To Cambrai, accordingly, all his energies were now directed. Even Saint-Simon allows that his episcopal duties were perfectly performed. Tours of inspection, repeated several times a year, brought him into touch with every corner of his diocese. It was administered with great strictness, and yet on broad and liberal lines. There was no bureaucratic fussiness, no seeking after popularity; but every man, whether great or small, was treated exactly as became his station in the world. And Saint-Simon bears the same witness to his government of his palace. There he lived with all the piety of a true pastor, yet with all the dignity of a great nobleman, who was still on excellent terms with the world. But his magnificence made no one angry, for it was kept up chiefly for the sake of others, and was exactly proportionate to his place. With all its luxuries and courtly ease, his house remained a true bishop’s palace, breathing the strictest discipline and restraint. And of all this chastened dignity the archbishop was himself the ever-present, ever-inimitable model—in all that he did the perfect churchman, in all the high-bred noble, in all things, also, the author of Télémaque.
The one great blot on this ideal existence was his persecution of the Jansenists (see [Jansenism]). His theories of life were very different from theirs; and they had taken a strong line against his Maxims of the Saints, holding that visionary theories of perfection were ill-fitted for a world where even the holiest could scarce be saved. To suppress them, and to gain a better market for his own ideas, he was even ready to strike up an alliance with the Jesuits, and force on a reluctant France the doctrine of papal infallibility. His time was much better employed in fitting his old pupil, Burgundy, for a kingship that never came. Louis XIV. seldom allowed them to meet, but for years they corresponded; and nothing is more admirable than the mingled tact and firmness with which Fénelon spoke his mind about the prince’s faults. This exchange of letters became still more frequent in 1711, when the wretched dauphin died and left Burgundy heir-apparent to the throne. Fénelon now wrote a series of memorable criticisms on the government of Louis XIV., accompanied by projects of reform, not always quite so wise. For his practical political service was to act as an alarm-bell. Much more clearly than most men, he saw that the Bourbons were tottering to their fall, but how to prevent that fall he did not know.
Not that any amount of knowledge would have availed. In 1712 Burgundy died, and with him died all his tutor’s hopes of reform. From this moment his health began to fail, though he mustered strength enough to write a remarkable Letter to the French Academy in the autumn of 1714. This is really a series of general reflections on the literary movement of his time. As in his political theories, the critical element is much stronger than the constructive. Fénelon was feeling his way away from the rigid standards of Boileau to “a Sublime so simple and familiar that all may understand it.” But some of his methods were remarkably erratic; he was anxious, for instance, to abolish verse, as unsuited to the genius of the French. In other respects, however, he was far before his age. The 17th century has treated literature as it treated politics and religion; each of the three was cooped up in a water-tight compartment by itself. Fénelon was one of the first to break down these partition-walls, and insist on viewing all three as products of a single spirit, seen at different angles.
