Fénelon had studied childhood, and knew how deeply rooted is the child’s fear of ridicule; in the prince it was exaggerated by his abnormal vanity, and a system which showed him how he degraded himself, and lost all shadow of dignity when he lost his self-control, was the surest to produce a radical reform. There are still in existence two pledges of his childish repentance, testifying to the difficulty with which his faults were conquered. “I promise, on my word as a prince to M. l’Abbé de Fénelon, that I will do at once whatever he bids me, and will obey him instantly in what he forbids; and if I break my word I will accept any kind of punishment and disgrace. Given at Versailles, November 29, 1689. Louis.” This promise, in spite of the word of a prince, was probably broken; for many months later he enters on another engagement pathetic in its brevity: “Louis, who promises afresh to keep his promise better. This 20th of September, I beseech M. de Fénelon to take it again.” He was at this time but eight years old. The child loved his teacher passionately, and it was seldom that he did not yield speedily to Fénelon’s wise and loving discipline. Once, however, there was a serious scene between them which appears to have had a lasting influence upon the prince. Fénelon had been obliged to reprove him with more than usual severity, and the boy, in his angry pride, had resisted, exclaiming, “No, no, sir; I remember who I am, and who you are.” It was impossible to pass over such a speech and maintain authority; but acting upon his own maxim, never to administer reproof while either actor concerned is excited, Fénelon made no reply, and for the remainder of the day preserved a total silence toward his pupil, who could not fail to perceive by his manner that the usually indulgent master was much displeased. Night came with no explanation. But the next morning, as soon as the prince was awake, the abbé came into his room, and, addressing him in a grave, ceremonious manner, very unlike the usual easy tone of their intercourse, said: “I do not know, Monsieur, whether you remember what you said to me yesterday, that you knew what you are and what I am; but it is my duty to teach you your ignorance alike of both. You fancy yourself a greater personage than I—some of your servants may have told you so; but since you oblige me to do it I must tell you without hesitation that I am greater than you. You must see at once that there can be no question of birth in the matter. It is one of personal merit. You can have no doubt that I am your superior in understanding and knowledge; you know nothing but what I have taught you, and that is a mere shadow compared with what you have yet to learn. As to authority, you have none over me, whereas I, on the other hand, have full and entire authority over you, as the king has often told you. Perhaps you imagine that I think myself fortunate in holding the office I fill about yourself; but there again you are mistaken.