at
the approach of a great event, or at the theatre, upon; the approach of the denouement.
This denouement was the sermon.
But what did any one know of this?  Who had said that
this would not be an ordinary sermon, and that the king would
not be free to go away just as he had come?  Who had told
this? Nobody. They had thought the king would not come;




296                 THE PREACHER
and we know how near they were being right, they guessed that
the sermon contained a storm, and we have seen whether they
were mistaken. By dint of studying the variations of the royal
atmosphere, the courtiers had become surprisingly expert in seizing and interpreting them,-like those old seamen of whom one
might almost say, that they do not feel, but see the wind. And
then, on this occasion they had not been reduced to reason fiom
mere shadows. We have seen that all the court knew of Bossuet's nocturnal visit to Bourdaloue. The king's reluctance to
come to chapel, his lateness, his manner,-all this did not seem
to them sufficiently explained by the absence of Mme. de Montespan. In short, Bourdaloue had not yet ascended the pulpit,
before everybody was certain that he was going to strike a great
blow; if some had doubted it before he made his appearance, his
agitation, his paleness, could no longer leave them in doubt.
It was not that he was still afraid. So long as the uncertainty
had remained, and he had been obliged to struggle against the
unfortunate desire,-entirely mechanical,-not to be obliged to
preach before the king,-he had suffered horribly; the king once
arrived, he felt himself quite another person.-Who has not felt
this? When the danger is uncertain, the bravest are uneasy; if
it is there,-visible, palpable, and all escape is impossible, the
most timid will become bold. And besides, this word timid did
not apply to Bourdaloue; it had required a peculiar combination
of circumstances to throw him into the distress in which we have
seen him.
But he seemed destined to experience on this day all the possible alternations of weakness and strength, courage and hesitation. Although accustomed to command an audience eig;ht or
ten times as numerous, he found himself at this moment the
object of too lively, too piercing an attention, not to be confounded by it. If he had suspected nothing, perhaps he would have




AND  THE KING.                     297
perceived nothing, or would have attributed this to an increased
interest in himself, in his discourse; but how could he deceive
himself?  He could not even t ake upon him to have recourse to
the method which he ordinarily used with success against the
treacheries of his memory,-that of closing his eyes.  In spite
of himself, he sought to read inl those of the king the effect of
his slightest words, and as the king on his side only listened with
uneasiness and distrust, it was impossible that a little of this agitation should not pierce through the usual impassability of his
features.  It was a curious sight to observe these two men, both
so skilful in impressing others, thus mutually impressing and fascinating each other.
The king was very nearly vanquished.
Bourdaloue was still in his exordiumrn, when a desperate temptation, a bewildering idea took possession of his mind.  Here he
is in the pulpit; he has no more counsels or orders to receive;
he is his own master.  What is to hinder him from not delivering this horrible peroration, the cause of all his distraction! He
will not take up his former one again, oh no 1 That is decidedly
too inadmissible, and more so at this time than ever.  "I have
reasonfor consolation" —for shame!  Never, no, never will he
say to the king anlly thing like that or approaching it. He will
not recite that then, it is settled. He will be able to find a few
words to replace it; he will improvise, if he must; he will finish
as he best can,-and everybody will be satisfied.
And every time that he arrived at this conclusion he seemed
to hear sounding from the depths of his heart these words of
Claude; "Except God!"
" Yes," he thought, " except God,-and Bossuet, and Montausier, and the queen, and my conscience,-and some from piety,
and some from curiosity,-and the king himself,-the king.Ashamed of having trembled, he will console himself only by




298                 THE PREACHER
despising him who made him tremble-for nothing-and whc
did not dare to go on-"
And the sermon went on its way; and all this was whirling
through the head of the orator; and the nearer the moment drew
when he would be forced to decide, the more terrified he was
not to know which side to take. Twenty times he was on the
point of losing the thread of his discourse; twenty times he
would have lost.it had his memory been less tenacious; if like
a circus rider standing upon a galloping horse, the very rapidity of his course had not tended to preserve his equilibrium.
But at the least shock, the least phrase omitted or changed,
all would have been broken, upset, lost. He felt this, and it gave
only the more vehemence to his utterance. Never had he been
in reality so absent in mind, never in appearance so devout.
In the arts, a power once discovered, you may apply it to everything; in eloquence, once agitated, all your words receive from
this fact a new life, even when the subject of which you speak
has nothing, or scarcely anything in common with the primitive
cause of this agitation. Agitated, alarmed, so long as emotion
and terror do not go so far as to seal your lips, you are eloquent.
And thus, he was most eloquent. Since the close of the exordium the greater part of the hearers were his own; but he was
still making vain efforts to be theirs. The events of the day,the preoccupations of the next day,-the sublime thought of the
Passion, began to absorb all, and he, who knew so well how to
discover all the miseries in the obscurest folds of these hearts
which opened at his voice,-he allowed these miseries to fill and
to gnaw his own. Oh! for a moment of solitude! For a corner to pray in! to place this insupportable burden at the foot of
the cross! But no, he must go on; he must drag it to the
end. He is in the middle of his discourse. He draws near the
cl;k.,-and he does not yet know what he shall do. Another




AND THE KING.                      299
page, and hesitation will no longer be possible.  Another phrase
only,-two more words. His head grows dizzy, his knees totter
beneath him.  Hie dashes on blindly; with a concentrated violence he lets go the first words which come into his mouth.  All
is lost! It is not the peroration of Claude; it is his own; the
one over which he has groaned; the one which he wished to
efface with his tears and his blood. It is as if the devil had
whispered it in his ear.
But suddenly he stops, and grows pale. As he turned his
lead, in order at least to spare himself the shame of pronouncing
before the king's very face, these praises which seem like burning coals upon his lips, —what does he see there, in that corner?
A grave, motionless, majestic countenance, which is distinctly
defined against the long folds of a black mantle.
It is he,-the Protestant! It is Claude!
Bourdaloue is annihilated. He slowly bows his head; he
clasps his hands.
But oh wonder! he rises again.-The fire of his eyes breaks
forth again; his head is upright and steady; his voice vibrates.
-It is your turn, Louis le Grand!No one save Claude, had perceived the motive of the interruption, no one imagined it to be anything else but an oratorical ruse; but the movement had been too natural, too true,
too terrible, not to have a prodigious effect.  The orator had
perceived, as by the ray of a flash of lightning, all the advantage he was going to derive from it.
"I have, nevertheless, reason to console myself-"  It was at
these words that Bourdaloue had perceived Claude, and that
he had risen to fall no more.
"To console myself," he repeated, slowly.  "Ah my brethren, what was I about to say! Is it at this hour, when the
cross is being erected, that I can have the courage to praise?




300                 THE PREACHER
Does not this blood, which is about to flow for all men, cry
out to nme that all are sinners?  And shall I dare, I, to make one
exception! No, sire, no! I will not set you apart; I would
not wish that your diadem should prevent your receiving today upon your brow, like the humblest of your subjects,some drops of the blood which purifies and saves!-"
The way was open; he had now but to go on. And not only
had the orator decided to omit nothing, but further,-sure henceforth of himself and his courage, he was in no haste to reach
the pages of Claude. It was with a kind of pride and pleasure,
that he dwelt upon the idea by which he had begun to approach
theml.
W Vo!'; he continued, " wo to him who should keep out of
this multitude for which Jesus died!  VWo to the king who
should imagine that there are two roads to heaven, one for
hiinself, and one for his people.-1Or rather yes, yes, there are
two.-But the narrowest, the most rugged, the one in which
aid and pity is the most needed, is that in which walk those
men who are surrounded with so many dangers, so many temptations. It is yours, oh kings, oh ye gods of the earth!"
And Bourdaloue then went on to the illusions under which a
king labors, as to the nature and extent of his vices. lIe wheeled
around his prey; the circle grew smaller and smaller; it was
solemn,-terrible.-There was many an old soldier present, whose
heart had never before throbbed so quickly.
At last Bourdaloue gave place to Claude. The lion ceased to
turn, and walked straight up to the enemy. At the first words
of this fresh passage, which, although admirably brought in, yet
contrasted somewhat with the preceding phrases, —an imperceptible'shudder ran through the assembly. Happily, the king cast
down his eyes, which somewhat relieved the agonies of those
present. If he had but fiowned, they would have wished the




AND THE KING.                      301
earth to swallow them, and we will not answer for what the orator himself would have said or done. But the king did not
move. After having cast down his eyes, he also bent down his
head.
It was because once caught in the double net of religion and
eloquence, he felt that debate was not longer possible.  People
of his temper do nothing by halves. That subjugation which had
so long taken place to the impure despotism  of a mistress, was
in this moment transferred to the sacred despotism  of faith,
morals, and genius.  Besides, in lending his weapons to Bourdaloue, Claude had been careful not to mingle with them any of
those irritating darts which annoy rather than kill, and which
by exasperating the enemy, only restore him all his power. He
knew that a word, a single word, is enough to destroy the effect
of twenty reasons.  A combat of pin-pricks would have appeared
to him unworthy of the pulpit, and imprudent, above all, with a
man like the king.  Blows fiom a heavy club alone would answer.
If the chapel had been peopled with statues, the silence could
not have been more profound, nor the immovability more perfect.
From time to time a sound was audible, like that of a stifled
sob; it appeared to proceed from the seats of the queen. —But
who would have dared to raise his head, or turn it to see if it
was her?-It was the queen in fact. Her tearful eyes, wandered
from the king to Bourdaloue, from Bourdaloue to Bossuet.  The
latter might have seen her, but he did not, his eyes, his soul were
elsewhere.  HIe had scarcely seen her when he re-entered the
chapel, and taken the place from which her supplicating look had
driven him before. It was only at the close.that their eyes met,
and that he read in those of the queen, a gratitude, of which, in
fact, he deserved the greater part.
Bourdaloue saw nothing, heard nothing.  His eager eyes never
26




302        THE PREACHER AND THE KING.
quitted the king;-he held him with his glance, as with his
words and gestures. There was no longer the slightest trace of
indecision, of terror. I-Ie dashed headlong into passages which
he had most dcireaded beforehand; he pronounced with a vigorous
assurance, those words which he had trembled at in reading;
and like a soldier, intoxicated with noise and powder,he rejoiced
in his triumph, and thirsted for warfare and victory. And now
Louis, frown if thou wilt; raise thyself; —raise thine eyes.What is that to him? He knows, he feels that he has that which
will make thee lower them again.
But the more complete the victory appeared, the more towards
the close, he felt another uneasiness increase. This discourse of
which the triumph is no longer doubtful,-he is not really the
author of it, since the principal passage in it is not his own;
and commendations will be showered upon him. —Ie cannot accept them. Did his conscience permit him, Claude is there.
Refuse them? But how? By naming the author? That would
be almost a scandal. WTitllout naming him? People would
lose themselves in conjectures, and the sermon itself would be
forgotten for the mystery connected with it.
The end of the sermon came before he had decided.




C IIAPT ER   X XVIII.
THE SERMON IS AT LENGTH OVER.
TWENTY minutes after, the services were over. They had been
shortened as much as possible. The grand almoner, the Cardinal de Bouillon, was not a little in haste to escape from the constraint and emotions of such a scene.
The king frequently stopped, as he left the chapel, in a little.
saloon contiguous, which was for this reason commonly called
the king's sacristy.  Few persons took the liberty of following
him here; it was a sort of familiar reunion, which, indeed, never
lasted more than a quarter of an hour at most.  On sermon
*days, the discourse which had just been pronounced, generally
formed the subject of conversation.
It was notso on this day, as may well be imagined. If the
king appeared very little disposed to speak of what he had just
heard, the people of his suite were still less disposed to ask him
what he thought of it. They were even considerably embarrassed
as to how they should act. If they remained silent, it would be
as much as to say to the king that they had seen all, understood
all. It was better to speak; but what should they say? The
Duke de la Feuillade made an effort, and with the courage of
desperation said:" How excessively warm! (two months earlier he would have
said, how excessively cold!)  Would one think that we are only.in the beginning of April?"




304                 THE PREACHER
No answer.
"It is not so warm here," he added judiciously.  "But in the
chapel the crowd-"
"What hour is it?" asked the king.
"The hour that pleases your Majesty."'
The poor duke had not his equal for insipid and mean adulation. But this time he had his trouble for his pains. The king
drew out his watch, casting at him  a look of contempt.  Decidedly the sermon was taking effect. But where?  On the surface or in his heart. God alone could know this as yet.
There was a silence.
" Is he still there?" asked the king, a moment after.
Father Bourdaloue, sire 2"
"Yes. Bring him to me."
There was a crowd in the sacristy. Bourdaloue would willingly have escaped, but this was the usage. Louis XIV. being
accustomed to compliment his preachers when they had particularly distinguished themselves, the courtiers were -always in haste
to do the same, even before him. Besides, any preacher liked by
the king, stood a chance of being his confessor some day, and
there was not a duke or peer so wrapped up in his own greatness, that he was not enchanted to get into the good graces of a
future confessor of the king.
The Marquis de Fenelon had already addressed to the preacher, not his compliments, for he said that compliments were only
for lawyers and actors, but his congratulations upon his courage,
and thanks for the good which he had done. Bourdaloue received them zwith a constrained and embarrassed air; and when
Bossuet also approached, not without difficulty on account of the
crowd, he said in a low voice, extending his hand to Bossuet:
"I have something to say to you, gentlemen.  Leave me, I
* Historical. " The earthquake which the king felt at Marly," says




AND THE KING.                     305
conjure you; leave me-these felicitations distress me. As soon
as we are out of this- "
They looked at him with astonishment. It was at this moment that he was summoned in the king's name. Claude had
remained to examine the splendors of this place, which it was
little probable he would ever revisit. While crossing the chapel,
Bourdaloue perceived him, and seemed at first to wish to avoid
him. He hastened his pace, then slackened it; at length going
straight up to him, he said:
"Come, come!"
Claude was standing before a painting, and as he turned around
in amazement, Bourdaloue repeated:
"Come, I tell you, come-do not keep me, the king is waiting.
Place yourself there." It was at the door of the king's sacristy.
In the meantime, Bossuet and Monsieur de Fne6lon had followed Bourdaloue. Already much surprised to see the minister
in the chapel, they were naturally still more so, at what their
fiiend had said to him, and above all, at the peculiar manner in
which he had summoned him.
" What is it?" they asked Claude.
" But, gentlemen, it is rather for me to ask; I do not know."
" Is it that Father Boudaloue wished to present you to the king?"
"To the king! Me? Is the king there?"
"Did you not know it?"
" No, not at all. Present me to the king! to the king!"
Hie fell from the clouds, but he began to guess.
"Well, my father," the king had said to Bourdaloue, in a
much more easy tone than one would have expected to.hear already, "you ought to be satisfied, it seems to me. Mme. de
Montespan is at Clagny-"
Dangeau somewhere. Precisely as if the king had been the only one to
feel it, or as if the earthquake had been performed in his honor.
26*




306                THE  PREACHER
"Yes, sire. But God would be still better satisfied if Clagny
were seventy leagues from VYersailles."*
"What! you distrust me still? —"
What should he answer? Happily the king did not allow
him time.
"I thank you for your sermon," he resumed.
Under this apparent sincerity which he himself perhaps bt
lieved sincere, it was the old man which returned. The real
subject of his satisfaction was not that the sermon had been good
or powerful; it was, alas! that it was finished, and that the trial
was over.
And as Bourdaloue bowed with a somewhat incredulous air;
- "yes," continued the king, "yes,-I thank you.  I never
heard any thing so-so-   Never-   The close particularly —"
Bourdaloue started.
" But calm yourself," resumed the king, who began to remark
his agitation, and grew firmer in consequence.  "IDo I look
displeased?"
And he did not look so, in fact.
" It was your duty-you have fulfilled it. But what a discourse! what eloquence! "
A fresh movement; fresh praises. The king had evidently
resumed the upper hand. He was enchanted to spend all the
emotion which the sermon had caused him in praising the style,
-in order not to be obliged to speak again of the subject; and
he took, or feigned to take every movement of Bourdaloue for
modesty, and only praised him the more.
"You must give it to me," he said at length; "you must give
me this peroration. I wish to read it again. I wish-"
"Sire  "
"You would refuse?-But I do not see-"
* Historical.




AND THE KING.                    307
"This portion of the sermon-"
" WVell 2'
"Is not by me."
"And by whom, then?
Bourdaloue went quickly to the door.-" Come," he said.
" Come  "
" How!" cried the king, on perceiving Bossuet; " it was by
Monsieur de Condom!-"
" No, sire, by Monsieur Claude. And I have the honor to
present him to you."
Ten years afterwards, Louis XIV. sent Claude a purse of an
hundred louis, and one of his valets-de-chlambre to serve him.
It is true that it was the next day after the revocation of the
Edict of Nantes, and that Claude was quitting France never to
return.








TWO EVENINGS
AT THE HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.
MARCH 1644.
IT is said that a young abbe who promised to be a great
preacher, was introduced at the hotel de Rambouillet by the
Marquis de FeuquiBres. It was proposed to him to extemporize
a sermon on a text chosen at hazard.  He accepted; but the
evening being too far advanced, the thing was put off till the
next day. At this point we commence the relation of the following occurrences.*
* Although this narrative, published in 1839, has been reprinted by
a number of journals, the author thought that the readers of " The
Preacher anzd the King," would perhaps be glad to find it here. 1644
should precede 1675, but as the two works are entirely distinct, there
was no impropriety in placing the most important first."








