Never was the spirit of the good
archbishop more powerful than now. Whilst ambitious ecclesiastics may
honor more the name of Bossuet, the heart of France has embalmed in its
affections the name of his victim, and our common humanity has
incorporated him into its body. When Fenelon's remains were discovered in
1804, the French people shouted with joy that Jacobinism had not scattered
his ashes, and a monument to his memory was forthwith decreed by Napoleon.
In 1826, his statue was erected in Cambray, and three years after, a
memorial more eloquent than any statue, a selection from his works,
exhibiting the leading features of his mind, bore witness of his power
and goodness to this western world. The graceful monument which the wife
of Follen thus reared to his memory was crowned by the hand of Channing
with a garland that as yet has shown no trace of decay.
To any conversant with that little work, or with the larger productions of
Fenelon's mind, need I say a single word of tribute to his character or
gifts? Yet something must be said to show the compass of his character,
for common eulogium is too indiscriminate in praise, exaggerating certain
amiable graces at the expense of more commanding virtues.
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