We invite, therefore, the attention of the thoughtful reader to a man who presents one of the most perfect types of human purity that the world has ever seen; one who for two hundred years has stood among the choicest few of those universally esteemed to be authorities in spiritual things; one endowed with a luster which the lapse of time can not tarnish,—a luster far brighter than can be bestowed by mere worldly honors or temporal prosperity, however high. He not only had a heart filled with the love of God and glowing with pure devotion, but also a mind capable of the closest analysis and the keenest discrimination. He was not only a saint, but also a scholar and a genius, an original thinker as well as a pursuer of holiness. Such combinations are very rare. His thirst for perfection has probably never been surpassed. Seldom, if ever, has such a remarkable combination of high qualities tabernacled in the flesh. He had both modesty and majesty, both simplicity and sublimity, unconquerable firmness in duty, unsurpassed meekness in society; he was equally eminent for piety and politeness, for morals and manners; he was sympathetic and chivalrous, severe to himself, indulgent to others. In the midst of a voluptuous court he practiced the virtues of an anchorite; with the revenues of a prince at command he hardly allowed himself ordinary comforts. His abilities awaken our admiration, his afflictions excite our compassion. Born among the nobility of earth, he resisted the blandishments of earthly pomp, and became crowned with the far higher nobility of heaven. He was truly humble and truly heroic; good as well as great; skillful in teaching, wise in counsel, master of an elegant style both in composition and discourse; faithful to his friends and kind to his foes; devoted to his native land, generous to his family, a man of peace yet ready to fight for the faith, true to his convictions, tolerant toward those of other beliefs, tenderly affectionate, vigorously diligent; the glory of his country, the joy of mankind, the beloved of the Lord. He had an intense nature, and was, as has been said, “One whose religion must be more loving than love, his daily life more kind than kindness, his words truer than truth itself.” Lamartine calls him “beautiful as a Raphael’s St. John leaning on the bosom of Christ.” He had the imagination of a woman for dreaming of heaven, and the soul of a man for subduing the earth. The especially feminine qualities were prominent in him, yet he strikes no one as effeminate, and when he felt himself set for the defense of the truth he showed a power that greatly surprised his enemies. “His soul was like a star and dwelt apart,” “alone with the Alone.” And yet he was so deeply interested in the welfare of France and his fellow-men that he has been called a politician; statesman would be the word more befitting the facts, for his ideas as to the measures and policies necessary to make the land prosperous were in the main very wise, and he had no personal ends to serve. In whatever capacity we consider him—poet, orator, moralist, metaphysician, politician, instructor, bishop, friend, persecuted Christian—he excites our keenest interest, our warmest admiration. He greatly desired to please every one, and succeeded so far as circumstances allowed; but the desire was held in strictest control by a strong sense of duty, which compelled him at times to do and say things most unacceptable to many. He was no courtier, no flatterer, he could not make his own interests the first consideration. He was a prophet in Gomorrah, charged with a message which pressed upon him for utterance, and for the delivery of which the time was short. At the court of Louis XIV—a spot above all others on the face of the earth, perhaps, in that century, disgraced by selfishness, hypocrisy, and intrigue—he bears not a little resemblance to a seraph sent on a divine mission to the shades of the lost. There is endless fascination in his story. He was not without faults, but his faults were those of his age; his virtues were his own. He turned a haughty, irritable, overbearing young prince, an incipient CÆsar Borgia, into the mildest, most docile, obedient of men. He possessed his soul in peace amid provocations that would have been far too much for most of us. Neither public disgrace nor personal bereavement had power to embitter him. He listened to the voice of God within him, and marched straight on, breast forward. In the language of Herder, “His Church indeed canonized him not, but humanity has.” He is a saint in the eyes of multitudes not attracted by official sanctity; an apostle of liberty that dared withstand the Grand Monarque; a martyr spending half a life in exile, through the machinations of a court faction which dreaded his incorruptible goodness. “Being dead, he yet speaketh.” “One of the noblest men who ever lived,” says Dr. John Henry Kurtz, the distinguished Church historian. Joseph de Maistre exclaims: “Do we wish to paint ideal greatness? Let us try to imagine something that surpasses FÉnelon—we shall not succeed.” Let us, then, putting aside imagination, endeavor to rescue from the musty record of the misty past, a lifelike image of this many-sided, multiple, versatile personality.