CHAPTER I.
BOSSUET.
As hour afterwards our young man had returned to the College of Navarre, and was walkinig up and down his cell with
long strides. A half extinguished lamp cast its vacillating rays
upon three chairs, a bed, and a table, all of themn coveied with
books and papers.  An icy wind poured down the chimney and
through the window; the ashes from the hearth flew about the
chamber; the papers fluttered about; the leaves of the open
books seemed turned over by invisible fingers. But nevertheless,
he dreamed neither of closing his window, nor reviving his fire.
There are moments when man the animal, no longer exists.
The soul disencumbers itself of that narrow seam* which unites
it with the body, and communicates, so to speak, to this dull
companion of its captivity all its lightness, all its invulnerability.
After a long silence; " Why is not to-morrow here!" he cried,
stamping his foot.  "Still twenty mortal hours! The idiots!'It is late,' they said. To deprive me of such a triumph!-"
Hie bit his lips at this word, and turned around quickly, as if
to assure himself that no one had heard him; then in a lower
voice repeated, " Well, yes, —triumzph. Why not? In a sudden
effort, am I not always sure of myself? Have I not made the
trial twenty times? I should have succeeded-all would now
* MONTAIGNE.




312             TWO  EVENINGS  AT THE
be finished-but to-morrow-to-morrow    To-morrow I shall
have had time to measure the danger; to-morrow I shall tremble, —to-morrow I shall stammer-"
And he seated himself with a shudder, and with a look of anguish he scanned this interminable day, which he would have
wished to annihilate at the price of a year of his life; and his
imagination retraced all the scenes of the evening,-the saloon
with its thousand lights,-its crowd of noble ladies, and great
lords, and beaux esprits.  He pictured to himself all these eyes
fixed upon him, all these countenances ready, at the least blunder, to break into a malicious and discouraging smile; all these
authors disposed to criticize him  if he succeeded, to overwhelm
him if he failed.  In vain he endeavored to remind himself with
with what benevolence he had been received, with what interest
his talents had been spoken of; in vain he sought in his memory for the compliments full of sincerity and indulgence which
so many great people had addressed to him,-particularly the
Prince de Cond67,- as well as Monsieur de Montausier, future
son-in-law of Mine. de Rambouillet, and director of these soir6es of
which the beautiful Julie was the soul.  It was in vain; he always found himself followed by two things equally calculated to
torture him; on the one hand the dread of a failure; on the
other the enthusiastic inspiration which he trembled to feel grow
calmer.
He was, in fact, possessed of an ardent desire, or rather let us
say, with an insatiable need of success and glory.  A crowd of
little triumphs had signalized his earliest studies.  At the college
of Dijon, his native place, all the prizes had been his; in the
college of Navarre at Paris, he had just sustained, at the age of
seventeen years, a philosophico-theological thesis, of which the
whole city had talked; the famous Doctor Nicholas Cornet was
* The great Cond6, then Duke d'Enghien.




HOTEL DE RAMBOUIILLET.                   313
proud to count him among his disciples, and had perhaps allowed
this to be too evident. Thus, dreams of greatness and fortune
pursued him in all his labors, and even into the most insignificant
actions of his life. Never, for instance, had he been seen to minlgle in the sports of his companions, scarcely ever was he seen to
laugh.-Student, lhe was a philosopher; sub-deacon, he was a
prelate; but he was already one of the small number of men who
are able to gain pardon for not acting like others.
Do not imagine, however, that the worship of fame was his
only religion, and that in embracing the ecclesiastical state, he had,
like so many others, only dreamed of the dignities and revenues
of the church. Hie possessed piety, and even a great deal of
piety.  While dreaming of a bishopric, of the Roman purple, of
the tiara perhaps, —he labored to become a good pastor. But
he closely associated his own triumphs with those of the Church;
he found himself before the very altar, imploring God, as if by
instinct, to give him the courage and power to command his age;
he wished, like St. Bernard in his time, to be the oracle of the
church, and the light of the papal power. It was with a profound conviction that he devoted his genius to the service of
Catholicism. But, once launched into controversy, the cause of
the church became a little too much his cause, and he claimed
in advance, a great part of the victories which he hoped to make
it achieve. It may be judged, after this, what would be his agitation and anguish in the situation in which we have just described
him. He saw before him an opportunity of gathering more laurels
perhaps, than in ten years of the seminary or of priesthood.
Midnight was about to sound, when a gust of wind completed
the extinguishing of his lamp. The darkness withdrew him
from his reverie; he perceived that he was cold; and as if his
body had waited for the permission of his mind, before it yielded
to nature, his limbs began to tremble, his teeth to chatter, and
27




314             TWO  EVENINGS AT THE
the window resisted his benumbed hands for a long time. —ie
went to bed. His body frozen, his head on fire, he sought sleep
for a long time, and found only that feverish drowsiness, more
tormenting even than sleeplessness.  His ears were filled with
strange noises. Sometimes -the whispers of the saloon at Rambouillet; then an endless series of barbarous syllogisms, sad remains of Master Cornet's lessons; sometimes the organ, sometimes the bell of Notre Dame; then the chapel of the Louvre,
the king, the court, the coveted pulpit, and a sermon to be delivered, of which he could not remember a single word; then
Notre Dame again; mysterious chants, clouds of incense, a pontifical high mass,-and the poor abb6 saw himself, at the right
of the altar, the mitre on his head, and the crosier in his hand,
under the crimson canopy of the archbishop.
Two of his friends ran in to him; hearing him  move, they
feared he was ill. They woke him, not without difficulty.
Somewhat confused, he assured them  that he was well, and
thanked them for their care: " It is only a bad dream," he said,
forcing a smile; but for fear of renewing the same scene, he
rose, and went to reading some chapters of the Sacred Scriptures.
Alas! these inspired pages, usually so efficacious in calming the
inquietudes of life, only increased his at this moment. Each
verse that he read, he imagined as his text for the next day, and
began to meditate upon it, not as a Christian, seeking nourishment for his soul, but as a preacher looking out for his points
and ideas. Therefore he soon shut the book, and falling on his
knees, he besought the RIuler of hearts to send clown into his,
more calm and humility.  But it was in vain that he struggled
to ask nothing more; another wish filled his soul; another word
hovered upon his lips, and after having repulsed it for a long time,
he cried with violence, "My God! my God! grant that I may
succeed 1"




HOTEL. DE RAMBOUILLET.                   315
Let us now transfer ourselves to the cabinet of Monseigneur
Pierre de Gondi, Archbishop of Paris.  Seated before a good fire,
with his breviary in his hand, the old -man was conversing with
one of his secretaries.  "Apropos," he said, after a pause.  "Has
this young abbe been summoned 2"
"Yes, Monseigneur, he is conling."  " Good.  I have for a
long time wished to see if he is equal to all that is said of him.
But I was waiting for an opportunity; I did not wish him to believe that I sent for him from curiosity.  They say he has more
need of humility than encouragement.  We shall see.  Go and
say that hIe is to come in as soon as he arrives-"
The secretary went out, and the archbishop took from one of
the shelves of his library three or four thick books, which he began to turn over. To judge from the dust which covered them,
you would not have been able to doubt a moment, that it had
been many a long year since Monseigneur had disturbed their repose. When the door was opened, he put them precipitately
into their places, and took his seat again in his arm-chair.
Upon the reception of the archbishop's message, our subdeacon
had not doubted that it had something to do with his purposed
extemporization.  A  new  torment.  What did Monseigneur
want? To permit or forbid it? To encourage or condemn?
He exhausted himself in conjectures. And, besides; he did not
himself know what to desire or fear. Sometimes trembling lest
lie should fail, he wished that a formal interdict would arrive,
closing the lists, and honorably terminating his anguish; sometiines, become himself again and feeling all his courage revive,
it was with grief and despair that he apprehended this same
prohibition.  " He would not have sent for me," he thought to
himself, "-to give me an authorization for which I did not ask,
lie would be contented with letting me go on."  And with diffi



316             TWO  EVENINGS AT THE
culty he repressed a burning tear. When he was conducted into
the presence of the archbishop, he scarcely breathed.
"Welcome, sir," said the prelate; and he made a sign to him
to take a seat.  Then, without looking at him, and stopping after
each part of his sentence; "I learn that to-day-at Mile. de
Ralllbouillet's-you are to extemporize a sermon.  I confess that
the thing appeared to me —singular.  I do not exactly wish-to
oppose it-"
An enormous weight was removed from the young man's heart.
"But," resumed M. de Gondi, "have you well considered what
you are going to do? A sermon in a saloon! A sermon in
place of the sonnets and madrigals which abound every evening
at the hotel de Rambouillet!  You risk scandalizing one party
and making the others laugh at your expense, and, what is worse,
at the expense of religion-"
"Monseigneur-L "
"Yes; I understand; you are going to tell me that it was not
you who proposed it. I believe you; but —you are not sorry
that it has been proposed."
The young man blushed.
"We will leave the question of humility," continued the archbishop; " it is a matter entirely between yourself and your conscience. To return to what I was saying; this is a thing so unheard of, that if you fail, you will never be pardoned for having
attempted it. There are a great many verses of mediocrity recited at Mme. de Rambouilletes, which are, nevertheless, not ill
received, but as to your sermon, there is no medium; if it is not
a triumph it is a failure. Have you considered all this well l"
" Perhaps not sufficiently, Monseigneur; however,-if I may
venture to say so,-this reflection-"
" Whell?"
"I think that I should have left it behind. True, I have never




HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.                  317
yet had the honor of appearing in the pulpit, and it must be seven
or eight years before I can do so-but-I have practised a great
deal —"'And with success, I am told," interrupted the prelate.
Our young man had already recovered most of his confidence;
this little praise completed its restoration. The conversation
gradually became more familiar. M. de Gondi questioned him
upon a great number of subjects; and they even got so far as a
little discussion upon some passage of Saint Augustine. It was
not for nothing that the archbishop had turned over his old folios. He quoted, quoted again, but although this was more than
enough to induce the belief that he was a deep student of theology, it was not enough to disconcert his adversary, who although
taken at unawares, opposed phrase to phrase and author to
author with an admirable art. At each new answer, he displayed the judgment of his mind and the vivacity of his imagination. Hle spoke of the human heart like an old man; of
eloquence, like a finished orator; of the evangelical ministry
like a priest grown gray in the pastoral office. M. de Gondi
having observed that a true preacher ought to propose to himself
to affect more than to please;" Be easy, Monseigneur, be easy on that score. I intend to remember it this evening. Let God but aid me, and there will be
tears in the saloon of Mme. de Rambouillet!"
And his physiognomy assumed, at these words, such an expression of grandeur and authority, that the good archbishop, with
his eyes fixed upon him, found not a word to say. He perceived
it, and blushed still more than the first time.?' Pardon me," he said, casting down his eyes; "I forget to
whom I am speaking. You must have found me very presumptuous-"
"Courage, mny son, courage!' said M. de Gondi; "I like this




318            TWO  EVENINGS AT TIIE
impetuosity in a young man. In noamine Demosthenis et Ciceronis, ego te absolvo!"  And he accompanied these words with
the gesture which the priests employ in pronouncing the usual
form of absolution. The young man bent his knee, kissed the
prelate's hand, and retired. They were both satisfied.
Let us be pardoned these two excursions away from the hotel
de Rambouillet. They were necessary in order to form some
acquaintance with the hero of our evening.
Mme. de Rambouillet, a woman of true piety, but a little scrupulous, scarcely approved of what was going to take place in her
house; she was very near finding it scandalous. However, not
venturing to oppose the almost unanimous wish of the company,
she endeavored at least to save appearances. It was decided
that the ladies should dress simply, that the violins, (for they
had music every evening,) should be countermanded; and finally, that neither prose nor verse should be read all the evening.
She sent for a hundred straw chairs from the neighboring church,
and two workmen were occupied during the day upon something
which was covered with a cloth, and bore no bad resemblance to
a pulpit. On the right -was placed a large crucifix, and in a
cabinet transformed into a sacristy, a white surplice awaited the
orator.
The assembly was quite complete at an early hour. The
habitues of the house would not on any account have missed so
novel a spectacle; those who were absent the evening before,
had been informed by M. de Feuquihres of the glorious trial to
which his proteye was about to be submitted. The Prince de
Cond6 had brought all his firiends, and the Vicompte de Turenne,
although a Protestant, had arrived among the first, after having
well assured himself, however, that there was to be no mass.
In this age, high society passed easily, and without any scruples, from nworldly pleasures to religious exercises; in spite of




HOTEL DE RIAMBOUILLET.                   319
the saying, they managed without much trouble at the same
time to serve God and the world.  It was doubtful if the best
part were always given to Godc; but, nevertheless, people went to
mass before dressing themselves for the ball; and mlanaged, between two f6tes, to put on all the exterior of a conventual life.
Many persons did not even con.tent themselves with externals,
but contrived to be, if it were but for an hour or two, deeply and
truly pious!
The latter, however, were not the majority, in our company.
There was less loud talking than usual; but here stopped all
the seriousness which it was thought proper to affect. The
change made in the arrangement of the saloon had at first contributed to preserve a certain gravity; Mme. de Rambouillet
taking the thing seriously, they were afraid of displeasing her.
But habit carried the day; the usual furniture was remembered,
and this disguise, so far from preparing the audience for religious
emotions, caused the secret risibility of all the young people
present. The orator himself did not behold these singular preparations without surprise, and was only tolerably pleased with
them.  It was no longer a saloon, but still less was it a church.
Never was a sermon waited for in so ill-disposed a frame of
mind.
Hat in hand, M. de Montausier went through the crowd, and
received a number of tickets.  A new subject for amusement;
they imagined a beadle taking up a collection, and the grave collector, into whose head also the idea came, had trouble enough
to preserve his gravity.  " For the poor!" he said in a low voice,
presenting the hat to a lady.  "For the poor in spirit," added a
malicious wit, and stifled laughter was heard all along that side,
of the saloon. Besides, from  certain glances which were exchanged during the collection, it would have been easy to understand that a conspiracy was set on foot against the door orator,




320            - TWO  EVENINGS AT TIII
and that they had agreed to embarrass him by obscure and difficult subjects. Disappointment was accordingly depicted on more
than one countenance when a lady drew from  the hat these
beautiful and simple words from Ecclesiastes; "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."
The orator had gone out; he was summoned.  He took the
paper; his hand trembled.  But he had scarcely glanced at it,
when a burning color flushed his cheek, and he half raised his
eyes to heaven.  The most malicious did not fail to attribute
this movement to a feeling of terror; but those nearest to him
could easily read in his features an emotion of joy and hope.
He breathed at length.  There was no longer any fear; he was
certain of himself.  He had already fathomed all the riches of
his subject.  Glory and nothingness, pride and ruin, the delights
of the world, the horror of the tomnb, this sublime and terrible
contrast so rich in instructions, in pictures, in developments of
every sort,-this he had perceived; this he was going to set
forth with all the freedom of genius to this crowd of rich voluptuaries.  What a subject! Could he have made a better choice
himself? Accordingly, although a quarter of an hour was given
him for preparation, he directed his steps immediately to the pulpit, and ascended with unfaltering tread.  People looked at each
other in silence; this already was more than had been expected.
The laughers ceased laughing; the others felt their hearts beat.
He had, however, the wisdom  not to abandon himself from
the beginning to the impulses of his soul.  " Fire in the exordiu?Z, is but a fire of straw," said Dulmarsais a century afterwards. The audience not having seemed to pay any great attention to the sublimity of the text, it would have been very hazardous to present to them ex abruNpto, such an idea in its terrifying
nakedness; there is but one step firom the grand to the pedantic,
and always a slippery one for a young man. He commenced,




HOTEL DE RAIBOUILLET.                   321
then, with the greatest simplicity.  "IReligion loves to present
to us the picture of our miseries; she would convince us
that nothing in this life really deserves our care and trouble;
and thus, that all our earthly affairs ought to be subordinate to
the great thought of eternity-"  Such was the idea of his exordium.  Nothing brilliant, few or no figures, nothing ambitious,
nothing, in fact, which seemed to aim at effect; and yet all were
struck and impressed.  The preacher's voice was calm, grave,
majestic, his gestures rare and dignified. It was evident that to
himn this was not merely an intellectual trial; his words proceeded from the depths of his soul, and all that comes from the soul
is eloquent.  Gradually, curiosity became attention, and attention
interest; adieu to the saloon, with its gay reminiscences. People were obliged, in spite of themselves, to believe that they were
in a church, and the Ave Mcaria was said with no less devotion
than at Notre Dame.  (The Ave.Marica is the obligatory conclusion of every Catholic exordium.)  Perhaps the orator was one
of those who put the least devotion into its repetition. Not that
he did not endeavor to pray; not that de did not feel how much
he had to bless God for so happy a beginning; but his mind
was elsewhere, and he could not help casting a penetrating and
joyful glance over his audience, of which I cannot better give
an idea, than by comparing it to that of the greatest captain of
modern times, when in the midst of a battle he beholds the success
of some of his gigantic manceuvres, and cries, " They are mine!"
And, in fact, his audience was his own.  Onl then, young man!
Intoxicate thyself with this glorious despotism of speech; it is the
purest and most beautiful of the prerogatives of genius.  On, and
now strike fearlessly, heavy blows, for thou dost not combat alone.
The orator who speaks of death, always finds in this very thought
a redoubtable auxiliary.  His power grows in proportion to the
helplessness of those who listen to him; each one is an actor




