void of the lost letters, and conveys a strange idea of this all-powerful magician, whose invincible magic defied every attack.

To introduce spirituality so refined and so exalted, and such a pretension to supreme perfection into that world of outward propriety and ceremonial at Versailles, and this, at the end of a reign in which every thing seemed rigidly frozen was, indeed, a rash undertaking. There was no question here as to abandoning one's self, like Madame Guyon in her retreat among the Alps, to the torrents of divine love. It was necessary to have the appearance of common sense, and the forms of reason even in the madness of love; it was expedient, as the ancient comic writer says, "to run mad with rule and measure." This is what Fenelon attempted to do in the Maxims of Saints. The condemnation of Molinos, and the imprisonment of Madame Guyon at Vincennes, were a sufficient lesson: he declared himself, but with prudence, and though perfectly decided, maintained an outward show of weak indecision.

Nevertheless, with all his skill, cunning, and prevarication, if he differs from the absolute Quietists whom he affects to condemn, it is less in any fundamental part of doctrine, than the degree in which he admits that doctrine. He thinks he He thinks he goes far enough in saying, that the state of quiet in which the soul loses its activity is not a perpetually, but an habitually passive state. But in acknowledging inaction

to be both superior to action, and a state of perfection, does he not make us wish that the inaction might be perpetual?

The soul habitually passive, according to him, is concentrated above, leaving beneath her the inferior part, whose acts are those of an entirely blind and involuntary commotion. These acts being always supposed to be voluntary, he avows that the superior part still remains responsible for them. Will they then be governed by it? By no means; it is absorbed in its sublime quietude. What, then, is to interfere in its place? What is to keep order in this lower sphere, where the soul no longer descends? He tells us plainly—it is the director.

His modification of Molinos in theory is less important than it seems to be. The speculative part, with which Bossuet is so much occupied, is not the most essential in a point where practice is so directly interested. What is really serious, is, that Fenelon, as well as Molinos, after having traced out a great plan of regulations, has not enough of these rules; he has to call in, at every moment, the assistance of the director. He establishes a system; but this system cannot work alone; it wants the hand of man. This inert theory requires, every moment, the supplement of an especial consultation, and an empirical expedient. The director is a sort of supplementary

* Maxims of Saints, article 14., and 8. 20. 39. 45.

soul for the soul, who, whilst this last is sleeping in its sublime sphere, is leading and regulating every thing for it in this miserable world below, which is, nevertheless, after all, that of reality.

Man, then, and eternally man! this is what you find at the bottom of their doctrines in sifting and compressing them; this is the ultima ratio of their systems: such is their theory, and such their life also.

I leave these two illustrious adversaries, Fenelon and Bossuet, to dispute about ideas. I prefer to observe their practice. There, I see that the doctrine has but a little, and man a very great part. Whether Quietists or Anti-quietists, they do not differ much in their method of enveloping the soul, and lulling the will to sleep.

During this contention of theories, or rather before it began, there was a personal one, very curious to witness. The stake in this game, if I may use the expression, the spiritual prize that both sides disputed, was a woman, a charming soul, full of transport and youth, of an imprudent vivacity, and ingenuous loyalty.* She was a niece of Madame Guyon, a young lady whom they called Madame de

* A singular destiny was that of this young lady, whose tears one day are wiped away by Racine (she was playing Elise in Esther), and whom Fenelon and Bossuet have caused to weep so often! See Mr. de Noaille's Saint-Cyr, p. 113. (1843).

la Maisonfort, for she was a canoness. This noble, but poor young lady, ill-treated by her father and stepmother, had fallen into the cold, political hands of Madame de Maintenon. Either for the vanity of founding, or in order to amuse an old king rather difficult to entertain, she was then establishing SaintCyr, for the daughters of noble families. She knew the king was ever sensible to women, and, consequently, let him see only old ones or children. boarders of Saint-Cyr, who in the innocency of their sports gladdened the eyes of the old man, brought to his mind a former age, and offered him a mild and innocent opportunity for paternal gallantry.

The

Madame de Maintenon, who, as is well known, owed her singular fortune to a certain decent harmony of middling qualities, looked out for an eminently middling person, if one may use the expression, to superintend this establishment. She could not do better than to seek him among the Sulpicians and Lazaristes. Godet, the Sulpician, whom she took as director both of Saint-Cyr and herself, was a man of merit, though a downright pedant; at least St. Simon, his admirer, gives us this sort of definition of him. Madame de Maintenon saw in him the blunt matter-of-fact priest, who might insure her against every sort of eccentricity. With such a man as that, one would have nothing to fear: having to choose between the two men of genius who influenced

F 5

Saint-Cyr, Racine the Jansenist, and Fenelon the Quietist, she preferred Godet.

Those who are ignorant of its history would have only to look at the mansion of Saint-Cyr, to discern in it at once the real abode of ennui. The soul of the foundress, the domineering spirit of the governess is every where perceptible. The very look of the place makes one yawn. It would be something, if this building had but a sorrowful character; even sadness may entertain the soul. No, it is not sad, yet it is not the more cheerful on that account; there is nothing to be said against it, the character and the style being equally null; there is nothing one can even blame. Of what age is the chapel? Neither Gothic nor the renaissance, nor is it even the Jesuit style. Perhaps, then, there is something of the Jansenist austerity? It is by no means austere. What is it then? Nothing. But this nothing causes an overwhelming ennui, such as one would never find elsewhere.

After the first short half-devout and half-worldly period, that of the representations of Athalie and Esther, which the young ladies had played too well, the school being reformed, became a sort of convent. Instead of Racine, it was the Abbé Pellegin and Madame de Maintenon who wrote pieces for Saint

* "Either Racine, in speaking to you of Jansenism, would have led you into it, or Mr. de Cambrai," &c. See the Letters of Madame de Maintenon, vol. ii. p. 190. (1757).