FranÇois de Salignac de la Mothe FÉnelon was born August 6, 1651, at the castle, or chateau, of FÉnelon, about three miles from the town of Sarlat, in the department of Southern France, formerly called Perigord, now Dordogne, north of the river Garonne. The De Salignacs were of an ancient and distinguished family, counting in their long pedigree many of the best names of France—bishops, governors, generals, and ambassadors. But it is safe to say that they have derived more luster from the single name of the Archbishop of Cambrai than from all the rest who through several centuries filled lofty stations in camp and court and Church.

Very little is known about his parents or his early life. Pons de Salignac, Count of La Mothe FÉnelon, father of Francis, was twice married, having fourteen children by his first wife and three by his second. The eldest of the three was Francis. His mother, Mademoiselle Louise de la Cropte de Saint-Arbre, sister of a celebrated lieutenant who served under Marshal Turenne, is said to have been unusually pious, which we can well believe, and to have perpetuated some of her other traits in her famous son. From his father’s side he doubtless inherited his diplomatic temperament and a goodly degree of worldly wisdom. His peculiar situation in the household could hardly fail to have had something to do with his character. The numerous grown-up sons and daughters of his father’s first marriage took umbrage at the second; hence the precocious and sensitive child had abundant occasion to practice all possible arts of ingratiation to obtain forgiveness for having intruded his existence upon them, and to make it pleasant for his mother. His constitution was delicate, and he had a sickly childhood; once at least in his early days his life was despaired of, and he only recovered to be for years the victim of sleeplessness and kindred ailments. He was the idol of his old father, who, recognizing his unusual talents, took special pains with his education. It was intrusted at first to a private preceptor, who seems to have been well fitted for his task, and gave to his pupil in a few years a better knowledge of Greek and Latin than is commonly obtained at so early an age, doubtless laying thus the foundation of his exquisitely finished style. At twelve he left the paternal roof for the neighboring University of Cahors (a town about sixty miles north of Toulouse, containing now an obelisk of FÉnelon), where he pursued for some three years philosophical and philological studies and took his degrees in the arts.

His father probably died about this time, as we hear nothing further of him, and his uncle, the Marquis Antoine de FÉnelon, who had lost his own son, acted henceforth as the father of his nephew. It was a most happy circumstance, for the marquis was deeply religious and of an unsullied private life, as well as very independent in his character. The Grand CondÉ, greatest general of his time, described him as “equally at home in society, war, and the council chamber.” When M. de Harlai was nominated to the Archbishopric of Paris, the marquis remarked to him, “There is a wide difference, my Right Reverend Lord, between the day when the nomination for such an office brings to the party the compliments of the whole kingdom, and the day on which he appears before God to render Him an account of his administration;” a reflection which, although much needed, could not have been very agreeable to De Harlai, for he was a notorious evil liver, who introduced every species of corruption into the administration of his diocese, and scandalized all by the iniquities also of his private life. Another indication of the marquis’s truly noble quality is seen in the fact that when M. Olier, the celebrated founder of the Congregation of St. Sulpice, wished to form an association of gentlemen whose courage was past impeachment, to bind themselves with an oath neither to accept any challenge nor act the part of second in any duel—that the practice of dueling might thus be checked—he asked M. de FÉnelon to take the post of president of the association, being convinced that there was no one whose reputation was more firmly established both in court and camp.