322              TWO  EVENINGS AT TIIE
with him; each one puts his hand to the lugubrious epic, and
trembling, furnishes to its writer his tribute of terror and of
poetry.  Speak to me of avarice and sensuality; thunder against
calumny, anger, pride, all that you will, —I will either not listen,
or say, rubbing my hands, "W Vhat a lesson for such an one of
my friends or neighbors 1"  But let the subject be death, then it
is another thing; then mea res agitzr; then it is no longer a
mote in my brother's eye, but in mine a beam, an enormous beam
which I cannot take out, and which will infallibly cause me one
day to fall into the ditch; then I bow my head, I listen, I tremble.
The orator kept for the close, the representation of the hopes
of man, and his importance in the sight of God; until then he
wished to see and point out in the human race, only a flock of
miserable lost beings in the immensity of the universe, which
death, its infernal shepherd, unceasingly drags towards the
tomb. This picture has been traced a thousand times since this
period; preachers, poets, philosophers, have taken complete possession of it, and it would be very difficult at the present time to
rejuvenate it sufficiently to escape the accusation when speaking
of it, of making a collection of mere commonplaces. But the
eloquence of the pulpit was then in its infancy; he who passes
for having been its founder, was then a school-boy of twelve
years. The truths of religion had scarcely yet been displayed
fiom the French Catholic pulpit, except dried up by pedantry,
or travestied by bad taste; they were awaiting a language worthy
of them, and the saloon of Rambouillet had the first fruits of
this language, which so many cathedrals had not yet heard.
But it was not enough for our orator to compel the attention
of so many rebel minds, and, according to the expression of the
poet, to keep his audience hanging up2on his li2ps; it was little to
agitate their souls, he wished also to bruise them. To the feeling of calm and pleasure which had been caused during the ex



HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.                   323
ordium by his pure and solemn diction, soon succeeded the rapid
alternations of uneasiness, agitation, and terror, according to all
the acts of this great drama were represented.
"What then is life," cried the orator, "if not a pathway, whose
steep and rugged descent at length terminates in a precipice?
What is man, if not an unhappy traveller who walks in this terrible road? From the very beginning he perceives what must
meet him  at the end. IHe would turn back,-impossible; he
would go less rapidly,-impossible. Whether he dream of the
termination of his journey, or forget it,-whether he sleep or
wake, whether he weep, or cull flowers, an invincible power
pushes him on towards the abyss. He arrives on the brink; he
would cling to the edge,-he cannot,-he slips, he falls, he rolls,
-and all must slip, and fall, and roll after him!"
And now content with having displayed all the phases of this
lamentable decline, he opens the abyss, and follows human misery
to its lowest depths. Ile dragged with him all these great ones
of the earth, those worshippers of power and glory, to the shadowy
vaults where was their destined place, and there, raising the marble, he sought in the bottom of the tomb for that which death
leaves there after a few days; "that indescribable something,"
he said, "which has no name in any language, so true it is that
all dies with man, all, even the funeral terms, by which we would
designate his miserable remains!"
It was a sight worth beholding; all these worthy women,
with haggard eyes, and palpitating bosoms, as if the angel of
death had appeared to their eyes, to see them anxiously following all the movements of this young man, whose plebeian name
would perhaps have made them smile an hour before, and who
had thus despoiled them, piece by piece of all the gilded trappings of pride and wealth.
His cause was gained. The audience demanded quarters;



324             TWO  EVENINGS  AT THE
it would have been wrong to break the fibres so long and violently
stretched.  These bruised hearts had need of more gentle emotions, these eyes, full of terror and anguish, had need of tile refreshing dew of tears. TWe will not follow the details of his
second part.  After having depicted man in his misery, lie depicted him  in his grandeur; the pitiless delineator of present
miseries and future annihilation, was succeeded by the prophet of
a future of glory and unchangeable felicity;-he closed the
sepulchre, and opened heaven.  All that is most consoling in
Christianity, all that is most soothing in poetry, were united in
this last passage.  Never had religion appeared more gentle, more
agreeable, more beautiful, more divine.
This discourse had been long, but no one had dreamed of conmplaining; or rather no one had perceived it. Aprofound silence
had not ceased to reign, and was soon prolonged, contrary to
custom, for some seconds after tile concluding words.  M. de
Feuquieres ran to embrace the orator, and soon there was a crowd
around the young man.  It was a deluge of praises.  He replied
nothing; after such a success, all words of modesty would have
seemed affected.
M. de Turenne had been one of the most agitated, and while
the others had struggled violently to remain impassible, lie, always simple and firank, had not feared several times to wipe away
a tear.  He was one of the first to congratulate the orator.  The
latter had not perceived him, and did not suspect the presence of
a heretic among his audience; lie could not refrain from a movement of surprise.  " Yes! parbleu, yes;-it is I," said the marshal; " why not?  I take good where I find it.  Was that sermon Catholic?  No.'Was it Huguenot?  Not any more soit was Christiani.  For my part, I think that is the best."
" Well, viscount," said the Prince de Conde, laughing, " will
that sermon convert you?"




HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.                  325
" But-it might —"
" Oh!" cried the prince and the orator at the same time.
"One moment, one moment, gentlemen!" resumed Turenne,
with a smile. "H ow fast you go on! There is conversion and
conversion.  What I meant to say was this, —that the selrmon
has given me some very good ideas about death, and the vanity
of the world, two things about which we people of the court and
battle-field do not often think. You see, my dear D'Enghien,
that you could easily say so much-"
"Good i good!" interrupted the prince; "but apropos, sir
preacher, may one know your name?"
"Bossuet, Monseigneur."
28




CHAPTER II.
COTIN.
THE next day, nothing was talked of in the city but this magnificent success. Every one asked, ". Were you at the hotel de
Rambouillet yesterday?" and those who could answer " yes,"
were happy and proud, as of a great adventure.
The preacher retired alone and quite late. Every one was in
bed at the college of Navarre, and he hastened to his cell, delighted to find no one to whom to relate his triumph; one does
not like to praise one's self, when sure of losing nothing by waiting. He did not deceive himself. In the morning, before eight
o'clock, the great news had arrived, and flew rapidly fromn mouth
to mouth, from cell to cell throughout tile whole building.  An
unaccustomed activity reigned in the corridors and the courts;
he heard steps, whisperings, questions, answers which he could
not seize, but which he guessed from the beatings of his heart.
He had written to his father, delighted that he could fill his soul
with such happiness, and enchanted at last to pour out his own;
not to have to pretend modesty, to be able at length to say, " I
have fought! I have triumphed! I have opened to myself the
way to fortune and glory!"
The hour for mass had nearly arrived.  There was a knock at
his door: "Come in," he said, carelessly; and it was the head
master, the grave Nicholas Cornet, who had risen a quarter of an
hour sooner than usual, to come and embrace his dear Benignus.
This day was but one long triumph. His professors treated




HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.                   327
him with the greatest respect; his companions dared not call
him thou; before noon he had I know not how many comtes
and marquises for intimate friends,-all younger sons of noble
families, and destined also for the church, but who had never yet
addressed a word to hil. It is true that he had been at Paris
but a short time, and that he had until then been considered
much less as an orator, or a man of talent, than a scholar, a hard
student, a plodder as we say. Those more solid than brilliant
qualities, accompanied, it must be confessed, by manners still
somewhat provincial, had made no great impression upon these
ignorant and idle young nobles, who came to the college of Navarre to pretend to study. Bossuetus, they said, Bos suetus oratio, Bossuet is an ox accustomed to the pough.  (Authentic.)
But the ox had become a bull, the digger had finally displayed
all the gold he had been raking up; the dawn of a great name
had begun to break in France 
But nevertheless his joy was not unmixed. Faint praise would
bitterly have mortified him; too much frightened him. Singular destiny of ambition i Pure or impure in its motive, successful
or unsuccessful in its efforts, no matter; it feeds but on anguish.
His success had been too great; too far above his hopes. He
calculated with a kind of terror the dangers of a position suddenly become so glorious; and his friends,-his real friends I
mean,-did not know what conduct to pursue with him. To
praise him as much as he deserved, would have been exposing
him to the danger of being spoiled; not to praise him, or only
to praise him with reserve, was to run great risk of being thought
by him unjust or jealous.
Do not imagine, however, that detractors were wanting.
Nearly unanimous beneath the impression of so noble and lofty
and eloquence, the praises were already fainter on the following
evening, and as there is nothing easier than to make fools burn




328            TTWO EVENINGS AT TIIE
what they adore, a single man had enough influence at the hotel
de Rambouillet, to bring about the stranlge revolution which we
are about to r'elate.
We do not yet know this man, that is to say, we have as yet
had no occasion to bring him forward; for, as to his name, it is
known, prodigiously known; far too well known for his glory
or the repose of his spirit, since it was no less a person than Monsieur Charles Cotin, chaplain and preacher to the king, chanoine
of Bayeux, member of the French Academy, and author also of
I know not how many works, which would sleep at tile present
day, like his sermons, were it not for the sad immortality which
Moliere and Boileau have given them.
We could have shown you, upon the evening of which we:have spoken, at the extremity of the saloon, a certain abbe,
whose easy, gallant manners, together with the regards of all
who surrounded him, would have made you recognize him as
one of the court, and one of the principal habitu6s of the house;
but as soon as he had no more compliments to give or receive,
you could have perceived from his sullen and irritated air, and
certain spiteful and almost angry motions, that no one in the
world could wish less for the success of the young orator, than
he. You might have seen him beforehand, doing his best to encourage the little conspiracies got up against him; you might
have heard him  dictating to some of his neighbors texts from
which tlhe ablest rhetorician would not have been able to get a
discourse of half a dozen pages. Then, forced to listen, impressed
like all the rest, and struggling with himself not to manifest the
least sign of approbation; he had gone out precipitately at the
last word of the discourse, which had, however, not prevented
his hearing fiomn the antichamber the flattering murmurs and the
long concert of praises, of which we have endeavored to give an
idea. This poor abbe was our man; it was Cotin.




HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.                    329
The Abbe Cotin was not malicious at heart; we may add,
(and it is the very least we can do before making ourselves merry
at his expense,) that his absurdities have been much exaggerated.
As a poet, he made very pretty verses, the plrettiest, perhaps, of this
epoch, when as yet so few beautiful ones were mad e; as a pieacher, whatever the author of" Satires" may say, he was one of the
most run after of the capital; lastly, as a man of letters, (and
everybody is ignorant, or pretends to be ignorant of this,) he
read Hebrew and Syriac; and understood Greek as few people
understood it at that time.  But the infatuation of his friends,
the indulgence of the public, and the flatteries of the sex, from
whom, alas, his robe did not always cause him to turn away his
eyes,-all had concurred to pervert his judgment and spoil his
heart.  Since the death of Voiture, he shared with Chapolain
the sovereign authority at the hotel de Rambouillet; he found
himself the centre of all that perfumed literature to which the
century was soon to do justice, and which filled his little life with
the most noise and folly possible. Spoiled child of the first society of Paris, might he not think himself a genius?  All the interest and praise which any other might receive, was a wrong
done him.
He went out, then, with death in his soul. This palm which
he thought he held, and which he had held perhaps, had been
snatched from him by a preacher of eighteen years! And it is
not so bad to be jealous, if one has only the consolation of telling
one's self, right or wrong, that the decree was unjust, and that
the triumph of one's rival was due to error or intrigue.  But to
confess to one's self that one is vanquished, well and justly vanquished,-to look for something to criticize and find only what
is admirable, —that is terrible! And this, the most torturing of
all jealousy, was precisely that of Cotin.  He would have given
twenty of his own sermons, to find a fault of any importance in




330             TWO EVENINGS AT THE
the one which he had just heard; but in vain he racked his
brains, he came back, always, in spite of himself, to the purest,
most striking, most irreproachable passages.  One would have
fancied that a demon came to sing them in his ear.
And, nevertheless, he did not yield; bad taste and bad feelings gained the day. One always finishes by believing what one
passionately wishes.  Cotin wished to think this sermon a paltry
one; he succeeded.  How, I do not know; but the night was
not over before our mian had contrived to convince himself of two
things; first, —that this discourse, the amplification of a schoolboy, had in truth, possessed the principal merits of a schoolboy,
but at the same time all the faults; secondly, that the youth of
the orator had been taken into consideration, and that in applauding him so loudly, people had in reality only wished to encourage him. Thereupon he rubbed his hands, and enchanted
with so judicious a conclusion,-he forgot the four or five hours
of torment and sleeplessness which lie had given himself in order
to arrive at it.
The most difficult part was accomplished.  Once convinced of
the worthlessness of this miserable discourse, he knew his own
influence too well to fear that the Hotel de Rambouillet would
venture to think otherwise.  He, however, took good care, the
next evening, not to attack openly an impression still so vivid.
IIe listened without saying anything; lie only approved by an
imperceptible smile, only disapproved by a cold immovability;
the whole, be it understood, in a manner which allowed it to
be perceived that he did not thinfkc any the less for this.
The day after, the same reserve; but it might be remarlked,
that two'or three of his friends had singularly changed their
tone.  One made the remark as a general one, that no really good
discourse ought to please and allure simply as a whole; another
repeated the remark, adding that before praising the sermon of




HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.                     331
this young Bossuet so highly, it would have been wise to ask
themselves why they admired it, and analyze it. "' There were
not four of all those ideas on the fragility of man," said tlis one,
4" which are not in Seneca."
" Without doubt," added the other, "and I recollect very well
one long tirade which seemed translated from Cicero."-"' And
who knows," resumed a third, "whether we have not all been his
dupes?  You saw how his quarry was furnished; not a word out
of place, not a dragging sentence;-he was reciting, gentlemen,
he was reciting,.-Find me a preacher who has not a sermon on
death in his head! He had memorized this, I say-"  And the
idea appeared an excellent one.  Besides, it must be confessed,
that judged by the oratorical theories of the -age, this discourse
was faulty in more than one respect.  No striking divisions, no
subtilties, no syllogisms,  no profane images, not a single verse
from  Homer or Virgil, —decidedly it was miserably poor.  It
is true, that the orator had captivated all minds, touched all
hearts, overthrown all obstacles;-no matter; in place of concluding that his method is a good one, since it so well conducted
him to his object, it is decided that it is good for nothling, because
it is not exactly according to all the forms.  And this was soon
the opinion of the whole company.  Three persons, three only,
took the other side of the question; three persons, it is true, who
were well worth any tiffee others, since they were Messieurs de
Montausier and Turenne, as well as the Prince de Conde, to whom
were added M. de Feuquieres, the protector of Bossuet, and a
certain poet named Corneille, in no great favor at the Hotel de
Ranmbotillet.  But as to this latter, it was an understood thing
that no one should regard what he said; as to the others, after
lhaving mechanically and fiom respect, granted them a few moments attention, people ran to resume their places and re-open
their ears in the groups over which Cotin presided.




332             TWO EVENINGS AT TI-E
Condel was not of a passiveclisposition.  iHe soon lost patience, and with all the impetuosity of the conqueror of Rocroy,
he darted towards Cotin, broke through the double rank of simpletons who surrounded him, seized his arm, and cried, "Monsieur
l'Abbfe, I should be very glad to have a sermon from you also —"
"WVell, Monseigneur,-Sunday, —at the Louvre," said Cotin,
who had, however, very well understood what the prince meant
by this.
" Not at all, not at all," resumed the prince briskly;'I mean
a sermon-you understand —like the other, upon a subject drawn
at hazard.  In the king's chapel, I have heard you, often, very
often, Monsieur l'Abbe."
It was clear that this very often,- signified too often.  Cotin
bowed.-" To-morrow, if Monseigneur orders it."
" Well! gentlemen," the prince began, in the tone of a herald
at arms, " Alonsieur l'Abbe Cotin here has promised to gratify us
to-morrow by an extemporized sermon!"
The abb6o carried it off as well as possible.
Not that he was altogether a novice in the difficult art of extemporization.  HIe had talent, and even-a good deal of talent; now,
if talent be not genius, it is that which can best supply the want
of it. Cotin had experienced this many a time, and certes, if he
were wanting in anything, it was not vanity. And yet be was
not easy. I know not what presentiment told him that the comparison would not be to his advantage. His young rival had
bounded with pride and joy at the idea of so glorious a trial; he,
on the contrary,; could scarcely sustain himself. But Bossuet, in
looking forward to the terrible evening, had felt a tormenting inquietude increase from  hour to hour; he, surrounded by admirers, and complimented beforehand, was not long in becoming
calm.  When the moment arrived, he was tranquil; his head
was raised, his countenance radiant; it was the Cotin of every




HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.                   333
day, so completely that he aflirmned he had not waked until
nine o'clock, "so far was I," he seemed to imply, "from feeling
the slightest uneasiness."  Upon which the Viscormte de Turenne
observed, with an incredulous smile, that it would have been still
finer to sleep until evening, and to awake, like Alexander, only
at the moment of- the battle.
The drawing of the text took place as on the first OCCasion,
only it was a lady,-the young and beautiful Comltesse de Lafayette, who presented it to the orator.  Cotin was not quite so
tranquil at this mnoment; but, nevertheless, he thought himself
obliged to compliment the comtesse, and said to her, with the
greatest coolness, " Madame, when a lady of your merit deigned
to present her chevalier with a sword, he believed himself invincible; but I dare not believe it is the same with the sword of the
word of God, however beautiful the hand which has just arnmed
me with it-"
" Bad beginnining, Monsieur l'Abbe;" said a severe voice; " do
not let us mingle God and the devil-"
Cotin started, and was silent; this voice was that of Monsieur
de Montausier, and the poorl abbe did not care to enter into an
explanation with a man whose grave good sense had more than
once disconcerted him. Besides, from one moment to another,
he felt his assurance forsaking him. A quarter of an hour was
offered him to arrange his ideas, and he had great need of it;
but to accept tbis favor would be to place himself beneath him
who had not made use of it.  What should he do then? His
eyes fixed upon his paper, he slowly approached the door, there
stopped, then went on; he grew red and pale by turns.  At last
prudence gained the victory; he was going out, when his eyes
met those of the Prince de Conde; he saw him enjoying his embarrassment, and this mute defiance made him  ascend the two
steps of the little pulpit with a single stride.




