"During our last stay together at Rochecotte he heard of the arrest of the Archbishop of Cologne; he seemed to regard it as an important event. 'This may give us back the line of the Rhine,' he said immediately. 'In any case, it is a grain of Catholicism sown in Europe; you will see it rise and grow vigorously.'
"At that time I came across a passage dealing with the limits of the spiritual and temporal powers, which is to be found in the discourse delivered by Fénelon at the consecration of the Archbishop of Cologne. I showed this fine passage to my uncle, who was delighted with it, and said: 'That should be copied and sent to the King of Prussia.'
"When we returned to Paris in the month of January 1838 M. de Talleyrand was soon deprived of the little exercise which he had been able hitherto to take. He sprained his foot at the English Embassy, where he was dining, on January 27. The winter was very cold, and the douching which was ordered for his sprained foot to restore its strength gave him a cold. The cold became bronchitis, and he could not sleep or eat. Every morning he used to complain of his harassing insomnia. 'When one cannot sleep,' he said, 'one thinks terribly.' Once he added: 'During these long nights I recall many events of my life.' 'Can you give yourself reasons for them all?' I asked him. 'No,' he said; 'in truth there are some I do not understand in the least; others that I can explain and excuse; and others, too, for which I blame myself the more severely as they were performed with extreme carelessness, though they have since been my chief cause of self-reproach. If I had acted according to any system or principle, then I should certainly understand them, but my actions were performed without consideration and with the carelessness of that age, as was almost everything done in our youth.' I told him that it was preferable, in my opinion, to have acted thus than as a result of false doctrine. He admitted that I was right.
"It was at the end of one of these conversations that your letter arrived, M. l'Abbé, the letter that you quote in your interesting narrative. He handed it to me to read, and said somewhat abruptly: 'If I were to fall seriously ill, I should ask for a priest. Do you think the Abbé Dupanloup would come?' 'I have no doubt of it,' I replied; 'but he could only be of any use to you if you re-entered the communion from which you have unfortunately departed.' 'Yes,' he replied, 'I owe something to Rome, I know well, and have thought of it for a long time.' 'For how long?' I asked him, surprised, I admit, at this unexpected beginning. 'Since the last visit of the Archbishop of Bourges to Valençay, and afterwards when the Abbé Taury came there. I then wondered why the Archbishop, who at that time was more directly my spiritual pastor, did not open the subject. Why did the apostle of Saint-Sulpice never speak to me?' 'Unfortunately,' I replied, 'they would not have dared.' 'Yet,' he said, 'I would have welcomed anything of the kind.' Deeply moved by such satisfactory words, I took his hand, and, standing before him with tears in my eyes, I said: 'Why wait for any one to open the question? Why not take for yourself spontaneously, freely, and nobly the step that is at once most honourable to yourself, most consoling to the Church and to all right-minded people? I am sure that you would find Rome well disposed, while the Archbishop of Paris is deeply attached to you; so make the trial.' He did not interrupt me, and I was able to go further into this delicate and even thorny question, though it was a question that I thoroughly understood, as it had been repeatedly explained to me by M. de Quélen, who had been anxious to make me realise all its bearings. We were interrupted before I had been able to say all I wished, but on going to my room I wrote M. de Talleyrand a long letter under stress of my deep devotion. He read it with that trustfulness with which he was accustomed to rely upon my instinct when his reputation and his real interest was at stake. So my letter made an impression upon him, though he did not tell me so until later, when he gave me a paper for M. de Quélen, of which I will speak afterwards.
"In the month of March 1838 he read a eulogy upon M. Reinhard at the Academy of Moral and Political Science. His doctor feared the effect upon him of such an enterprise. Our attempts to dissuade him were in vain. 'This is my last appearance in public,' he said, 'and nothing shall keep me back.' He was anxious to use the opportunity for explaining his political doctrines and for showing that they were those of an honest man. He even hoped that he would be thus of some use to those who proposed to follow a diplomatic career. The evening before the meeting he went over his speech with me, and said: 'The religion of duty; that will please the Abbé Dupanloup.' When we reached the passage concerning theological study I interrupted him to say: 'Admit that that is intended much rather for yourself than for good M. Reinhard.' 'Why, certainly,' he replied, 'there is no harm in letting the public see my point of departure.' 'I am delighted,' I said, 'to see you overshadowing the end of your life with the recollections and traditions of your early youth.' 'I was sure you would be pleased with it,' was his kindly reply.
"M. de Talleyrand bore the strain of this fatiguing meeting, where he was successful in every way, remarkably well. From the point of view of literature and politics he was successful, and also as a nobleman and an honest man. When he returned home he at once sent the first proofs of his speech to M. de Quélen and to you. He expected your approval, and was touched by it.
"Then his health seemed to improve; he recovered his strength, made plans for travel, and talked of Nice for the following winter; he felt his powers reviving, and noticed it with pleasure. On April 28, however, when he heard of his brother's death, who was eight years younger than himself, he put his hands before his eyes and said: 'Another warning, my dear child. Do you know whether my brother recovered his memory before death?' 'Unfortunately not, sir,' I said. He then resumed with extreme sadness: 'How dreadful it is thus to fall from the most worldly life into dotage, and from dotage into death!'
"This painful shock did not check the improvement in his health, and we were able to think that he had been restored to life. I am the more careful to observe that this was the moment, when all idea of an approaching death was far away, when he chose to undertake seriously the project of submission to the Pope. He drew up a form of declaration without saying anything to me of it, a kind of pleasant surprise which he wished to keep for me. One day, when he saw me ready to go to Conflans to M. de Quélen, he drew from the drawer of his desk, the desk at which I am now writing, a sheet of paper covered on both sides, with erasures at several points. 'Here,' he said, 'is something which will secure you a hearty reception where you are going. You shall tell me what the Archbishop thinks of it.' On my return I told him that M. de Quélen deeply appreciated the paper, but wished the statements there expressed to be presented in a more canonical form, and intended to send him the ecclesiastical formula in a few days.
"You know better than any one, sir, that thus the matter was actually carried out. M. de Talleyrand also spoke to me on the same day of his intention to write an explanatory letter to the Pope when sending him the declaration. He went into full details, and insisted upon his willingness to speak of Pauline in this letter. He ended by a saying which seems to me of considerable importance: 'What I am to do should be dated during the week of my speech to the Academy. I do not wish people to be able to say that I was in my dotage.' This idea was carried out upon his deathbed, and was performed as he wished.
"But here I must stop. Attractive as the subject may be, your narrative contains full details. Moreover, during my uncle's illness I was nothing more than his nurse, and my actions were confined to summoning the consolations of your presence and to obeying my uncle by reading to him the two addresses to Rome before he signed them. I forced myself to read them slowly and seriously, because I neither would nor could diminish in any way the merit of his action; it was necessary that he should thoroughly understand what he was about to do. His faculties were too clear, heaven be praised, and his attention too concentrated, for any hurried or confused reading to have satisfied him. It was for me to justify his touching confidence which had induced him to wish this important reading to be performed by myself, and only the firmness and clearness of my pronunciation could satisfy this condition. He was to be left to the last moment in full consciousness of his act and full freedom of his will. From this difficult task I have derived the complete indifference with which I have afterwards faced any doubts, attacks, or calumnies of which I have been the object.