Under the guidance, then, of this admirable relative, who was so exceptionally well fitted by character, position, and situation to give his nephew the best possible start in life, and who tenderly loved him, young Francis came to Paris in 1666, at the age of fifteen. It was not, of course, the Paris of the present day; but even then it was a great city, reaching back for its beginning to the Roman times, and recognized as the seat of government for at least a thousand years. Under Henry of Navarre (1589-1610) great improvements had been made, and by the accession of Louis XIV—who began to reign nominally in 1643, at the age of five, but really took charge of the kingdom in 1661—through the completion of several bridges, roads, and quays, and the erection of various public and private palaces, a new face had been put on the old city. It was already the focus of European civilization, learning, and eloquence, as well as the center of all that was most attractive and distinguished in France. The best institutions were there, the best opportunities for advancement, the highest privileges and advantages of every sort; so that to it naturally gravitated all who wished to make the most of themselves under the eye of that Grand Monarch whose favor was life. Francis, therefore, no doubt counted himself greatly blessed at this change, and entered upon his Parisian life—which was to last thirty-one years—with very high, ambitious hopes. His guardian sent him for two years to the CollÉge du Plessis, then under the rule of M. Gobinet, a first-rate principal. There he speedily distinguished himself as a scholar, and he also gave such tokens of possessing the gift of eloquence that before he was sixteen he was put forward to preach to an admiring audience. It is, perhaps, worth noting that Bossuet—who was so soon to be closely associated with FÉnelon, at first in friendship, then in fierce hostility—also preached at the same age, with similar applause, before a brilliant assemblage in Paris.

What was the next step? A noble under Louis XIV had two possible careers open to him, and only two; they were the army and the Church. It is not probable that the matter was long debated, if at all, in Francis’ case. Everything about him, his gifts of speech, his high scholarship, his deep piety, his rather delicate health, pointed to the clerical vocation, and there can be no question but this was with him a divine calling, to which doubtless his heart gave full assent. So he was placed, in 1688, at the seminary of St. Sulpice to be trained for the priesthood.

Since he was to spend no less than ten happy years, in the formative period of seventeen to twenty-seven, in connection with this institution, it may be well that we say a few words about it and its director. It was the principal fruit of the great Catholic revival at the beginning of the century, the embodiment of all the force of that movement—a movement marked by very earnest piety and a somewhat unusual combination of emotionalism and asceticism. It was founded by a group of devoted men sprung from the upper-middle class; and chief among them was M. Olier, a man justly celebrated for his saintly life. He was appointed in 1642 to the parish of St. Sulpice when it was noted as the most depraved quarter of Paris. He labored unremittingly and very successfully to reform this unpromising flock, and the young priests who were associated with him in his task constituted the nucleus of the seminary and community of St. Sulpice. The necessary building to house the institution, to the establishment of which Monsieur Olier gave himself with highest enthusiasm, was completed in 1652—a square edifice capable of receiving one hundred inmates. This became the center of a most wholesome and inspiring activity.

The founder had a very high ideal of sacerdotal character. He would not admit any who embraced the sacred calling from considerations of ambition or expediency, and those admitted were subjected to the sharpest kind of tests. Whatever their birth or condition they were required to perform the menial duties of the house, and to mingle on terms of absolute equality with their fellow-students. The complete immolation of self was set as the paramount aim before those who looked forward to holy orders. The will must be entirely surrendered. The good priest must become the model of all the virtues. All earthly interests and ties must be renounced. The closest union with the Divine was to be cultivated. A very literal interpretation of the teaching of the Master was followed. The pupils were urged to study the Gospels till they could bring the Divine life before them at any moment in a series of mental pictures which should help them in the decision of all perplexing questions of duty, and were exhorted to keep themselves in such a disposition that meditation on that model life would never seem strange or demand a violent mental revulsion whatever their outward circumstances might be. While the ceremonies of the Church were observed with minute exactness, and occasional austerities were practiced, and learning was not neglected, the main thought was that the perfection of personal character must be secured at all costs; the world was to be abandoned, the flesh crucified, the devil in all his forms resisted, and lessons of humility, obedience, and charity were to be most carefully learned. They were taught that in the silence which succeeds the struggle of self-abandonment they would find Christ coming to them—the Christ who had borne all and understood all, and whose presence was far more worth having than the prizes they had missed or put away.