334             TWO  EVENINGS AT THIE
The oracle was about to speak.  Conversations, imovements all
ceased. In the twinkling of an eye the assembly was ready to
listen, or to applaud rather, for these two words were synonymous, as soon as Cotin was in the case; and applause was very
nearly commencing already, when with his sweetest (doucereuse)
voice, he read the words of his text; " I acm your father, saith
the Lord."  "A sweet subject, a charming subject," murmured
the ladies.
And he also was a sweet man, a charming man, the Abbe
Cotin! I-e was nearly forty, but you would not have guessed
himn to be thirty.  It was a sight to see him, with his long, curling hair,-with his little moustache, which the most elegant nobles of the court envied him, and with those blue eyes which had
gained him a compliment from the queen mother, his canonicate
of Bayeux, a thousand crowns from the privy purse of the cardinal, and so many other favors not recorded by history.  Besides, if his eloquence lacked fire and nobleness, nothing could
have been more graceful.  I have seen a paltry sonnet to his
praise, in which the author scruples not to say of him, as Homer
of the old Nestor;
"Sweeter than honey, far, thy voice
Flows in pure waves," etc.
But it was further necessary that he should have something
to say, and this was hardly the case.  He had one of those subjects which appear fruitful, and which are so in reality, but
which only yield, as preachers say, by dint of labor, or at least
by force of genius. In the beginning, the orator imagines that
he will never finish; he speaks five minutes, and finds that he
is at a stop. And this is what happened.
His exordium was not bad. Ife described tolerably well what
there is consolatory and noble in this great thought of the uni



HOTEL DE RIAMBOUILLET.                  335
versal paternity of God, announced by nature, and confirmed by
religion. Ideas and words seemed to flow in abundance; the
Ave Maria was recited with enthusiasm.
"Well, monsieur," said a lady to one of her neighbors, who
had appeared to doubt the abb6's success, " what do you say to
that?"
"What do I say, madame? I say that it is impossible more
gracefully to eat one's corn in the blade."
" But what do you mean."
" You will understand me presently."
And, in fact, the orator had said all, devoured all in his exordium.  Whether he had not thought of the remainder, or rather,
whether he had not known how to do otherwise, he was not long
in perceiving that he had finished before he had really commenced, that he was repeating his exordium, that he was going
round in a circle, in fact, that he was going to stop short. Stop
short! Ask the lawyer, the preacher,-ask whoever speaks in
public, if there is any torture equal to that of not knowing what
one is going to say next, of racking one's brains without being
able to get a single idea! lNo! the soldier who has just used
his last cartridge, and sees himself still surrounded by twenty
enemies, is not more ill at his ease, than the orator who has let
go his last idea. HIe economizes it, he caresses it, he loads it
with synonyms, —and yet it is about to end! IIe knows, he
feels it; it is like the archdeacon hung by his torn robe to the
gutter which bends beneath his weight, and is about to precipitate him into the abyss.
The silence was redoubled. All eyes were fixed upon Cotin
with an anxiety full of interest, but which was none the less embarrassing for that. Sometimes he could scarcely be heard;
sometimes, like those who are afraid, and sing to inspire themselves with courage, —he set off on a gallop and with a thunder



336              TWO  EVENINGS AT THE
ing voice. Bossuet!  Bossuet! thou wert already sufficiently
avenged.
We do not know how the thing would have finished, if a lady
who had a great friendship for him, had not rendered him  the
eminent service of being seized with a nervous attack.  In less
than a second, all was in confusion, and the orator, springing
down from  the pulpit which he nearly overturned, ran to join
those who were rendering their aid to Mme. de   ~, and carrying her from the saloon.  He played his devotion so well, and
besides, so many persons were interested in his cause, that no one
wished to seem to perceive what a lucky accident this had been
for him.  " What a pity," said his principal firiends, on the contrary, " what a pity he should have been interrupted!"
"He was just coming to a dead stop," said the Prince de Conde,
in a low voice.
"I saw it perfectly well," said Turenne.
"Let us see a little how he will take up his thread again."
"We must give him a quarter of an hour."
" Not at all; let him pay all the interest of this chastisement
to his malicious tongue."
"Come, we must be more charitable than he."
And when the orator returned, there was a cry from all sides
that it was just to let him take breath.  Cotin did not require
persuasion; Mme. de Rambouillet led him into her cabinet, and
the fifteen minutes granted, lasted nearly thirty. This entr'act
appeared somewhat long, but all took good care not to say so,
and Cotin found his audience as attentive and benevolent as ever.
This time he had a plan,-a plan drawn up according to all
the rules of Quinctillian and Aristotle, which does not always
signify, according to the rules of eloquence.  Three points divided his discourse; each point had three subdivisions; each subdivision two parallel ideas; all of which were distinctly num



HOTEL DE RAMIBOUILLET.                   337
bered and noted down upon a little paper which he brought in
the sleeve of his robe, and placed adroitly before him.  Butat the first gesture, behold this unlucky paper flies off, and falls,
fluttering round and round, at the feet of a lady, who either from
malice or kindness, hastens to return it to him! Cotin stifled
his vexation; he could have torn it into a thousand fragments;
he could have gnawed it between his teeth, this miserable paper,
which he no longer dared to use, and which had caused him
such mortification.  But alas i he could only crumple it between
his fingers with an affected nonchalelce.  Did he recollect his
plan? The chronicle saith not; all that we know is, that he
arrived without fresh accident at the end of his journey, which,
in truth, was not long, for in less than twenty minutes he had
pronounced his last amen.
Consequently, his best friends looked embarrassed enough.
They pressed his hand, but without saying anything, and this
mute compliment resembled not a little a compliment of condolence. No conversation could be established.  Many were near
bursting into a fit of laughter, and others, the majority, on the
point of bursting into tears; everywhere was the same uneasiness, the same wish to see the end of this miserable evening.
Turenne was one of the first to disappear; as ever, generous and
good, he was reluctant to push Cotin's mortification any further.
Soon the leave-taking was general; before nine o'clock, there
were not a dozen persons left in the saloon.
And Cotin? you will ask.  Cotin probably passed a very uncomfortable night; but we should ill-understand the spirit of the
age, if we should imagine that this check much injured his
fame. Two days had been enough to efface at the Hotel de
Rambouillet the most profound impressions of Bossuet's eloquence; two days were enough to re-establish Cotin.-The first
remained in his college; the other seized again, without opposi29




338         THE HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET.
tion, the sceptre of taste and fashion.  But years afterwards,
Cotin was still the Abb6 Cotin, with some talents the less, and
some absurdities the more,-while Bossuet was already Monseigneur the Bishop of Condom, until he should become the
bishop, or, as he is called, the Eagle of Meaux.
THTE END,




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FOOT-PtRINTS OF THE CREATORi;
- oR -
THE ASTEROLEPIS OF STROMNESS.
BY HUGtH MILLER.
5WITHII MANY ILLUSTRATIONS.
VSNOM THE THIRD  LONDON  EDITION.-WITH  A MEMO1IR  OB  THE AOTEtO
BY LOUIS AGASSIZ.
" In its purely geological character, the' Foot-prints' is not surpassed by any moderl
Fwork of tle same tt ass. Ii this volume, Mr. Miller discusses the development hypothesis,
at the hllvpotle.is:f natural law, as inaintained by Lalnarck, and by thle author of tho'Vestiges of _ reation,' atnd ha.s subjected it, in its geological aspect, to the most rigoroual
esxhillnatiou. I-le Ias stripped even of its semblance of truth, antd restored to tlte Creator,
ts governor cf thtle tnIl erse, tlhat power anid those functions whlich he was supposed to hase
resigned at its birtlh.  * *'Ille eartht has still to surrender lighllty secrets, —and great rerelalions are yet to isstue fromn septlclhres of stone. It is fromt the vaults to which anlciera
ife3 has been consigned that the ilistory of tile dawn of life is to be composed." —.Voyt
Bfitislh Review.
"Scientific klnowledge  equally remarkable for comprehensiveness and accuracy; a style
at all tines sillgtla!rly clear, vivid, and powerful, ranging at will, and without effort, fronl
tlhe muost natural anld gracefutl simiplicity, through the playful, the graphic, and the vigorous, to the impressive eloquence of great thoughts greatly expressed; reasoning at once
colmprehensive in scope, strong in grasp, and pointedly direct in application, — these qualities comlbine to rende the'"'oot-prints' one of the most perfect refutations of error, and
defences of truth, that ever exact science has produced."-Free Chumrch Miayazitte.
DR. BUCiLAsND, at a meeting of the British Association, said he had never been so much
astonishletl ill his lile, by the powers of any nnn. as lie hatl been by the geological descriptions
of 51 r. Miller. That wondtlerful mnant described these objects with a facility which made 1hilm
ashanied o0f the cotmparative meagrenless and poverty of his own descrilptiolls in the " lBridge
water reatise," llich thad cost hiunt hours and days of labor. Ile would cyie his left hasna
to possess ste/ po10wtet's of desctrit/iiet as this tatn;t an d if it pleased Providenlce to spare his
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equal servi-ce to theology aiid geology.
"'IThe stvle of' this work is most singularly clear and vivid, rising at times to eloquence
and alway's itlmpressingt the reader witll tlhe idea that he is brouight in contact with great
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S'tate eygister.
"' The' Foot-Prints of the Creator' is not only a good but a great book. All who hays
read tlhe'Vestigcs of Creation' should study the'Foot-Prints of the Creator.' This voluine is especially worthy the attentioni of those who are so fearful of the skeptical tendencies of natural science. We expect this volumne will meet with a very extensive sale. It
sltoultd be placed in every Sabbath School Library, and at every Christian fireside."-Boston
Traveller.
"Mr. Miller's style is remarkably pleasing; his mode of popularising geological knowledge utnsurtpassel, perhaps unccualled; and the deep vein of reverence for Divine Revelatlio  pervading all, addls interest mild value to the volume."-New York Coin. Advertiser.
The Ipublishers have again covered themselves with honor, by giving to the Ameriaat
public, with the Author's pIermission, an elegant reprint of a foreign work of science.
We earnestly bespeak for this work a wide and free circulation, anmong all who love science;..uch and religionl more. " —Peritla'n Recorder.
"' Tle book ilndicates a mind of rare gifts and attainments, and exhibits the workings of
poetic genius in admirable hartony with thle generalizations of philosophy. It is, withal
pervadedl by a spirit of devout reverence and child-like humility, such as all men delight to
beheld in the interpreter of nature. We are persuaded that no intelligent reader will go
throagh the chapters of tl:e author without being instructed and delighted with the views
they contain. "-Prlovidenc e Jozrnal.
"Hugh Miller is a Scotch geologist, who, within a few years, has not only added largely
to the facts of science, hut has stepped at once armong the leading scientific writers of the
age, by his wonderfully clear, accurate, and elegant geological works. Mr. Miller, takling
the newly-discovered Asteroleplis for his text, has prodtuced an answer to the'Vestiges of
Creation,' a work which has been more -widely circulated, perhapls, than any other professedly scientific boolt ever prlinted. Mr. Mliller (anld there is no doubt of this) completely
upseos his oplponent —exposing his incompetency, ignoranice, and sophistry, with a clearness, ease, and elegance tllat are both astonishing and delightful. Throughout the entire
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GOULD AND LINCOLN, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON.




THE OLID RED SANDSTONE;
- OR —
NEW WALKS IN AN OLD FIELD.
BY HUGH MILLER.
OM THE FOURTH LONDON EDITION-ILLUS IRL I ED.
A writer, in noticing M5r. Miller's " First Impressions of England and the l'ec.l1e," In
the New e.Isglander, of Mlay, 1850, commences by saying, "rWe presume it is not mazes
sty formally to introduce IIugh.Miller to our readers; the author of' The Old Red Sandstone' placed himself, by that production, which was first, among the most successtvi
geologists, and the best writers of the age. We well remember with what mingled emotion
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press..... For, besides the important contributions which it makes to the science of Ged..
ogy, it is written in a style which places the author at once among the most accomplisehtd
writers of the age..... He proves himself to be in prose what Burns has been in poetry.
We are not extravagant in saying that there is no geologist living who, in the descriptiolns
of the phenomena of the science, has united such accuracy of statement with so much
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been by the geological descriptions of Mr. MIiller. That wonderful man described these
cbjects with a felicity which made him ashamed of the comparative umeagreness and povirty of his own descriptions, in the Bridgewater Treatise, which had cost hihin hours aid
&sys of labor.' For our own part we do not hesitate to place Mr. Miller in the front ralk
of English prose writers. Without mannerism, without those extravagances which give a
factiticus reputation to so many writers of the day, his style has a classic purity and elegance, which remind one of Goldsmith and Irving, while there is an ease and a naturalness
In the illustrations of the imagination, which belong only to men of true genius."
"The excellent and lively work of our meritorious, self-taught countli yman, Mlr. 5Miller,
is as admirable for the clearness of its descriptions, and the sweetness of its compo.'ion,
as for the purity and gracefulness which pervade it. "-Edinburgh Review.
"A geological work, small in size, unpretending in spirit and manner; ets contents, the.onscientious narration of fact; its style, the beautiful simplicity of truth; and altoget?,el
possessing, for a rational reader, an interest superior to that of a nove,' -Dr. J. Pye SSmith.
"This admirable work evinces talent of the highest order, a deep and healthful mora.
feeling, a perfect command of the finest language, and a beautiful union of philosophy and
poetry. No geologist can peruse this volume without instruction and delight."-Sitlliamn's American Journal of Science.
"Mr. Miller's exceedingly interesting book on this formation is just the sort of  t:B X
render any subject popular. It is written in a remarkably pleasing style, and ec~im',  a
wonderfiel amount of information."- Westminster Review.
"' I: 3Mr. Miller's channing little work will be found a very graphic description of ths 014
Resifshes. I know not of a more fascinating volume on any branch of British gaology." —
MaertelV'3 edaf s of C'utalion.
SIM ROD)ERICK MURCHnISON, giving an account of the investigations of Mr. Miller, spoke
in the highest terms of his perseverance and ingenuity as a geologist. Writh no other adovan
tages than a common education, by a careful use of his means, he had been able to gitv
himself an excellent education, and to elevate himself to a position which any man, in any
ephere ef life, might well envy. He had seen some of his papers on geology, written
style so beautiful and poetical as to throw plain geologists, like himself, in the shade.
GOULD AND LINCOLN, PUBLJIIERS. BOSTON.




THE EAIRTH AND MAN:
Lectures on Comparative Physical Geog7raphy, in its Relation to the ilistory
of Mankind.:BY ARNOLD GUYOT, Prof. Phys. Geo. & Hist. Neuchatel.
Translatedfrom  the French, by PROF. C. C. FELTON. -  With Illustratiomas.
grevised Edition.  12mo.  Price $1.25.', Those who have been accustomed to regard Geography as a merely de.ocriptine
branch of learning, drier than thie remainder biscuit after a  noyitge, will be ldeli-hteii
to find this hitherto unattractive pursuit converted into a science, thle prine-ipies et
which are3 definite and the results conclusive   a science that embraces the inveslingr
tion of natural laws an"d interprets their mode of operation; whicl  plolfsses to dlis
cover in the rudest formis and apparently confused arrangetilent of the material cornm-.
posing the planets' crust, a new  mnnifestation of tile wisdom  which has fhiled the
earth with its tiches. * * *  To the reader we slhall owe no ap(ology, if we hIave
said enough to excite his curiosity and to persuade hin to look to the book itself lir
further instruction."-JYvoloth Al tericatr Reviewo.
" The grand idea of the work is happily expressed by the aulior, where he calls it
the geo7r-aphical march of history. *  *  The man otf science will hail it as a beautiful genera;lization from the facts of observation.  The Chlristian, who trusts in a tmez
riful Providience, will draw couTage from  it, and hiope yet more enarnestly for the
redemption of the most degraded portions of maInkindt.  Faith, scietice, learnin,
poetry, taste, in a word, genius, have lilberally contributed to the production of tle,
wark under review.  Sometimies     we feel as if we were sttudying at treatise on tls
exact sciences; at othsers, it strikes the ear like tan epic p(oem.  Now it reads like
history, and now it sounds lile prophecy.  It will find readers in whatever languagde
itmanny be published; and in tie elergant Etngliish (ress which it has receivedl frotm the
accomplished pen of the translator, it will not ftil to interest, instruct ttnd inspire.
We congratulate the lovers of' history andl of physical geograplhy, as well as all
those wlto are interested in tihe growtih and( expansioti of our cointton education, that
Prof. Guyot contemplates the publicatiotn of a serits of elementary works on )hyasical
Geography, in which these two great branciles of stutdy lwhich God has so closely
oitned together, will not, we trust, be put asunder."-Christiant Exactine?.' A copy of this volume reached us at too late an hour for an extended ntotice.  Thie
woik is one of highll merit, exhibiting a wide range of knowledge, great researchi, alnd
a philosophlical stirit of investigation.  Its perusal will well repay the mnost learned
in such subjects, and give new views to all, of man's relation to the globe lie inhabits."'
Silltmant's JouLrnal, July, 1849.
These lectures form one of the most valuable contributtions to geographllical science
that has ever been publlishled it this country.  They i)nvest tile sttly of geography
with atn interest which wvill, we doubt not, suriprise and delight nulstiy.  T'hey will
open an entire new world to most reotlers, andi will bIe touid an invaluablle aid to the
teacher and studlent of geography."-Evettil  Tl'acvellcr.
"' We venture to pronounce this one of the most interesting and instructive hooks
whichl have cotme from thle American press for niany a month.  The sicelne of whiich
it treats is comparatively of recent origin, but. it is of great iinportsnce, lnot osly on
accotint of its connections wvith other branches of knowletdge, but for its 1iaritig lup)On
mniny of the interests of society.  In linese lectures it is relievedl of statistical dletaLils,
and presented only in its grandest fitatures.  It thus not ottly places before us mosl
instructive facts relfling to the condition of tile eatih, but also awalkens within us a
stronger sympathy with the beings that inhablit it, and a profounder reverence for the
beneficent Creator who formined it, and of whose character it is a;nanifestation and
expression. They abound with the richest interest and instruction to every intelligen': resder, aind especially fitted to awlaken enthusiasm  and delight in all wlho are
devoted.; the study either of natural science or the history of mnankind.' —ProvidenC7
Journal.," Geography is here presented under a new and attractive phase; it is no longer a
dry description of the features of the earth's surfaice.  The itifluence of 9stil scenery
and climate upon cllaracter, has not yet received the consideration tlue to it from histotrians and philosophler3. In the volume ibefore us tile profound investigartions of ftun.
bollt, Ititter antd others, in Physical Geography, are presented in a popular forrs, atid
with the cleatrrnss anti vivacity so characteristle of Freanct tteatises on science   Tihe
work should be introduced into our higiher schoolss."- The ItIdclpcndelnt, JN'Cw YPrk
~ Geography is hlere mnadti to;tssumle a dignity, not hieretofore attached to lt.  Thu
tnowleige cormnmsinicated in these Lectures is c irious, unexpected, al)sortbl,g.'. —
Mlrhtia Pt firv'or, Porttand.