A few weeks after the Letter was written, Fénelon met with a carriage-accident, and the shock proved too much for his enfeebled frame. On the 7th of January 1715 he died at the age of 63. Ever since, his character has been a much-discussed enigma. Bossuet can only be thought of as the high-priest of authority and common-sense; but Fénelon has been made by turns into a sentimentalist, a mystical saint, an 18th-century philosophe, an ultramontane churchman and a hysterical hypocrite. And each of these views, except the last, contains an element of truth. More than most men, Fénelon “wanders between two worlds—one dead, the other powerless to be born.” He came just at a time when the characteristic ideas of the 17th century—the ideas of Louis XIV., of Bossuet and Boileau—had lost their savour, and before another creed could arise to take their place. Hence, like most of those who break away from an established order, he seems by turns a revolutionist and a reactionary. Such a man expresses his ideas much better by word of mouth than in the cold formality of print; and Fénelon’s contemporaries thought far more highly of his conversation than his books. That downright, gossiping German princess, the duchess of Orleans, cared little for the Maxims; but she was enraptured by their author, and his “ugly face, all skin and bone, though he laughed and talked quite unaffectedly and easily.” An observer of very different mettle, the great lawyer d’Aguesseau, dwells on the “noble singularity, that gave him an almost prophetic air. Yet he was neither passionate nor masterful. Though in reality he governed others, it was always by seeming to give way; and he reigned in society as much by the attraction of his manners as by the superior virtue of his parts. Under his hand the most trifling subjects gained a new importance; yet he treated the gravest with a touch so light that he seemed to have invented the sciences rather than learnt them, for he was always a creator, always original, and himself was imitable of none.” Still better is Saint-Simon’s portrait of Fénelon as he appeared about the time of his appointment to Cambrai—tall, thin, well-built, exceedingly pale, with a great nose, eyes from which fire and genius poured in torrents, a face curious and unlike any other, yet so striking and attractive that, once seen, it could not be forgotten. There were to be found the most contradictory qualities in perfect agreement with each other—gravity and courtliness, earnestness and gaiety, the man of learning, the noble and the bishop. But all centred in an air of high-bred dignity, of graceful, polished seemliness and wit—it cost an effort to turn away one’s eyes.
Authorities.—The best complete edition of Fénelon was brought out by the abbé Gosselin of Saint Sulpice (10 vols., Paris, 1851). Gosselin also edited the Histoire de Fénelon, by Cardinal Bausset (4 vols., Paris, 1850). Modern authorities are Fénelon à Cambrai (Paris, 1885), by Emmanuel de Broglie; Fénelon, by Paul Janet (Paris, 1892); Bossuet et Fénelon, by L. Crouslé (2 vols., Paris, 1894); J. Lemaître, Fénelon (1910). In English there are: Fénelon, his Friends and Enemies, by E.K. Sanders (1901); and François de Fénelon, by Lord St Cyres (1906); see also the Quarterly Review for January 1902, and M. Masson, Fénelon et Madame Guyon (1907). (St. C.)
FENESTELLA, Roman historian and encyclopaedic writer, flourished in the reign of Tiberius. If the notice in Jerome be correct, he lived from 52 B.C. to A.D. 19 (according to others 35 B.C.-A.D. 36). Taking Varro for his model, Fenestella was one of the chief representatives of the new style of historical writing which, in the place of the brilliant descriptive pictures of Livy, discussed curious and out-of-the-way incidents and customs of political and social life, including literary history. He was the author of an Annales, probably from the earliest times down to his own days. The fragments indicate the great variety of subjects discussed: the origin of the appeal to the people (provocatio); the use of elephants in the circus games; the wearing of gold rings; the introduction of the olive tree; the material for making the toga; the cultivation of the soil; certain details as to the lives of Cicero and Terence. The work was very much used (mention is made of an abridged edition) by Pliny the elder, Asconius Pedianus (the commentator on Cicero), Nonius, and the philologists.
Fragments in H. Peter, Historicorum Romanorum fragmenta (1883); see also monographs by L. Mercklin (1844) and J. Poeth (1849); M. Schanz, Geschichte der röm. Litt. ed. 2 (1901); Teuffel, Hist. of Roman Literature, p. 259. A work published under the name of L. Fenestella (De magistratibus et sacerdotiis Romanorum, 1510) is really by A.D. Fiocchi, canon and papal secretary, and was subsequently published as by him (under the latinized form of his name, Floccus), edited by Aegidius Witsius (1561).
FENESTRATION (from O. Fr. fenestre, modern fenêtre, Lat. fenestra, a window, connected with Gr. φαίνειν, to show), an architectural term applied to the arrangement of windows on the front of a building, more especially when, in the absence of columns or pilasters separating them, they constitute its chief architectural embellishment. The term “fenestral” is given to a frame or “chassis” on which oiled paper or thin cloth was strained to keep out wind and rain when the windows were not glazed.