It can well be believed that this wholly consecrated man, the first superior of St. Sulpice, won to himself so large a share of personal affection and loyalty from his students that when he was removed from its care many feared its collapse. But this was not to be. A suitable successor was found in M. Louis Tronson, a man every way as capable as the first founder—indeed more learned in theology—and fully disposed to continue the traditions of the institution as already laid down; a man who coveted no external recognition, joined in no race for preferment, but gave himself with singleness of eye to the great work intrusted to him by the Master. It was to his care that Francis FÉnelon was committed, and he speedily won the enthusiastic affection of the young man. In a few years FÉnelon writes concerning his teacher to Pope Clement XI as follows: “Never have I seen his equal for piety and prudence, for love of justice and insight into character. I glory in the thought that I was brought up under his wing.” FÉnelon was evidently one of the AbbÉ Tronson’s favorites, for he was a favorite with everybody, and all could see in the brilliant youth a promise that would do honor to those who had a share in his development. A high degree of confidence was given and received on both sides. Francis wrote to his uncle, in a burst of gratitude, one day: “I earnestly desire to be able to tell you some part of all that passes between M. Tronson and me; but indeed, Monsieur, I know not how to do so. I find I can be much more explicit with him than with you, nor would it be easy to describe the degree of union we have reached. If you could hear our conversation you would not know your pupil, and you would see that God has very marvelously helped on the work which you begun. My health does not improve, which would be a great trial to me if I were not learning how to comfort myself.” This was very beautiful, very delightful, and though such complete dominance of one personality by another is not devoid of danger, the results in this case appear to have justified the experiment. Francis’ early bent to deep piety was greatly intensified during these years, and his views of disinterested or perfect love, so strongly brought out in later times, were scarcely more than the natural evolution of the thoughts and habits drilled into him during this formative period. He greatly enjoyed this home of piety and study. His love for the seminary never decayed. He declared on his death-bed that he knew of no institution more venerable or more apostolic.

It was while at the seminary that FÉnelon thought he had a call to the mission field. The congregation of St. Sulpice had a large missionary establishment at Montreal, and many of the students from the Paris house had gone thither. It was natural, with his intense unworldliness, that he should wish to follow in their footsteps, and in one of his descent it would not be surprising if the love of adventure was unconsciously mingled with a more religious ambition to show his love for the Savior by doing a great work for Him in a difficult field. How many have had these longings, but have been providentially prevented from carrying them out! In FÉnelon’s case difficulties at once sprung up. His uncle, the Marquis Antoine, strongly objected on account of the delicacy of his constitution, and another uncle, the Bishop of Sarlat, coincided with this opinion. A letter on the subject to the bishop from M. Tronson, dated February, 1667, says, “His strong, persisting inclination, the firmness of his resolution, and the purity of his intentions have made me feel that they deserved attention, and led me to give you as exact a report as may be of our action in the matter.” The teacher had done his very best to dissuade the youth from his purpose. “I have told him plainly that if he can calm his longings and be quiet, he might, by going on with his studies and spiritual training, become more fitted to work usefully hereafter for the Church.” He adds, “I perceive too confirmed a resolution to have much hope of change.” The feelings called out were so strong that persuasion seemed useless, and so the teacher appealed to the authority of the guardians; which proved sufficient to stop the rash enterprise.

But the missionary impulse still burned strongly in the breast of this enthusiastic youth, and it burst forth again a few years later. He received the tonsure, and entered holy orders in 1675, at the age of twenty-four, and went for a while to work in the diocese of his uncle, the Bishop of Sarlat. It was at this time that his thoughts were turned to the Levant. A letter of October 9, 1675, sets forth somewhat rhapsodically his excited feelings: “I long to seek out that Areopagus whence St. Paul preached the unknown God to heathen sages.... Neither will I forget thee, O island consecrated by the heavenly visions of the beloved disciple! O blessed Patmos, I will hasten to kiss the footsteps left on thee by the apostle, and to imagine heaven open to my gaze!... Already I see schism healed; East and West reunited; Asia awaking to the light after her long sleep; the Holy Land, once trodden by our Savior’s feet and watered by his blood, delivered from profaners and filled with new glory; the children of Abraham, more numerous than the stars, now scattered over the face of the earth, gathered from all her quarters to confess the Christ they crucified, and to rise again with him.” This was decidedly visionary, and somewhat overwrought; but it shows at least a heart on fire to do something extraordinary for God, and this he had at all periods of his life. He did not go to Greece and Palestine, abandoning the project in deference to the wishes of his family, to whom he was extremely reluctant to give pain. It was a romantic dream rather than a true vocation.