C O M PAR A TI V 
PHYSICAL AND HISTORICAL GEOGRAPHIY
OIt TIIE STUDY  OF
TI-E EARTH ANDI) ITS INHABITANTS.
A SERIaES OF GRADUATED COURSES FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS.
BY ARNOLD GUYOT.
Late Professor of Physical Geogaphy anl d Iistoiry, at Neuchlatel, Swvitzerland,
Alzuthcr of   E  Jt arth and lfan,'" etc.
G., K. ~ L. are happy to anounrce that the above work-, wuhich has beent undertaken
in coapliance with the ear'nest solicitations of niuonerots teacchers and friends of'edurcatioa,
is3 in aforwaerd state of preparation.  The ptlan of tile althor, and the principal charac.
teri.-tics of this series 121ay be gathered froim the following e.position of the subject:
A knowledre of the globe we inhabit, whether considered in itself alone, or in it-%
relations to nman, the diastribution of the races of men, and the c;vil divisions of its surfaee, are subjects of interest too varied, too direct, and too vital, not to command the
attention, and excite the sympathy  of the nlind at every period of life.
If Geography has been considered a dry and often fruitless study, —f indeed, te
eLch it with success has been considered as one of the most dilficult problelns in educat-ion, there is reason to believe that the difficulty lies not in the subject but in thi
method of teaching it.
In most manuals the accumulation of facts, and especially the want of an arrangement of them, really corresponding   to their connection in nature, renders the study'Jificult, and overburdens the memory at the expense of a true and tllorough undergtanding of the subject. IIence there is confusion and a want of clear and conmprehendive views, and consequently a lackl of interest for the student. ]For, if the mind seeks
to coolprehend, it is only interested in what appears clear and well connected. To attain
to this end it is necessaryFIRST. To attempt a rigid selection of materials, and to reject from  school instruction all details which have but a trsansieut value, and, on the other hand, to render
facts of permanent value prominent; preferring, for instance, the details of Physical
Geography and of Ethnography, to those of Statistics, which may find a larger place
elsewhere.
SECOND. To distribute geographical instruction tlroulhoLt the whole course ofeducation, so as to divide the labor of learning, and to give at the same time to each period
of life the nutriment most appropriate for its intellectual taste and capacity. To this
end, the globe should be studied fiom the dilferent points of view successively; graduttilng each view to the capacity of diflerent classes of students. At first, the fundamental outlines, alone, should be presented, and next, not only additional facts, but a
deeper understanding of the connection, and so on; and thus, by a regular and natural
path, a full and intelligent knowledge of the globe in all its relations, will be finally
attained.
TrIRD. The comparative method, recently adopted with so much success in Europe,
should alwsays be emlployed; for it is by the recognition of resemblances and differences
that the mind seizes upon the true characters, and perceives the natural relations, and
the adulirable connection, of the dilferent parts which form  the grand whole; in a
word, gains real klnoswledge.
The series hereby announced is designed to meet these wants. It will consist of three
enurses adapted to the capacity of three different ages and periods of study.  The firrt
is intended for primnry schools, and for children of from  seven to ten years. The
becond is adapted for higher schools, and for young persons of from ten to fifteen years.
The third is to be used as a scientific manual in Academies and Collebes.
Each course will be divided into two parts, one of purely Physical Geography, the
ether for Ethnogiraphy, Statistics, Political and Iistorical Geography. Each part will
beo illustrated by a colored Physical and Political Atlas, prepared expressly for thie
purpose, delineating, with the greaLtest care, the configuration of the surface, and
tlhe other physical phenomuena alluded to in the corresponding work, the distribution
of tlhe races of men, and the political divisions into States. Each part with the corremponding map3swill be sold separately.
The two parts of the first, orpreparatory course, are now in a forward state cf pr&
paration, and will be issued at a'il e.arly day.
Also, in prepa7attion, by the saeue Author,
A SERIES OF ELEGANTLY COLORED MURAL MAIPs,
EXHIBITING
TINE PIIYSICAL PIIENOMENA OF TItE GLOBE,.
FPOJECTED ON A LARGE SCALE, FOl. TIE RtECITATION  OO00M.




CLASSICAL STUDI ESS SAYS ON
ANCIENT LITERATURE AND ART.
With the Biographly and Corresposndence, of ~Eminent Philologists.
By  BARNAS  SEARS, P'resident of Newton  Theol. Institution, B, B,
EDvARDS, Prof.  Andover TheoI. Seminary, and C. C. FELTON1,'Prof: Harvard University.   12mo.   Price $1.25.
SECOND THOUSAND.
"The collection is a most attractive one, and would be acceptable in any circulm.
tannaes. The discourses, particularly those of Jacobs, are written in words that burn.
A general could not exhort his troops with more energy and spirit, than are used
by tlhe German Professor in stimulating the youth befrrre him to labor in the acquisition of classical learning.  Tire biographlical portions of the book, naturall)'esa
exciting, no less tend to the same end."-Lonsdonl Lit. Examiner. bry John Forster, Esq.' Tlis elegant book is worthy of a more extended notice than our limits at present
will permit us to give it. Great labor and care have been bestowed upon its typo.
graphical execution, whichl does honor to the American press. It is one of' the rarre
beauties of the page, thlat not a word is divided at the end of a line. The mechanical
part of the workl, however, is its least praise. It is unique in its character-standing
alone among the innumerable books of this book-making age.  Tlhe autrors well
rdeserve the thanlts of the cultivated and disciplined por*ion of the colnrnunity, for tirhe
service which, by this publication, thley have done to the cause of letters. Thie book
is of a hrigh order, and worthly of the attentive perusal of every scholar. It is a nobla
monurlent to the taste, and judgment, and sound learning of the projectors, and will
yield, we doubt not, a rich hlarvest of fame to tlemrselves, and of benefit to our
literature.C' — Christianl Review.
*' It is refreshing, truly, to sit down with such a bool as this.'When the press is
teeming with thle hasty workls of authors and publishers, it is a treat to takle up a book
tlhat is an honor, at aoce, to tile arts and the literature of our country." —J.'cw York
Obse?vr.
This is truly an elegant volunme, both in respect to its literary and its mechanical
execultion. Its typographicral appearrance is an lrhonor to the American press; and *with
equal truth it may be saitl, that the intrinsic charracter of the work is iighily creditable to the are. It is a novel work, and may be calledl a plea for classical learrring.
l'o schlolars it must be a treat and to students we hieartily commend it."'-Bostor
Rccordcr.
"This volume is no common-place production. It is truly refreshing, wnen we are
oiig ed, from week to week, to look through tile matss of books which increases uplon
olir table, marrrny of which are extremely attenuated in tihought and jejune in style, to
find something which carries us back to the pure and invigorating influence of tile
naster mrindls of antiquity. The gentlemen who have produced this volume deserve
tihe cordial thlarks of the literary worltl."-JVrew Entrland Purtitan.
"( We heartily welcome this book as admirably adapted to effect a most nolble and
much desired result.  We commend the work to general attention, for we feel sure it
must do much to awaken a zeal for classical studies, as the surest means of atlainina
the refinement anll graceful dignity wwhich should nlark thie strengthr of every nationl-t.
J'ecw York 7Tribunte.
1" We mnake no classical pretensions, or we might say more about the princiFal
articles in this volume; but it needs no such pretensions to commend, as we heartily
do, a book so full of interest and instruction as the present, for every reader who is at
all imbued withi a love of literature."-Salenz Gazette.
" This book will do good in our colleges. Every student will wanlt a copy, an,1
mranr  will be stimlulated by its ierusal to a more vigorous and enthusirastic pursuit of
that higiher and more solid learning which alore dteserves to be called' classical.'
The recent tndencies have been to tile neglect of this,.tnd we rejoice in this timely
effort of minds so well qualified for such a'work."- Christinatl ReJlecto?.
" The volurme is, in every way, a beautiful affrair of its kind, and we hazard nothing
in recommendrlinog it to tile literary world.' -Chlristianl Secretary, Ilartford.
*S The design is a noble and generous one, and has been executed with a taste rnd
3ood sense, that di) honor both to the writers and the puslisrers.'-Prov. Jourmrs




CONTRIBUTIONS TO THIEOLOGICAi, SCIEINCE.
BY JOHN IIARIRIS, D. D.
I. TILE PRE-ADA-MITE EARTH.
NOTICES OF  THE  PRESS.
"As we have examined every page of this work, and put forth our best eiforts to unlderstand the full import of its varied and rich details, tile resistless impression has coma
over our spirits, that the respected author has been assisted fiom on high in his laborious, but successful undertaking. May it please God yet to aid and uphold him, ts
complete his whole design; for we can now see:. if we mistake not, that there is great
unlity as well as originality and beauty in the object -which he is aiming to accomplish.
If we do not gweatly mistake, this long looked for volume, will create and sustain a
deep inmpression in the more intellectual circles of the religious world." —Londc,s ELangelicat llfagazile.
T" The mall who finds his element among great thoughts, and is not afraid to push
into the remoter regions of abstract truth, be he philosopher or theologian, or both,
will read it over and over, and will find his intellect quickened, as if from being in conract with a new and glorious creation." —llbany Argus.
"Dr. IIHarris states in a lucid, succinct, and often highly eloquent manner, all the
leading tacts of geology, and their beautiful harmony. with the teachings of Scripture. As a work of paleontology in its relation to Scripture, it will be one of the most
complete and popular extant, It evinces great research, clear and rigid reasoning, and
a style more condensed and beautiful than is usually found in a work so profound.
It will be an invaluable contribution to Biblical Science."-Areiv York Evangelist.
" IIe is a sound logician and lucid reasoner, getting nearer to the groundwork of a
subject generally supposed to have very uncertain data, than any other writer within
our knowledge." —New York Coen. Adr!ertiser.
" The elements of things, the laws of organic nature, and those especially that lie at
t}Ie foundation of the divine relations to man, are here dlwelt upon in a masterly manar."- Chriatian  Reflector, Boston.
II. MAN PRPIMEVAL;
OR THE CONSTITUTION AND PRIMITIVE CONDITION OF THE HIUMIAN BEING.
WITH A FINE PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR.
NOTICES  OF  TilE  PRESS.
"lt surpasses in interest its predecessor. It is an able attempt to carry out the
author's grand conception. IIis purpose is to unfold, as far as possible, the successive
eteps by which God is accomplishing his purpose to manifest HIis All-sufficiency. * *'
The reader is led along a pathsway, abounding with rich and valuable thought? going
on from the author's opening propositions to their complete demonstration. To students of mental and moral science, it will be a valuable contribution, and will assuredly
secure their attention."- Christian Chlonicle, PhziladelIzphia.
"' It is eminently philosophical, and at the same tile glowing and eloquent. It cannot fail to have a wide circle of realers. or to yepay richly the hours which are given
to its pages.'-Nezo  York Rlecorder.' The reputation of the author of this volume is co-extensive with the English language. Tlhe work before us manifests much learning and metaphysical acumen. Its
great recommendation is, its power to cause the reader to think and reflect. —Bozton
Recorder.
"Reverently recognizing the Bible as the fountain and exponent of truth, he is as independent anid fearless as he is original and forcible; ansd he adds to these qualities
consusmmato skill in argument and elegance of di3tion."-iT. Y. Corn Advertiser.
i" Iis (copious and beautiful illustrations of the successive laws of the Divine Mauifsthation, have yielded us inexpressible deligllt."- Londorn Eclectic Revieaw.
"t The distribution and arrangrement of thougsht in this volume, are such as to afford
ample scope for the author's renlarklable powers of analysis and illustration. 1 t looki
ing with a keen and searching eye at the principles which regulate the conduct of Gotd
towards man, as the intelligent inhabitant of this lower world, Dr; IIarris has laid down
for himself three distinct, but connected views of the Divine procedure: Iirst, The End
aimed at by God; Second, the ReasonEs for the employment of it. In a very masterly
way does our author grapple with almost every difficulty, and perplexing subject which
comes within the range of his proposed inquiry into the constitution and condition
of Man Primeval."-Londcon nEvancgelical History.
III. THE FAMILY;
ITS CONS"'ITUTTON, PROBATIOON AND ILISTOItY
[INx Pt.EPA [rATION.]I




CI HAMBER S'S
CYCLOP DIIA OF ENGLISH LITERATUREI
L 8LECTION  OF  THE  CHOICEST  PRODUCTIONS OF ENGLISH  AUTHORS, FROM  T.HE
EARLIEST TO THE PRESENT TIME: CONNECTED BY A CRITICAL
AND BIOGRAPHICAL HISTORY.
EDITED BY ROBERT CHAMBERS.
ASSISTED BY RORERT CARRUTHERS AND OTHER EMINENT GENTLEMEN.
Complete  in twro  imperial octavo  volumes, of more than fcoz:rteen
hundred pages of double column   lette)preess, and  slpusards of
three hutndred elegant illustrations.
7isis valuable work has nowr becore so generally known and appreciated, that there Isfo.aZ1'Cely be anly thlinG  said i7l contoendations, except to those w0/1ho have not yet seen it.
T'he wLorkJ embraces about One Thousesand  ullntltors, chlronologically arranl Teti and classed
ea Poets, IHistorians, Dramatists, Philosophlers, Jletaphysicians, Divines, etc., soilth c.hvo
eieetions fromo their writings, coLnected by a Biogrraplical,  Historical, and Critical J.Narra
give; thus presenltin7g   a complete view of EnLglishL Literature, from the earliest to the prese~rn
linse.  Let the reader ope7t owhere he?ill, he coazLotftzil to fisd matter for profit and delight,
twhich, for the nmost part, too, repeated p1erusals will onlyt/ serve to make hill eljol  tihe nriore.
/Fe have indeed infionite riches inl a little rooom. AJl one, /who has a taste for literatosrW,
should allow himself, for a triflinfg consideratioLn, to be without a work which th'rows so
much light upon, the pr-ogress of th!e lEn'llish latgruafre.  Th1e selcction7s are greins - a mtaso
of valuable information iot a condensed and eleg-antforns.
EXTRACTS FROM COMIKENDA TORY NOTICES.
From   V. t1. Prescott,  zuitttor of" 1Ferdinand and Isabella."  "' Tle plan of tshe work
is very judicious. * * It will plnt the reader in the proper point of view, for surveying the whole ground over vwhich lie is travelling. * * Suchl readers cannot fail to
oer,,it largelv by tlhe labors of the critic whlo has the talent and taste to separate what
ia really beautiful and worthlly of their study froln vwhat is supertluous."' I conscur inl the foregoing opinion of Mr. Prescott." -  Edward Everett.
" It will be a useful anti popiular work, indispensable to the library of a student of
Ernglish literature." -'   Francis WVityland.
WCe  ail  witli peculiar pleasure the appearance of tlhis work, and more especially
its republication in this cosuntry at a price vwhiich places it within the reach of' a great
number of readers." - JV'orth.dtnericanl Review.'" This is the most valunble and magnificent contribution to a sound popular literatIre that this century has brought fortll.  It fills a place which was before a olank.
Witllout it, English literature, to almost all of ovsr countrymen, cduclated or unedur.nated, is an isprt'rfect, broken, disjointed  mass.  Much that is beautiful -the nmsl
perfect and graceful psortions, undoubted(ly - was already possessed; but it was not
a whole.  Evecy intelligent man, every inquiring mind, every scholar, belt tlhat the
foundation was missing.  Chiambers's CyclopTedlia stupplies thlis radical defect.  It bIeginss with thle beginning  and, step by step, gives to every one who las the intellect or
taste to enjoy it a view of English literature in all its complete, beautiful, and perfect
proportions." -  Onondaga Demlocrat, N. Y.
" We hope that teachlers will avail themselves of an early opportunity to obtain a
work so well calculated to impart useful knowledge, withl the pleasures and ormlltlneta
of the English classics.  Tse work wvill undoubtedly find a place in our district and
other public libratries; yet it slould be the'vade mecurn' of every scholar." -o
T'eachers' ARduocate, Syracuse, JV. Y.
" Tile work is finely conceived to meet a popular want, is fill of literary instructicna
gsad is variously embellislhed with engraviitgs illustrative of Englilsh antiquities, hLstory, and biography.  The typography throughout is beautiful." -  Christian Reflect r,
Boston.'' The design has been well executed by the selection and concentration of somne of
the best productions of English intellect, from  the earliest Anglo-Saxon writfrs down
to those of the present day.  No one can give a glance at tile work withc.ut being
sItuck with its beauty and cheapness." - Boston Courier.
WV Ve should be glad if any thiing we can say would fitvor this design.  The elegance
of the execution feasts the eye withl beauty, and the whole is suited to refine anti ele
vato tlhe taste.  And we might ask, who can fail to go back to its beginning, and traea
his mothler-tongue fromn its rude infancy to its presenlt maturity, elegance, and richlness i"
Christian Jlirror, Portlanod.',* The Publishers of the AMERICAN Edition of this valuable work desire to state that, besides Iha
u~unerous pictorial illustrations in the English Edition, they have greatly enlriched the work by hbe adlition
rf fine steel and mezzotint engrravinrs of the heads of Slal:speare, Addisono, Byron  a full iength-por.Tail
of Dr. Johnson, and a beautitrl scellic represen!ation of Oliver Goldsmith andL Dr. Johnson. Tl'eae imrTro
teat and elegant additiols, together with superior paper anti blilding,, must give this a decided imeferse
vver all other editions.




