My conscience is disburdened in that of my superior.

In all this, far from having an eye to my advantage, I have no eye to any man; I see but God, and I am content with what He does." Bossuet had triumphed: his vaster mind, his more sagacious insight, his stronger judgment had unravelled the dangerous errors in which Fenelon had allowed himself to be entangled.

The Archbishop of Cambrai, however, had grown in the estimation of good men on account of his moderation, his gentle and high-spirited independence during the struggle, his submission, full of dignity, after the papal decision.

The mind of Bossuet was the greater; the spirit of Fenelon was the nobler and more deeply pious.

"I cannot consent to have my book defended even indirectly," he wrote to one of his friends on the 21st of July, 1699.
"In God's name, speak not of me but to God only, and leave men to think as they please; as for me, I have no object but silence and peace after my unreserved submission." Fenelon was not detached from the world and his hopes to quite such an extent as he would have had it appear.