It is thought by some that he really went to Montreal at a later date. The Correspondence Litteraire of July 25, 1863,[2] gives a letter from the archives of the French Ministry of Marine in the handwriting of Colbert, the great Finance Minister of Louis XIV, who also had charge of the department of commerce, dated in 1675, to Frontenac, Governor of Canada, in which Louis XIV says: “I have blamed the action of AbbÉ FÉnelon, and have ordered him not to return to Canada. But I ought to say to you that it was difficult to institute a criminal proceeding against him or oblige the priests of the seminary of St. Sulpice at Montreal to testify against him; and it was necessary to remit the case to his bishop or the grand vicar to punish him by ecclesiastical penalties, or to arrest him and send him back to France by the first ship.” There was not then in France any other abbÉ of that name, so far as is known. Somewhat confirmatory of it is the fact that Appleton’s Cyclopedia, in its account of the Society of St. Sulpice says, “In 1668 the Sulpicians, FranÇois de FÉnelon and Claude TrouvÉ, founded the first Iroquois mission at the western extremity of Lake Ontario, but their labors were confined principally to the Indians near Montreal.” The dates do not harmonize; but it may be that, in some irregular way that did not commend itself to the authorities, our hero was for a time in Canada; but if so, it is very singular that it left so little trace upon his life.

He gave himself for some three years after his ordination to labors in the parish of St. Sulpice, living still at the seminary, and endeavoring to spread the light of his faith among the poor wherever he could reach them best, whether in prisons and hospitals or their own quarters. It was good training for him in many ways, enlarging his sympathies, deepening his views of life, and bringing him into touch with children as well as women. Doubtless he gathered in these years—for he had quick powers of observation and a very active mind—much of that amazing knowledge concerning these classes which surprised his friends when he came subsequently to pour forth in letters or books the wisest of counsels on education and kindred topics. M. Languet, curÉ of the parish at this time, was said to distribute more than a million francs in alms yearly, while his own room was furnished with nothing more than a coarse bed and two straw chairs. Under such guidance FÉnelon could not fail to learn many useful lessons, and to become still more completely fitted for the great career which was soon to open before him.

It was in 1678 that FÉnelon, while attending quietly to his duties at the parish of St. Sulpice, preaching on Sundays and visiting among the poor during the week, received the important appointment of superior to the community called the Nouvelles Catholiques, or New Catholics. He was twenty-seven at this time, and had developed into a very lovable, charming, attractive, and every way promising young man. His high birth, solid education, brilliant parts, spotless life, eloquence of speech, and influential friends, all tended to bring him forward into the public eye. The words of the Chancellor d’Aguesseau on FÉnelon, found in the memoirs of the life of his father, although applying perhaps in fullest measure a little later, may be inserted here, as showing what it must have been felt, by discerning observers, he would erelong become.