.FOR  SCHOOL  AND  FAIMILY  LIBRARIES.
CIHAMIBERS'S 3MISCELLANY
OF USEFUL AND ENTERTAINING KNOWLEDGE,
TEN VOLUMES, ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED.
The design of the MISCELLANY  iks to supply the increasing demand for useful,
blrstrlctive, and entertaining reading, and to bring all the aids of literature to beat
on the cutltivations of tse feelings and eunderstandinrg of the people - to impress coLrrect
views on Important moral and social questions - to furnish an nlllolitrulsive ftiwnd
and guide, a lively fireside companion, as far as that object can be attaine.d Vthioughi
the instrrumentality of books.
This work is confidently commended to Teachlers, School Committees, and
all others interested in thle formation of'  Schrool Libraries," as tile very best work
for tiis purrpose.  Its wide ranlge of sllbjects, presernted in the most loplular style,
makes it exceedinrgly inlferestinlg ansd instrurctive to all classes.  Th'e mIost ialtterinig testillionials froin distinsguished school teach)ers and othlers, expreesing an
earnrest desire to hIave it introduced into all scihool libraries, have been received by
the ipublishers.
From Oeosre B. Emerson, Esq., Chairman of the Book Committeedof the Boston Schools.
-" I have examllinedl with a good (deal of care' Chambers's Miscellanv of Usefirl
and Entertainirlg Knowledge,' particularly with reference to its suitableness to
formrr parts of a library for young persons.  It is, indeed, a library in itself, and one
of great value, containing very choice selections in hiistory, biography, natural
hiistory, poetry, art, lphiysiology, elegant fiction, and various dlepartmnents of science,
inade with great ta;ste and judgmenrt, arnd swith tie lrighiest mnoral and philanthropic
prpose.  It would be difficult to find any mIiscellany superior or even eqrual to it
it richly deserves thie epithets  t useful and entertairning,' arnd I would recomtnmend
it very strongly, as extremely well adaptedl to form parts of a library for the young,
or of' a soci;al or circulating library, in town or country."
From  the Rev. Jolhn 0. Chourles, D. D.-" I cannot resist the desire which I feel
to thank you for the valuabale service whiich you hlave rendered to the public by
placing tlis admrirable work withini the reach of all who have a desire tro obtain
knowledge.  I amr  not acquainted with any similar collection in the Englisih la-.
glluage that can coinpare with it for purposes of instruction or arnmusemrent.  I should
rejoice to see that set of books in every house in orrr country.  I cannot thlink of
any rmethod by whicIh a fritlier canr  more materially besnefit his children tihan by
srurrolnldin tlherll with good books; and if these charminllr and attractive volumes
can be placed inl the hIands of the young, thiey will have their tastes formed for good
reading. I shall labor to see the Miscellany circullated amrong my friends, and shall
lose nrc pportrunity to commend it every where."
"'I'.ey contain an excellent selection of historical, scientific, and miscellaneoua
articles in populrtr style, fromll tlle best writers of thio latnguage. T'he work is ele
gantly printedl aen,  neatly illustrated, and is sold very cheap." — ndeperldent Drelct
ccrat, Concord,.J'. II..
"- It is just the book to take up at the close of a busy day; and especially will It
shod a new charlrr over autumnl   and winter in-door scenes."-Clhrist. World, Bostfm.
"'l'The informnration contained in this work is surprisingly great; and for thle fireside, and the young particularly, it cannot fail to prove a most valuable and erteTr
taining comparnion." — Jrew York Evangelist.' We are glad to see an American issue of this publication, and especially in sM
neat amnd convenient a formn. It is an admnirable compilation, distinguished by the
good taste wihich has been shown in all the purblicatiorns of the Messrs. Chamnbers,
Itrr unites the useful and tne entertaining." -JNew York Comlmercial. Sdvertiser
" It Is an admirable compilation, containing interesting memoirs and historic~l
aketches, whichl are iset'ill, instructive, and entertainling.  Every hlead of a famnily
should supply hi reself with ra copy for the benefit of his children." -  CornEing Journal.
The enterprising publishers deserve the thanks of every lover of tile beautiful
and true, for the cheap and tastefilr style in which they have spread this truly valuable work before the American people." - People's Advocate, Pa.
"It is filled with sulejects of interest, intended for the instruction of the youthful
mind, such as biography, history, anecdotes, natural philosophy, &c "- - em
Orlea~ss Bee.




THE POPULAR
CYCLOPAlEDIA OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE.
CONDENSED FRO3I TIE LARGER WORK.
BY JOHN KITTO, D. D.,
&UTItOR OF " HISTORY OF PALESTINE," " DAILY BIBLE ILLUSTRATIONS," ETo.
ASSISTED BY NUMEROUS DISTINGUISHED SCHOLARS IN EUROPE AND AMERICA.
Octavo. 812pp.  it lt 7?nore than Three Hzundred Illustrations. Price, cloth, $3,00..'ISI> PorPLAn BIBLICAL CYCLOPJEDIA OF LITERATURE is designed to furnish a DrcTos —
aaR  oF THE BIBLE, embodying the products of the best and most recenlt researches iv; biblihal literature, in which the scholars of Europe and America have been engaged. The
work, the result of immense labor and research, and enriched by the contributions of writers
of distinguisohed eminence in thie various departments of sacred literature, has been, by
universal consent, pronounced the best work of its lass extant, and the one best suited to
tile advanced knowledge of the present day in all the studies connected with theological
science.
This work, condensed by the author from his larger work in two volumes, is not only intendedt for ministers and theological students, but is also particularly adapted to parents,
Sabbath-school teachers, and the great body of the religious public. It has been the author's
aim to avoid imparting to the work any color of sectariant or dewominatitnal bias. On suIch
points of difference alnong Christians, the historical mode of treatment has been adopted,
and care has been taken to provide a fair account of the arguments which have seemen
most conclusive to the ablest advocates of the various opinions.  The pictorial illustrations - amount ng to more than three hundred - are of the very highest order of the art.
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS.
From Rev. J. J. Carrutlkers, D. D., Pastor of Second Parislh Cong. C'hurch, Portland, JMe.
By far the most valluable boon presented to the Christian public for many years. The
condensation of the work, at little more than a third of the price, is, what it professes to
be, a condensation, a reduction, not of ideas, but of words, without in the slightest degree
obscuring the ileaning of tile gifted authors.
P'rom Reu. Daniel Sharp, D. D., Pastor of Thira Baptist Church, Boston.
A most valuable, as it was a much needed, publication. Every minister ought to have a
copy of it onl his study table. As a book of reference, shedding its collected light on almost
all scriptural subjects, and furnishing a brief, but clear and compendious history of the most
remarkable events and personages mentioned in the Bible, it cannot fail of being a great
hIelp. Every lover of God's word, not to say every Sabbath-school teacher, and every theolcgical student, will find treasures of information in the above-namoed work.
From Rev. Joel Hawoes, D. D., Pastor of First Congregationaul Church, Hartford, Ct.
A capital work, containing a vast amount of information on a great variety of subjects
in a very condensed, yet clear and interesting form. Every family and every Sabbathl schtiol
teacher, wishing to understand the Bible, should possess this work.
From Rev W. B. Sprague, D. D., Pastor of Second Presbyterian Chutrch, Albany,.'. Y.
I regard it as the most important auxiliary to the study of the Scriptures, among the great
mass of people, of which I have any knowledge. Every Sabbath-school teacher, and indeed
every Christian, who is able to do so, ought to possess himself of the work; and the fact
thatnsuch a work is in existence, may well be regarded as one of the favorable signs of ths
times iu regard to the progress of evangelical knowledge.
Fr~oin Rev. J. B. Waterbury, D. D., Pastor of Bowsdoion St. (Congregational) Clhurch, Boston
It is a most valuable book, suited to the wants of clergymen, and well adapted to aid
Sabbath-school teachers in their responsible work. Every Lamily that can afford it, would
do well to possess themselves of so important and interesting a volumne; to lwhich they
might refer in elucidating the Scriptures, and rendering their study ri':' only profitable but
leliglotfuL




KITTOS CYCLOPAEDIA  OF BIBLICAL LITERATURII.
From Rev. E. A. Kir. k, Pastor. of JItount Vernon Congregational Church, Boston.
The work is invaluable to the student of the Bible. We have no other in this d(.plnrt
nment to be compared with it, for condensing the results of modern researches or Oriental
antiquities and topography, which are so valuable in explaining the language of the Bible.
Fovm:I1on. Thomas S. Williams, IHartford, Ct.
A mass of information, in a condensed form, highly important to those who regard the
sacred volume; and to Sabbath-school teachers it will prove a most valuable assistant.
From I-on. Edward Everett, LL. D., Boston.
I have kept it on my table, and have frequently referred to it; and it has been a good deal
read by different members of my family. I unite with them in the opinion that it is a vallable aworlk, well adapted for the above-namned purpose. It appears to embody, in a popular tormn, ihe results of much research, and will promote, I doubt not, the intelligent reading of tt.e Scriptures.
From Hotn. George J. Brifgs, LL. D., Pittsfield, JMlass.
To all who read and study the Bible it will be found to be a work of surpassing interest
and utility. Inl fanilies and in the hands of Sabbath-school teachers, its value and ilrpor-.
tance can hardly be over-estimated. Its explanations of the habits, customs, and religious
rites of the Hebrews and the surrounding nations, are clear and important; and the light
which it throws upon the biography, geography, and history of the Old and New Testament develops in those inspired volumes new beauties, and inspires a higher admiration
for that Book of books, and a profounder reverence for its Divine Author. I wish there
was a copy of it in every family in the land.
Flrotm Jared Sparzks, LL. D., President of Harvard College.
I am glad to possess the work; and I enclose three dollars, which I understand to be the
price of it.
Frontm ion. Theodore F~relintghluysen, LL. D., JVew BreunslicTZ,.Ji. J.
I regard it as a very valuable help to the student of the Bible. It brings to the aid of the
reading community, in an instructive and condensed form, a rich treasure of historical and
biblical literature, prepared and arranged by some of the best minds, and which could
otherwise be gained only by a laborious and patient research, that very few have the leisure to give to the subject. No family would, I thini, ever regret the purchase of a book so
deserving of a household place.
Froom I-Io. John MJIcLean, LL. D., of Ohio.
It is only necessasy to lool through this volume to appreciate its value. There is no work.1 have seen which contains so much biblical knowledge, alphabetically arranged under appropriate heads, in so condensed a form, and which is sold so cheap. Under a leading
word is to be found in this book, whether it relate to natural science or scriptural illustration, enough to satisfy every inquirer. Next to the Bible, this dictionary of it contains
more interesting knowledge than any work of the same size, and it should be found in every
family, in our public schools as well as in all our academies and colleges.
FrIom Hon. Simon Greenleaf, LL. D.
A took that will prove highly useful to all persons engaged in the study of the Bible,
r" in teaching its sacred truths to the young. I hope, therefore, that it will be widely
circulated.
Frolm Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, LL. D., Boston.
I have examined with great pleasure your edition of Kitto's Popular Cycloptedia of Bibli.
eal Litsrature. It seems to me a most convenient and valuable aid to the study of the
Scriptures, and I am glad that you have been able to publish it at so reasonable a price.
It can hardly fail to commend itself to those who would teach, and to those who would
learn, something more than tlhe mere letter of the inspired volume.
From Henry f. Ripley, D. D.,  tluthor of".N'otes on the Scriptures," and Professor in JNAewton
Titeological Institution.
It would be invaluable to Sabbath-school teachers, and of great utility to preachers. I1
every where shows evidence of research, and is particular and accurate in its details. It
employs appropriate authorities, both less and more modern, as to questions of sacred
criticism, of history and geography, and gives the reader the results of recent learned investigations. If the purpose of this book is gained, scriptural knowoledge will be increased.




KI'rTO'S CYCLOPAEDIA  OF BIBLICAL  LITEIRA rURE.
FrIontl Rev..lbert Barnes, D. D., Al thor of.rTotes oar the Scriptures," and Pastor of thir.
First Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia.
I feel greatly obliged to you for the volume of Kitto abridged. I have not had time to
examine it as an abridgment. I amn free, however, to speak of the original, which I hav6
had in use for several years, and vWhich I regard as al exceedingly valuable worlk. In
my own studies it has superseded all other works of a similar nature, as I think it will
wherever it is Iknown.
From Rev. Samuel NJl. Worcester, D. D., Pastor of the Tabernacle (Congl.) Church, Salem.
I have a copy of " the larger work," which I am disposed to think is really less valuable,
and therefore less worthy to be recommended to almost any class of readers  I shall not be
surprised if your edition shall have a decided preference with those who desire to have tas
much wheat, with as little as possible both of chaff or tares
From John Docolino, D. D., Aduthor of " History of Romanissm," etc., and Pastor o'f tr6
Broadway Baptist Church, NJewo Yorlk.
It is just such a workl as every minister, Sabbath-school teacher, and Christian father 31
a family ought to have constantly at hand, side by side with his Bible, to answer a thaousand questions which will constantly occur to all who desire to furnish their own minds fat
the work of instruction in the truths of God's word.
From Rev. W. T. Dwight, D. D., Pastor of Third Parish Cong. ClhurchL, Portland, Jie.
I regard it as far the most valuable work of the kind which has been published in this
country.
Fromn Rev. Gardner Spring, D. D., Pastor of Brick Church7 Chapel, (Pres. Cit.).Newe York
I am gratified to express the opinion, that for the variety, accuracy, add comprehensivehess of its articles, it is a most valuable volume. The biblical student, while he may not
dispense with other sources of informsation, will find in Kitto that which will save him no
little time and labor.
From Prof. George BuLsh, Author of "~ eotes on the Scriptures," J'Mew Yorl;.
An immense accumnulation of materials, drawn from the most recent sources on the all-.
tlquities, languages, geography, natural history, &c., of the sacred volume, the substance
of which is very skilfully condensed in the present volume, and amply illustrated by pictorial designs.
From R. E. Pattisonl, D. D., Prof. of Christian Theology in NAewton Theological Institution.
It is more valuable, in my opinion, than any other work of the kind in reach of the
American student of tile Bible. While it is an aid to all, it seems to me indispensable te
the minister. It meets the wants of the age in this department of knowledge.
From Htoward JMalcom, 1D. D., JIuthlor of "Bible Dictionary," etc., and President of University at Lewisburg, Pa.
I regard Kitto's Cyclopaedia as vastly superior to ally similar work. The author has evidently availed himself of the latest publications, whether critical, historical, geographical,
scientific, or antiquariaan; and so selected, arranged, and expressed his topics, as to snake
his work perfectly available to the unlearned, while it is a most welcome aid to the scholar.
Nc one who buys the book will regret his purchase.
Fromn Rev. R. iH. XVeale, D. D., Pastor of the First Baptist Church, Boston.
Your " Epitome," if epitome it may be called, is a decided improvement on the larger
e'Iork, inasmuch as, without materially lessening its value as a source of information, it is
brought, by its dimninished price, within the reach of the many who, in these days of
Sabbath schools and Bible classes, are, or ought to be, diligent students of the word of God.
FromJ Prof. N.. Porter, Yale College, PJewe Iraven, Ct.
I do not hesitate to express my belief that the Popular Cyclopwedia is the best work of the
kind in the language, and is particularly well adapted to the wants of Sabbath-school
teacchers and all the readers of the Scriptures who Wish to be acquainted with the results
of the older and more recent investigation in respect to the history, antiquities, and criticisil of the Sarcred Scriptures.




