Fénelon was not once betrayed into abuse or slander throughout the struggle in which he had so much at stake. No unkind word respecting any of his persecutors escaped him. He continually exhibited wonderful gentleness and dignity, elevated self-respect, the urbanity of a refined gentleman, and the grace of an exalted Christian. His style was forcible and effective, but with no mixture of sarcasm. Posterity has done him justice; has affirmed that throughout this contest no stain rests upon his moral character, and that he was absolutely sincere when he said, “I ask God to grant M. de Meaux as many blessings as he has heaped crosses upon me;” _curses_, he might have said. All this while his enemies were using every means “to hunt him down like a wild beast;” this was the expression they used. “Never once,” says a person who has thoroughly examined the entire correspondence, “in the mass of letters that Fénelon sent to his confidential agent at Rome, do we come across a mean or unjust expression; there is not one letter that one feels inclined to wish had not been kept for the sake of the writer.” As attack after attack descends upon him, intended to humiliate and crush, he rises above it, greater and nobler, more faithful in following his Master’s footsteps than ever. He continually implored the pope to stop the endless war of pamphlets which was doing so much harm to the cause of religion and the Church. It was with the greatest reluctance that he was forced into the fight. Under the grossest of libels he would have remained silent had his friends consented. But he was compelled by the actions of his adversaries to speak out sometimes with great vigor. And he had to obey the voice of his conscience and the dictates of chivalry, being thoroughly indignant at the unjust treatment accorded to his friend, Madame Guyon. His grief at the rupture of the bond between him and Bossuet was deep and sincere. He wrote, “God alone knows what pain it is to me to give pain to one for whom, in all the world, I have the most attachment and respect.” He wrote this even when he was defending himself from the most virulent attacks; and he would not have called God to witness to a profession that was not absolutely true. By his candor and simplicity, his openness and gentleness, the beauty of his genius, and the reputation of his virtue, he commanded the widest possible respect from all who were capable of appreciating these things. His challenge to his maligners rang out without ambiguity: “I fear nothing, thank God, that will be communicated and examined judicially. I fear nothing but vague report and unexamined allegation.”