“FÉnelon,” says the chancellor, “was one of those uncommon men who are destined to give luster to their age; and who do equal honor to human nature by their virtues, and to literature by their superior talent. He was affable in his deportment and luminous in his discourse, the peculiar qualities of which were a rich, delicate, and powerful imagination, but which never let its power be felt. His eloquence had more of mildness in it than of vehemence; and he triumphed as much by the charms of his conversation as by the superiority of his talents. He always brought himself to the level of his company; he never entered into disputation, and he sometimes appeared to yield to others at the very time that he was leading them. Grace dwelt upon his lips. He discussed the greatest subjects with facility; the most trifling were ennobled by his pen; and upon the most barren he scattered the flowers of rhetoric. The peculiar but unaffected mode of expression which he adopted made many persons believe that he possessed universal knowledge as if by inspiration. It might indeed have been almost said that he rather invented what he knew than learned it. He was always original and creative, imitating no one, and himself inimitable. A noble singularity pervaded his whole person, and a certain undefinable and sublime simplicity gave to his appearance the air of a prophet.” His personal appearance has been well sketched by one of his contemporaries, the Duke de St. Simon, a satirical, misanthropical, utterly worldly man. “FÉnelon,” says St. Simon, “was a tall man, thin, well-made, and with a large nose. From his eyes issued the fire and animation of his mind, like a torrent; and his countenance was such that I never yet beheld any one similar to it, nor could it ever be forgotten if once seen. It combined everything, and yet with everything in harmony. It was grave, and yet alluring; it was solemn, and yet gay; it bespoke equally the theologian, the bishop, and the nobleman. Everything which was visible in it, as well as in his whole person, was delicate, intellectual, graceful, becoming, and, above all, noble. It required an effort to cease looking at him. All the portraits are strong resemblances, though they have not caught that harmony which was so striking in the original, and that individual delicacy which characterized each feature. His manners were answerable to his countenance. They had that air of ease and urbanity which can be derived only from intercourse with the best society, and which diffused itself over all his discourse. He possessed a natural eloquence, graceful and finished, and a most insinuating yet noble and proper courtesy; an easy, clear, agreeable utterance; a wonderful power of explaining the hardest matters in a lucid, distinct manner. Add to all this that he was a man who never sought to seem cleverer than those with whom he conversed, who brought himself insensibly to their level, putting them at their ease, and enthralling them so that one could neither leave him nor distrust him, nor help seeking him again. It was this rare gift which he possessed to the utmost degree which bound all his friends so closely to him all his life in spite of his disgrace at court, and which led them, when scattered, to gather together to talk of him, regret him, long after him, and cling more and more to him, like the Jews to Jerusalem, and sigh and hope for his return, even as that unhappy race waits and sighs for their Messiah.”

The community of the New Catholics had been founded in 1634 by Archbishop Gondi, as a protection for women converted from Protestantism, and as a means of propagating Church teachings among those yet unconverted. It was conducted by a community of women who did the work of Sisters of Charity outside its walls, and was presided over by a priest selected by the Archbishop of Paris. Marshal Turenne, himself a recent convert, gave largely to it, and the king, who was willing to combine gentle means with harsh for the accomplishment of his purposes in bringing all his subjects into one faith, took great interest in it. Hitherto the post of superior had been filled by much older men, but, though only twenty-seven, FÉnelon was found to combine all those qualities which fitted him for the employment—distinguished talents, education, amiable manners, unusual prudence and discretion, much love to God, and great benevolence to man. The archbishop who selected him, M. de Harlai, was, as we have already noted, by no means of FÉnelon’s stamp. He was a courtier, a man of the world, regardless of morality, and ever scheming for his own advancement. Having noted the capability of FÉnelon, perhaps he thought, by making him a sort of protegÉ, he could attach him to his interests, obtain credit by his successes, and use him for his purposes. But if he thought this he did not show his usual discernment; for FÉnelon, though willing to accept the office assigned, which gave promise of large usefulness, was in no way attracted by the character of his patron, and no considerations of expediency could induce him to pay court in that direction. Consequently, De Harlai’s early liking changed erelong to pronounced enmity. He noticed the absence of FÉnelon from his levees, and when he did present himself at a certain reception, rebuked him with the words, “It seems that you desire to be forgotten, M. l’AbbÉ, and you will be.” FÉnelon’s friendship also with Bossuet became established about this time, and this doubtless increased the animosity of the archbishop, as the two were rivals for the favor of the king, on which the coveted promotion to the cardinalate, which each desired, so largely depended.