K1TTO'S POPULAR CYCLOPEDIA OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE.'rom Rev. Cyrus 2. Bartol, Pastor of WYest Cong regatioeal (Unitarian) Chlurch, Boston.
It is a most useful and valuable work, containing very important information on subjects
of the highest interest, and well worthy of a wide circulation.
From Rev. S. W. S. Dutton, Pastor of.Nsorth Consgregnational Church, Jrezw Haven, Ct.
Admirably adapted to the use of parents, teachers of the young, and of the community
generally. It is, in my judgment, altogether the best book for the purpose which has been
published.
Fromn Rev. J. 21f. Wainwright, D. D., Trinity (Episcopal) Church,  sews York.
I do not hesitate to recommend the work as being well adapted to the purpose for m lich
It was compiled.
Frome Rev. Baron Stowo, D. D., Pastor of Rowe Street Baptist Cshurch, Boston.
1 have examined it with special and unalloyed satisfaction. It has the rare merit of beir g
ill that it professes to be; and very few, I am sure, who may consult it, will deny that, in
richness and fulness of detail, it surpasses their expectation. Many ministers will find it a
valuable auxiliary; but its chief excellence is, that it furnishes just the facilities which are
r;eeded by the thousands in families and Sabbath schools, who are engaged in the irnptrtant business of biblical education. It is in itself a library of reliable information.
From Rev. A1. L. Stone, Pastor of Park Street Congregational Church, Boston.
I have folind it a time-saving and labor-saving helper in investigating the significance
of the sacred writings, which I could never consent again to be without. I hope, that not
only clergymen and Sabbath-school teachers, but every person who would be at all a student of the Bible, may avail themselves of this judicious and timely contribution to popularized sacred literature.
From Rev. Thomas Laurie, Pastor of Congregational Chlurch, Roxtbury.
I would heartily recommend it to al who wish a trustworthy compendium of biblical
science. Not to compare it invidiously Wvith other excellent Bible Dictionaries, there is one
excellence of this work that must render it superior to all others, and that is, that while
others were " got eup," this, if I may so express it, was " reduced down." We have the largest
Popular Encyclopadia of strictly Biblical Literature that exists. Some of the abbruciations also are decided improvements on the larger edition. Previous works of the kind
have, to too great an extent, merely retailed the conjectures of past ages, and perpetuated
their blunders in sacred geography No one who has not travelled in the East, ai.d consulted them on the spot, has any idea of the mass of rubbish they contain.
From Rev. Thomas HI. Skilnner, D. D., Pastor of Carmine Presbyterian Church, J7ew'Yoiklc.
I think it a work of very great value; while it suits the close student, it is strictly
"popular," and adapted to readers of every degree of capacity and intelligence. Most
earnestly do I desire that so rich a treasure may be in the possession of all who are interested in the study of the Scriptures. The price at which you offer it is a trifle indeed,
compared with what the purchaser obtains for it.
Firom Rev. Horace Bushnell, D. D., Pastor of Tlhird Congregrational Chlurch, HIartford, Ct.
I am very glad to see issued from your press an abridgment, for popular use, of Kitto's
Cyclopedia. It cannot be less than a very important contribution to the popular literature
of the Bible.
From Rev. John S. Stone, D. D., Rector of Christ (Episcopal) Clhurch, Brooklyn,.l'. Y.
I consider the work candid, learned, and well adapted to usefulness.
From Rev. Z. S. Barstow, D. D., Pastor of Congregational Church, Keene, XJ". H.
It brings into a convenient form, in a single volume, what must be sought for in many
volumes without it. And it is hereby recommended to parents, Sabbath-school teachers1
and others, as doing a good service in aiding them in the study of the Scriptures.
From Rev. A1. Bond, D. D., Pastor of Second Congreg(rational ChuTrch   o 3Vrolich, Ct.
I rejoice to see the abridgment out in such beautifill style. As now offered, it furnishes,
in convenient form, a most valuable auxiliary to the facilities provided to aid Sabbath
chool teachers and others in prosecuting the study of the Scriptures.




W:AYLANDI'S UNIVERtSITY SERMONS.
SERMONS DELIVERED IN BROWN  UNIVERSITY.
BY FRAncIS WAYLAiD, D. D.
Second Edition.  12mo. Price  l1.00.
"Few se.rnons contain so much carefully arranged thought as these by
Dr. Wayland. The thorough logician is apparent throughout the voiumne
and there is a classic purity in the diction unsurpassed by any writer, and
equalled by very few." - New York Coemmercial Adcverstiser.
"They are the careful production of a matured and powerful intellect,
ald were addressed to a thinking and well-informed audience, and art
especially adapted for the educated and thoughtful man."- Chr. Allicauce,
" No thinking man can open to any portion of it without finding his atten
tion strongly arrested, and feeling inclined to yield his assent to those self
e{vincing statements which appear on every page. As a writer, Dr. WayZ'and is distinguished by simplicity, strength and comprehensiveness. He
addresses himself directly to the intellect more than to the imagination, to
the conscience more than to the passions. Yet, through the intellect and
the conscience, he often reaches the depths of our emotive nature, and
rouses it by words of power. We commend these sermons to all students
of moral and religious truth, to all lovers of sound thought conveyed ir
elegant diction." - Watchman d~ Reflector.
"The discourses contained in this handsome volume are characterized b3
all that richness of thought and elegance of language for which their tsa
ented author is celebrated. The whole volume is well worthy of thle pen
of the- distinguished  scholar and divine from   whom  it emanates. —
Dr. Baird's Christian Union.
SACRED RHETORIC:
0r, Composition and Deliverym of Sermons.
BY IHIENRY J. RIPLEY, Prof. in Newton Theological Institution.
In.cluding WARE'S HINTS ON EXTEMPORANEOUS PREACHINrG
12mo. Price 75 Cents.
"An admirably prepared work, clear and succinct in its positions and
recommendations, soundly based on good authority, and well supported by
a variety of reading and illustrations. It is well adapted fir a healthy di-.
cipline of the faculty, and there are few preachers who might not with profit
revise their practice by its pages. It is worthy, too, of being a companion
to Whately, in the general study of Rhetoric." -N. Y. Literary World.
"Prof. Ripley possesses the highest qualifications for a wolk of this
kind. His position has given him  great experience in the peculiar wanvt
of theological students." - Providence Journal.
"Ilis canons on selecting texts, stating the proposition, collecting and
arranging materials, style, delivery, etc., are just and well stated. Every
theological student to whom this volume is accessible, will be likely to
procure it. - Christian Mirror, Portland.
" This work belongs among the substantials of our literature. It is man
ifestly the fruit of mature thought and large observation; it is pervaded
by a manly tone, and abounds in judicious counsels; it is compactly writteon and admirably arranged, both for study andl reference. It will become
a text book for theological students, we have no doubt; -- that it deservet
to be read by ali ministers who can avail themselves of it, and especially
yb2 all young ministers, is to us as clear. - N  Y Recorder,




REPUBLICAN CRISTIAN ITY:
OR TRUE LIBERTY;
As ESh ibited in thie Life, Precepts, and Early Disciples of the Great Redeemer
By E. L. MAGOON.
tlmo. Price $1.25.
"It is adapted to the spirit of the times. It meets and answers the great
inquiry of thle present day. It describes clearly the corruptions of past
times, the imperfections of the present, and the changes that must be
effected in the forms and spirit of religion, and through religion upon the
State, to secure to us better and brighter prospects for the future. TLe
author is not afraid to expose and condemn the errors and corruFtions,
either of the Church or State." — Christian WVatclhaan.
" Mr. M. has at his command a rich store of lear'ning, from which he skil
fully draws abundant evidence for the support of the positions lie assumes."
Boston Recorder.
" It is a very readable, and we think will prove a useful book. The ar
gllment is clear and well sustained, and the style bold and direct. TIhe
tone and spirit of the entire work are that of an independent tlinker, and
of a man whose sympathies are with the many and not with the few, with
no privileged class, but with the human race. We commend this book to
all lovers of true liberty and of a pure Christianity." - Providence Journat.
"Mr. Magoon is known as one of the most glowing and impressive orators
among the Baptist Clergy.  He thinks boldly and speaks frankly, and
with a variety and freshness of illustration that never fail to command
attention." - New York Tritbune.
"He considers Christianity in all its parts as essentially republican. HIe
has maintained his position with great tact. He abounds in illustrations
which are often exceedingly beautiful and forcible. All the peculiarities
of his style appear in this new work, whicl will generally be regarded as
the best that he has produced. It is a clear, striking, attractive, presenta
tion of his views and the reasons for them. It will excite attention, both
from  the subject itself and from the manner in which it is handled."
Philadelphia Chronicle.
" This book is one which the masses will read with avidity, and its pe
rusal, we think, will fire up the zeal of some Christian Scholars." - Bacptisl
Jeemorial.
PROVERBS FOR THE PEOPLE:
Or, Illustrations of Practical Godliness drawn freom the Book of Wisdom
BY E. L. MAGOON.
12mo. Price 90 cents.
"He is quaint, sententious,-he has indeed the three great qualities,' pith,
point and pathos,' -and always enforces high and noble sentiments." —
Neto York Recorder.
"It is a popular manual of great practical utility." - Ch. Chronicle Phiam
"The subjects are so selected as to embrace nearly all the practical duties
of life. The work. in consequence of this peculiar character, will be found
3xtensively useful." — Rochester Democrat.
" The work abounds with original and pithy matter, well adapted to engage the attention and to reform the life. We hope these discourses will be
extensively read." — lMorning Star, ZDover.
"Ib is an excellent book for young people, and especially for young men,
damidst the temptations of business and pleasure." - Albany  Express.




RIELIGIOUS PROGRESS;
I10COUIRSES ON THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE CHRISTIAN CIIARACTER
BY WILLIA1 R. WILLIAMIS, D. D.
12me0., Cloth.  Price 85 Cents
Froom   II. J. Riplcy, D. D., Professor of Sacred Rhetoric and Pastoral Dutties,
JVNewtot Thleol. Ist.
"Dr. Williams's Discourses delineate, with accuracy and just proportions, the Chris,
tiant graces anrd duties.  Strong conceptions, suggested by earnest conviction, anest
the readler's attention in this volume, no less than the author's characteristic beauty
of thought anti language. Historical and other illustrations of sentimnents are apt and
abundant;  evey paige almost betraying the wide comprehension of knowledge wlhich
distingtuishes the author. These Discourses cannot fail to make the heart better, whil,
tley inform  the unrlerstanding and gratifv a cultivated taste. They will, of courase
be sought for, and will promote their author's usefulness and reputation."
OP I N I ON OF THE PRESS.
" This book is a rare phenomenon in these days. It is a rich exposition of Scripture,
with a fund of practical, religious wisdomn, conveyed in a style so strong and so
massive, as to renmind one of the English writers of two centuries ago; and yet it
abounds in fresh illrstrations drawn fisom every - even the latest opened -field of
science and of literature." - JIethodist Qu&arterly.
" The author, although one of the most studious and erudite men of the day, is by
no means a Inere isolated scholar.  His vision is not confinedl by the walls of his
lilbrary. Watching tile progress of affairs fromr the quiet' loop-holes of his retreat," he
subjects the pictured phantasmlagoria before him to a vigorous and searclillng criticisn.
His )ower of apt arid forcibtle illustration is almost without a parallel amnong recent
wriners. Thle mute page springs into life beneath the magic of his radiant ilnaginatin.
But this is never at the expenise of solidity of thlouglht or strength of argumlent.  It is
seldomn indeed that a mind of so much poetic;al invention yields such a willing homnage
to the logical element.  He ermploys his brilliant fancies for tile elucidation and orrvamerit of trruth, but never for its discovery." - Ha7pers' Jllonthly tJlisrcellanry.' A series of truly eloquent discourses, constitutinig a noble testirmony on behalf of
Christianity as the only source and measulre of true' progress.' Withl warlmr  an d
glowing langruage, Dr. Williams exhibits anti enforces this truth, every page radiant
with' thoughts that birn,' and leave their indelible inmpression uponi the candid atld
intelligent mind." -V. Y. Corn..tdveertiscr.
" The strength and compactness of argulmentation, the correctness and beauty of
style, and the irnmportance of the aninating idea of the discourses, are wortlhy of thle
high reputation of Dr. Williams, and place therm  among the most finlished ]homiletic
productions of the day. We coild wish their judicious thouglhts and animnated periods
might secure tIhe study of every Christian." -J. Y. Evanrielist.
" This volume contains nine lectures, delivered to the people of his charge, by one
of the most emninent clergymen of this country." - Providence JourL7arl.
-" Dr. Williams is certainly one of the most intellectual writers we know." -J. Y
State IRegister.
"' This work is from tih  pen of one of the brightest lights of the American pulpit
x.We scarcely know of any living writer who has a filter conmadnd   of powerfiul thought
and glowing, impressive language, than he. The present volumrre will advance, if
possible, the reputation whicIh his previous works have acquired for him." — dlbany
Evenlil oqtlas.
"Dr. Williams has no superior among American divines, in profound and exact
learning, and brilliancy of style. He seems famrniliar with the literature of the wvoril,
and lays ihis vast resources under contribtution to illustrate and adorn every theme vuhich
he investigates. This volutme is destined to becomre widely popular, and to circuilate
more largely than any of the author's previous productions.  We wishl the volume
etorld be placed in every religious family in the country, to elevate the standard of'hristian altainnlent, and enlarge the conceptions of the iinherent power of Christian
ity to moulld national character.:' -Phila. Chr. Chronlicle.'"We anticipated much pleasure and profit from  this work, but our anticipations
have been more than realized.  We venture to predcict that this work will take its
plhce at once anong the classics of Amnerican literature." -  N. Y. Recorder.
" These sermons are c-ertaitnly able and eloclient prodllutioors; a valuable contribution to those efforts which are making, in various directions, to prevent the selfgufficiency of the nineteenth century from  forgetting its allegiance to God and his
Christ. and to wake up the true church to tile duty, even as it has the power, ta
extend over the world its spiritual governrment.  -N'.. Y. Car. Irlquirer.




TIIE LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF JOHN FOSTER,
AUTHOR OF " DECISION OF CHARACTER," "ESSAYS," &C.
BY J. E. RYLAND.
With Notices of Mr. Foster as a Preacher and a Companion, by Jouni
SHEPARD, author of " Thoughts on Devotion," etc. 2 Vols. in one.
Third Edition, 12nmo. cloth, $1,25.
"In simplicity of language, in mrjesty of conception, in the eloquence ci that
conciseness which conveys in a short sentence more meaning than the mlind daures
at once admit,- his writings are unmatched." - North British Review.
"It is with no ordinary expectations and gratification and delight that we haa-a
taken up tire Biography and Correspondence of the author of the' Essays on De.
vtsion of Character,' etc. The memoir of such a man as John Foster, must, of neccs.
sity, possess very peculiar attractions. It is certainly natural, and, we think not tinpraiseworthy, to wish to become more nearly acquainted with a man whose  nritinga
have been perused with admiration wherever the English language is spoken or un
derstood; whose calon, transparent and impressive thoughts have, in their acqltaintance and contact, cut out new channels of thought in ten thousand other minds,
whose dignified and sober views of life, religion, and immortality are adapted to shed
so hallowed a spirit over all who becotne familiar with thenm; and whose style and
vocabulary, showing himn a perfect master of our mother tongue, taken in connection with hlis other noble characteristics as an author, well entitle hinc to the
quaint description of his contemporary- Robert Hall,' a great, lumnbering wagon,
loaded with gold.' These volaumes happily introduce us to such a view of his life
and labors as it is most satisfactory for us to obtain. Mr. Ryland, the editor of the
memorials, is already favorably known on both sides of the water by his literary
offerirngs; and in the conmpilation of these volumes lie has exercised a discriminating judgment, a blamneless taste, and sound discretion.
"We are glad to find ourselves in possession of so much additional matter from
the well-nigh inspired pen of this great toaster in English composition."- Christiat Review.
" A book rich in every way - in good sense, vivacity, suggestiveness, liberality,
and piety." -Jlfirror.
" The letters which principally compose this volume, bear strongly the inipress
of his own original mind, and are often characterized by a depth and power of
thought rarely met with even in professedly elaborate disquisitions." — lbanh y..rgus.
" This work, from the character of its subject, must constitute the choice book
of the season, in the department of correspondence and biography. DissearinatIno trains of thougiht into which the mind of Foster has led us, vwho has not desired
to know more of the nian, of his interior and domestic life; of the experience and
strugglings of one to whom there had been given so profound an intuition; so deep
an insight into the mysteries of truth?  We all wish to know what he was as a
friend, a husband, a father, and as a practical exponent of what is enshlrined in the
immortal productions of his pen. All who appreciate the subtject of which these
volumes treat will rejoice in the opportunity of adding this treasure to their librarn.    - Ch/ristian Reflector.
" Jzhn Foster was one of the strongest writers of his age." - Christian? Register
"Tbis collection of letters will sustain and perhaps raise the reputation of John
Foster. We see in it every where the strong common sense, vigor of conception,
acuteness in distinguishing the real from the ostensible motives of human action,
and the remarkable insight into character, wl-iich mark all his other works. Ile wai
the anatomist rather than the physiologist of the huImtan soul. He was a mnetaphy
sician also, but one who delighted rather to develop truth in the concrete thal in
the abstract. His skill in the morbid anatomy of the humnan soul wras unsurpassed.
He winds himself into all the sinuosities of character, and brings to light weakness and meanness that mcalke us ashamed of oar race while we read. WVe stana
at seeing ouir own secret, sinful thoughts laid bare with unmerciful distinctness,
and all their deformities increased tenfold by the terrible exactness of delineation.
Their hideous ountlines are daguerreotyped before tus; and such is the power of the
ft lture, that we cannot look away firor it if wve would." — Christiai Watchman~.
GOULDn & LINCOLnN, PUBLISHIERS, BOSTON.




THE  MISSIONARY  ENTERPRISE;  A  Collection of Discourses
oin  Christian   Missions,  by   American   Authors.  Edited   by   BARoz
STow,  D.D.  Second Thousand.  Price 85 cents.," If we desired to put into the hands of a foreigner a fair exhibition of the capacity and
spirit of the American church, we would giv.e him  this volrune.  Yon have here thrown
together a few discourses, preached from timle to time, by differeot individuals, of dlif'erent'
desiominatisalons, as circolmstances have demanded them; and you see the stature anid feel
the pulse of the American Clhurch in these dliscourses with a certainty not to be inistaken.
" You see tile high talenlt of the American cllarch. We venture the assertion, that no
nation in the svorld has such asn amount of forceful, available talent in its -pulpit. The
energy, directness, scope, and intellectual spirit of the American church is wonderful. In
this book, the discourses by Dr. Beechler, Pres. Waylasnd, and the Rev. Dr. Stone of tho
Episcopal church, are among the very highest exhibitions of logical correctness, and burntng, popular fervor. This volutme will lhave a wide circulation."-'The iVezv Esgelander.
" This work contains fifteen sermons on M-issions, by Rev. Drs. Wayland, Griffin, Andezson, Williams, Beecher, Miller, Fuller, Benman, Stone, lMason, and by Rev. Mcessrs. Kirk,
Stow, aol( Ide. It is a rich treasure, which ought to be in the possession of every American
Christiasl." — Carolisca J:Scptist.
THE GREAT COMMISSION; Or, the Christian Church constituted
and  chlarged  to convey  the Gospel to  the World.  A Prize Essay.  By
JosINt  HARRIIS, D.D.  With anll Introductory Essay, by W. R. WILIAM3S,
1).D.  Fifth Thousand.  Price $1.00.
" Is plan is original and comprehensive. In filling it up thle author has interowoven
facts with rich and glowing illustrations, acnd with trains of thoughlt that are sometimes
almsost resistless in tlieir appeals to thle conscience. Tie work is not more distinguished
for its arguments and its genius, than for the spirit of deep and fervent piety that pervadles it." —'1/e Dsayslring.
e" This work comes forth in circumstances which give and promise extraordinary interest
and value. Its general circulation will do much good." --  eczw York Evangelist.
" In this volume we have a work of great excellence, rich in thought and illustration of a
subject to which the attention of thousands hlas been called by the word and providence of
God." - P/.iladtlelphia Obselver.
"The Inerits of the book entitle it to more than aprize of money. It constitutes a most
powerfull appeal on the subject of Missions." - Vew York Bal:)tist.Ildvocate.
"Its style is remlarkably chaste and elegant. Its sentiments richly and fervently evangelized, its argumentatioen conclusive. Preachers especially should read it; they will rcnew their strenlgth over its noble pages." - Zion's Ileracld, Bostoen.
"To recomnmend this work to the friends of missions of all denominations would be but
fainlt lraise; the author deserves and will undoubtedly receive the credit of hlaving applelied
a new lever to tilat great inoral machine which, by thle blessing of God, is destined to
evangelize tle world." - Christian  Secretary, Ieartfordl.
"We hope that the volume will be attentively and prayerfully read by the whole
church, which are clothed with the " Great Commission " to evangelize the world, and
that they will be moved to an iinemmediate discharge of its high and molmentous obligations.
1Y. E. Pleritana, Boston.
rHE KAREN  APOSTLE;  Or, MIemir of Ko THAI-BYI-, the first
Karen convert, with  notices concerninig  his Nation.  With maps  atnd
plates.  By the Rev. FRANCIS MASON, Missionary.  American Edition.
Edited bvy Prof. H. J. RIPLEY, of Newton Tlleol. Institution.  Fiftll Thousand. Price 25 cents.
e***" This is a work of thrilling interest, containing the history of a remarkable man, anel
giving, also, much information respecting the Karen 5Mission, heretofore unlknown in tllih
tuintry. It must be sought for, and read with avidity by those icnterested in this most iJ..
raesting mission.  It gives an account, whichl must be attractive, from  its novelty, of a
peop!5 that have heen but little klnown and visited by missionaries, till within a few years,
lThe baptisnl of Ko'lhah-Byu, in 1828, was the beginning of the mission, asd at tle nad of
these twelve years, twelve hundred ancd seventy Karens are officially reported as mellleers
of tle chlrcells, in good standing.  rlie mission has been carried on pre-eminenily by the
Karenls themselves, and there is eno doullt, from  mncllh touching evidence coaltained ic) this
voltelse, thllat they  re a people pecslliarly susceeptible to religious imperessions. Tihe aeeoun;
iaf iMr. Alasrn mlust br'llterestictg to every one,
(;j




I  VoM V$ cf Ralsdnpijp$   Uissisna lvis.
MEMOIR OF ANN H, JUDSON, late Missionary to Burmah. By Rev
JAMES I1). KNOWLES.  12ino. Edition, price 85 cents.  1Smo., price 58 ts.
" We are particularly gratified to perceive a new edition of thie Iemoirs of 3Irs. Judsoea
She was an honor to our country - one of the niost noble-spirited of her sex. It cainnor
therefore, be surprisinrg, tllat so lmany editions, and so maLny thousand copies of her life acnd
Rdventures have been sold. The name - the long career of suffering - the self-sacrificing
spirit of the retired country-girl, have spread over the whole world; and the heroism of her
apostleship and almost martyrdonm, stands out a living and hleavenly beacon-fire, amid thls
dark midnighllt of ages, and husnan history and exploits.  She was the  first woeanl who
resolved to beconle a missionary to heathen countries."-A/zerican Traveller.
"' This is one of thle most Interesting pieces of female biography which has ever come nncer our notice. No quotation, which our limits allow, would do justice to thle facts, and we
must, therefore, refer our readers to the volumne itself. It ought to be immediately adde.tdW
every family library."-Lotndoia   iscellany.
MEMOIR OF GEORGE DANA BOARDMAN, Late Missionary to
Burmah, containing much  intelligence  relative  to the Burman Mission.
By Rev. AiorNzo K.lcG.  A new Edition.  With  an  Introductory Essay,
ty  a  distinguished   Clergyman.   Embellished  with  a  Likeness;  P.
beacltifial Vignette, representing  the  baptismal scene  just before his
death;  and a drawing of his tomb, taken  by Rev. H. MIALCO31, D.D
Price 75 cents.
" One of the brightest luminaries of Burmah is extinguished, - dear brother Iloardlnan
is gone to his eternal rest.  -le fell gloriously at the head. of Ihis troops - in the arms of icetory, - thirty-eight wild Karens having been brought into the camllp of king Jesus since tlhe
beginning of the year, besides the thirty-tlwo that were broulght in during the two precedingls
years. Disabled by wounds, he was obliged, through the whole of thle l:st expeditionl, to be
carried on a litter; but his presence was a host, andi the Holy Spirit accomllpanied his
dying whispers with almighty influence.'                          RIv. Dct. Juisos-.
" No one can read the Memoir of Boardman, without feeling that tlhe religion of Christ is
suited to purify the affections, exalt the purposes, and give energy to the challracter. Mr.
Boardman was a ilman of rare excellence, and his biogrlapher, by a just exhibition of that
excellence, has rendered an important service, not only to the cause of Christian missions,
but to the interests of personal godliness."                           BtiouN STOW.
MEMOIR OF MRS.. HENRIETTA  SHUCK, The First American
Female Missionary to Chcia.  By Rev. J. B. JETER.  Fourth thousand.
Price  50  cents.
" "We have seldom  taklen into our hands a more beautiful book than this, and we have
no small pleasure in knowing the degree of perfection attained in this country icn the arts
of printimng acid book-binding, as seen in its appearance. The style   i the author is sedate
aird pcrspicuous, such ics we ciight expect from ]lis known piety and learrsing, his attachment to imcissions, and the amiable lady whose memory he emlbalms. i'he book will be extensively read and eminently useful, and thus the end(s sought by the author cwill be halppily secured.  W~e think we are not mistaken in this opinion; for those who taste the
effect of early education upon thle expansion of regenerated convictions of duty and Ihapliness, who are caroeied with youthful, heroic self-consecration upon the altar of God, for the
weltare of man, and who are interested in those struggles of mind which lead men to shiut
their eyes and ears to the importunate pleadings of'filial tiffection - those who are interesteil
i.l Chinla, that large opening field for the glorious conquests of divine truth, crho are interested in thle govermisent alnd habits, social and business-like, of the people of tlhis ecnilire -
all such will be interested in this MIemioir. To them and to the friendcis of ni'ssiois generally,
the book is commended, as worthy of an attentive perusal." —lTe FaZilv Fisitcl, 1 oson.:.
MEMOIR OF REV. WILLIAM  G. CROCKER9 Late Missionary in,
West Africa, among the Ba'ssas, Including a History of the Mission.  By
R. B. MI:ED3r;RY.  Price 621 cents.
" This interesting work will be found to contain munch valuable information in relatioll to.hc present stite and prospects of Afiica, and the success of Missions inl that interesting
coentry, which has jlust taklen a stand among the nations of the earth, and, it is to be hopied,
ncay snccessfilly cwield its new powers for the ultimate good of the whole continent.'lih
present work is commended to thle attention of every lover of the liberties of mnan.
" Our acq laintance cwitl the excellent brother, who is the subject of this Mlemioir, will be
long aned fonidly cherished. This volulne, prepared by a lady, of true taste and talent, and
oif a lkindred spirit, while it is but a just tribute to his worth, will, we doubt not, furnisih
lessons of humble and practical piety, and will give such facts relative to the mission to
whiclh lhe devoted his life, as to render it worthy a distinguishled place amlong the religioul
iud missionary biography which has so much enriched thllre imily of God."- Ci,. WIctlccir  ma




Ii STORY''Y  OF
ABlERICAN  3APTIST MISSIONS,
IN ASIA, AFRICA, EUROPE, AND NORTHII AMERICA,
BY WILLIAM GAMMELL, M. A.
With Sevcan'aps.  12mo.  Price Sevenzy-fve Cents,
SIXTH THI-OUSAND.
The publishers have been favored with the following highly commendatory letters
fran those who are the best judges of the accuracy of the work, namely, the mis..
Btonaries themselves, who have been long in the field, and are presumed to be better
arsqksainted with the subject than other individuals.
Their unequlivocal testimony to the fidelity of the work must be gratifying to
velky well-wisher of the cause, and commend it to the attention of all interested in
Itis subject.
oince the return of Messrs. Osgood and Vinton, they have been serving the inter-.ts of the Board in various parts of the country, and have also in connection with
their agency taken mulch interest in the circulation of the History, deeming it an
fificient instrument in promoting their benevolent designs.
From Rev. J. II. Vinton, of the Maulmain and Karen Mission.
I am so much interested in the circulation of Prof. Gammell's History of Missions,
i:hat I am resolved to give away every fifth copy. I cannot afford to make any:rofit in the sale of such a work. It is, as a whole, the most reliable History of
he missions I have ever read, and could it be put in the hands of every man in the
ienomination, able to pay for it, you might then almost dispense with all other agencies, except the Magazine and Macedonian, which would still be needed, as a continuation of the History so weli begun.
From Rev. S. M. Osgood, of the Burmoan Mission.
Accompanying is an order for one hundred and fifty copies of Prof. Gammell's
History of American Baptist Missions. I read this History with great interest
immediately after its publication, and having been for more than twelve years connected with the Mission in Burmah, ain happy to be able to bear decided testimony
to its authenticity, so far as my observation extends. I am also highly gratified
with its adaptation to the wants of the denomination in this department of literature. We have long needed just such a work - a work not only intrinsically valnable as a History, but written in a style sufficiently attractive to insure its being
read, not only by pastors, but by the members of our (:hurch and friends of Missions, young and old. I am happy to be able to say, that within the circle of my
acquaintance, the History meets with general favor, and I sincerely hope that its
circulation may be greatly extended. I have already disposed of nearly four hundred and fifty copies, and shall continue to interest nmyself in its circulation.
From Rev. E. Kincaid.
As I have labored more or less at all the stations in Burmah, not only at Rangryc
and Ava, but also in the Tenasserim  and Arracan provinces, I could not but admire the singular accuracy with which all the leading facts of these Missions
are detailed in Prof. Gainmell's History of American Baptist Missions. I have not
found a single error of any importance. I hope our religiors papers will not fall
to let this work be l nown among the churches. It furnishes the information so
much needed.
From the Rev. J. Wade, of the Burman Mission.
So far as I have examined Gaminell's History, I can most cordia.ly recommend
Xt to the public as being a very truthfuil and well written work.
Availing myself of occasional opportunities to peruse it, I selected those chapters
wniich treat of the Missions with which I am personatlly acquainted, and was delighted to find nothing on which the reader might not rely as being substantially correct.
I consider it an excellent work.
07  A liberal discount made by the dozen or hundred copies'o those who engale
in its circrulation.




%,as      1si4sh 5  of,234 9     a4ris. NW,'HE  PRE-ADAMITE  EARTH:  Contributions to Theological Science.
Price 85 cents.
"It is a book for thinking men. It opens new trains of thought to the reader- puts
him in a new position to survey the wonders of God's works; and compels Natural Science to lbar her decided testimony in support of Divine Truth." - Phliltc. Ch. Observe,
MAN  PRl MEVAL   Or, the Constitution and Primitive Condition of the
Humana   Being.  A  Contribution to Theological Science.  With a finely
engraved portrait of the author; 12mo. cloth, price $1.25.
*** This is the second volume of a series of works on Theological Science. The first waT
received with much favor-the present is a continuation of the plineiples which welre
seen holding their way through the successive kirigdoms of primeval nature, and are here
resumed and exhibited in their next higher application to individual man.
" Iis copious and beautiful illustrations of'the successive laws of the Divine  1anuifestation, have yielded us inlexpressible delight."- LozsEdonZ Eclectic  erciesl.
rH E  GRE AT   CO M M I SSION           Or, the Christian Church constituted
and charged to convey the Gospel to the World. A  Prize Essay.  With
arn Introductory Essay, by W. R. WILLIAMS, D.D. Price $1.00
" Of the several productions of Dr. Harris, - all of them of great value, - that now before
us is destined, probably, to exert the most powerful influence in forming tile religious and
missionary character of the coming generations. But the vast fund of argument and instruction comprised in these pages will excite the admiration and inspire the gratitude
of thousasds in our own land as well as in Europe. Every clergyman and pious and reflecting layman ought to possess the volume, and make it familiar by repeated perusal."
Boston Recorder.
I His plan is original and comprehensive. In filling it up, the author has interwoven facts
with rich and glowing illustrations, and with trains of thought that are sometimes almost
resistless in their appeals to the conscience. The work is not more distinguished for its
arguments and its genius, than for the spirit of deep and fervent piety that pervades it."
The )auy-Spring.
T H E  GRE A T  TEA C HER     Or, Characteristics of our Lord's Ministry.
With an Introductory Essay, by H. HUMPH-REY, D.D.  Tenth thousand.
Price 85 cents.
" The book itself must have cost much meditation, much communion on the bosom of
Jesus, and much prayer. Its style is, lile the country which gave it birth, beautiful, varied,
finished, and everywhere delightful. But the style of this work is its smallest excellence.
It will be read: it ought to be read. It will find its way to many parlors, and add to the
comforts of many a happy fireside. The reader will rise from each chapter, not able, perhaps, to carry with him many striking remarks or apparent paradoxes, but he will have a
sweet impression made upon his soul, like that which soft and touching music makes when
every thing about it is appropriate. The writer pours forth a clear and beautiful light, like
that of the evening light-house, when it sheds its rays upon the sleeping waters, and
covers them with a surface of gold. We can have no sympathy with a heart which yields
not to impressions delicate and holy, which the perusal of this work will naturally make."
Huampshire Gazette.
MISCELLA NI ES 9 Consisting principally of Sermons and Essays.  With
an Introductory Essay and Notes, by J. BELCHER, D.D. Price 75 cents.
" Some of these essays are among the finest in the language; and the warmth and energy
of religiaus feeling manifested in several of them, will render them peculiarly the treasvie of the closet and the Christian fireside."-Bangor Gazette.
M AM MON; Or, Covetousness, the Sin of the Christian Church.  A Prize
Essay. Price 45 cents. Twentieth thousand.
*** This masterly work has already engaged the attention of churclies and individual
and receives the highest commendations.
ZEBU LON; Or the Moral Claims of Seamen stated and enforced. Edited
sy Rev. W. M. ROGERS and D. M. LORD.  Price 25 cents.
*** A well written and spirit-stirring appeal to Christians in favor of this nomeronl, use.
ful, and long neglected class.
H E  ACTI VE  CHRISTI AN    Containing the " Witnessing Church,"
" Christian Excellence," and  "'Means of Usefulness," three popular productions of this talented author   Price 31 cents.