It was probably owing, somewhat at least, to this unfriendly influence on the part of De Harlai that FÉnelon received no appointment which could supply him with funds; for the post of Superior carried no salary, and until 1681 he continued to be entirely dependent for everything upon his uncle, the marquis. In that year his uncle, the Bishop of Sarlat, resigned to him the deanery of Carenac, at Quercy, on the Dordogne, and this small benefice, producing between 3,000 and 4,000 livres annually—about $2,000 a year of modern money—was the only revenue FÉnelon possessed for a long time, until, indeed, his forty-third year. On leaving the Sulpician seminary, he took up his abode with his uncle, the Marquis de FÉnelon, in the Abbey of St. Germain, and gave himself up as entirely to his work as if he had not been brought into so much closer proximity to the court and the world of Paris. He avoided general society, only living intimately with some few chosen friends. His uncle was able to introduce him into a rare circle, prominent in which were the Duke and Duchess of Beauvilliers, and the Duke and Duchess of Chevreuse (the two ladies were sisters, daughters of the great finance minister, Colbert), Bossuet, Bishop of Meaux, and Madame de Maintenon. We must say a few words about these people, for they had much to do with FÉnelon through all his subsequent life.

“The Duke de Beauvilliers,” says St. Simon, “was early touched by God, and never lost His presence, but lived entirely in the future world, indifferent to place and cabal and worldly advantage, content, when called to the council-board, simply to state his true opinion, without much caring whether it was followed or not.” Punctual and orderly almost to excess, he controlled his household with vigilant kindness, and took on his shoulders, as the king himself bore witness, a load of administrative details that would have killed four other men. In society he was rather shy and stiff by nature, as well as on principle exceedingly careful to set a close guard on eyes and ears and lips, so that even when, as a principal minister, he was the observed of all observers, surrounded by princes and nobles, he repelled by his reserve. He had been at court nearly all his life, having early succeeded Marshal Villeroy as head of the Council of Finance, and being also first gentleman of the chamber. He had also been governor of Havre. He was called to the treasury in 1685, and to the council-board in 1691. He was acknowledged on all sides to be a man of remarkable piety and purity of life, and, as a courtier, without reproach—a very rare thing in those days. His chief fault was his timidity, and his excessive subserviency to the king. But when his conscience was aroused he could show a boldness that was most admirable, and all the more to be commended because somewhat foreign to his nature. He remained true as steel to FÉnelon to his dying day, his friendship never wavering or showing diminution, even when the latter was banished from court, and all his friends were in a measure under the ban because of the king’s fierce anger. In later years the king did his best to separate the two, even sending for the duke and explicitly threatening him with a like fate to that of his friend if he did not give him up. But the duke replied, with dignity and feeling: “Sire, you have placed me where I am, and you can displace me. I shall accept the will of my sovereign as the voice of God, and I should retire from court at your bidding regretting your displeasure, but hoping to lead a more peaceful life in retirement.” This manly, uncompromising stand made a deep impression on the king, who, in spite of his liking for his own way, knew that he could hardly afford to spare so faithful and conscientious a servant; nothing more was said about the matter.

His brother-in-law, the Duke de Chevreuse, was different in disposition, though equally devoted to religion. He was abler, broader-minded, better informed, more genial and witty, but less systematic, and a very poor business man. He had no fixed hours for anything, and was always behindhand. Had it not been for the king he must have died a beggar; for he had little of his own, and his wife’s large fortune was wasted on costly but futile experiments, such as canals made at enormous expense to float down the timber from woods which he sold before even a tree was felled. He was charming in his manners, and was not simply loved, but adored by his family, and friends, and servants. Throughout his troubles, which were many, he was never for a moment cast down, but offered up his all to God and fixed his eyes on Him. “Never man possessed his soul in peace as he did,” wrote St. Simon, “as the Scripture says, ‘He carried it in his hands.’” He was even nearer to FÉnelon in some ways than the other duke, and equally stanch in his attachment. He had no special portfolio in the ministry, but was consulted by the king about most departments, and was very highly esteemed by him.