Mgr. Quelen, who had been coadjutor to his uncle, was pressing as far as discretion allowed. He had obtained instructions from Rome as to the minimum that need be asked of the illustrious apostate. In 1835 he had received the dying Princess Talleyrand into the Church, and made it an occasion for a strong appeal to her husband. Talleyrand politely thanked him for his

interest.

What was the real state of Talleyrand's mind in regard to religion as he approached the end? It is quite impossible to discover it with certainty. It seems probable that throughout life Talleyrand maintained an attitude of agnosticism, standing between the dogmatic theism or dogmatic atheism of his friends. It seems clear, too, that his agnosticism had not very deep philosophic roots, and it would not be unnatural for it to yield under the pressure of approaching death. It is true that he often uses theistic expressions in his letters from 1814 onwards, but that may be merely a concession to the new fashions introduced with the new monarchy. Napoleon had openly described him as a man who "did not believe in God." But there are two facts that strongly dispose us to take a diplomatic view of Talleyrand's "reconciliation." The first is that he had a strong incentive to go through the form of submission. There were frequently disorderly scenes at the funerals of his non-Christian friends, and he betrayed a great concern lest his own exit from the stage should be marred by the same disorder. He even

spoke towards the end of leaving France, and it was thought that he wanted to die out of the country so as to be buried in peace without submission. And the second fact is the way in which he postponed the act of reconciliation until the very last and inevitable moment, as we shall see.

In March his life-long friend, Count Reinhard, died, and Talleyrand read a paper on him at the Institut. The hall was crowded with scholars and politicians, and Talleyrand was greeted with a remarkable ovation. He read his paper in a strong and sonorous voice, and then made his way from the room between two compact hedges of admirers, who bowed their heads as he passed. "A greater than Voltaire," cried Victor Cousin. There is little in the oration to explain the enthusiasm. To us, indeed, who read it in full consciousness of Talleyrand's whole career, and not merely in connection with his last. work at London, it has a curious look. The only passage of particular interest is where he describes the qualities that make the great diplomatist. diplomatist. Of these "good faith" is the first. He protests against the

prejudice" " that conceives diplomacy as "a science of ruse and duplicity." "If good faith is ever necessary it is in political transactions." The passage rings with perfect sincerity; but the tradition that Talleyrand's successes have left in the school of diplomacy is of a very different kind. The speech was plain and ineloquent. Lady Blennerhasset thinks Talleyrand had nearly every gift of this life bestowed on him except

respect." It is impossible to see in the splendid enthusiasm evoked by his last public appearance at Paris anything else but a great demonstration of respect.

The suppuration in his legs ceased some time before his death, and he spoke cheerfully of a journey to Italy, but in April the last symptoms made their appearance. He bore his pain with great restraint and dignity. Dupanloup's scruples had been overruled by the archbishop, and he was now a frequent visitor at the Hotel St. Florentin. There seems to have been no conversation about religion in these visits, but there was a business-like arrangement of terms. Until the end of March he politely evaded all Dupanloup's attempts to make an opening. At last he promised the duchess he would summon the priest if he fell seriously ill. He then submitted to him a draft of a recantation, but as it contained an implication that he had been free to marry, Dupanloup had to reject it, and proposed another form on May 12th. He watched Talleyrand's face with great eagerness as he read it, but not a muscle moved. The Prince asked him to leave it.

Anthrax had set in on May 11th, and all Paris was interested in the end of the great diplomatist and the question of reconciliation. Candles were burning in every chapel in the city. Messengers were running to and fro between Saint Sulpice and the archbishop's house, as they had run so many times between foreign embassies

when Talleyrand was obstinate. On the evening of the 16th he was visibly sinking, and his niece implored him to sign the form. He promised to do so at six in the morning. When he grew worse during the night, and they pressed him to sign, he observed it was not yet six. When the hour came Dupanloup sent in to him the little Pauline dressed for her first communion, and as Talleyrand caressed her the clock struck six. Dupanloup and the witnesses entered, and Talleyrand signed. "I have never ceased," the paper ended, "to regard myself as a child of the Church. I again deplore the actions of my life that have caused it pain, and my last wishes are for its supreme head." Dupanloup had politely refrained from inserting such phrases as "sin" and "repentance." It was a gracious acknowledgment of errors committed in a wayward age. This was the price of a peaceful and honourable burial. Gregory XVI is said to have described it as one of the triumphs of his reign. The document was antedated two months.

During the day the King came to bid him farewell. Talleyrand was greatly moved at the honour, and received the King ceremoniously. Dupanloup was in constant attendance, and succeeded in inducing him to confess and receive the sacraments. As the day wore on he became more and more exhausted, and approached the end. In the adjoining room all Paris was waiting for the close. Statesmen, nobles and scholars, young and old, were gathered in little groups before the curtain that cut off the bedroom from the library. At a quarter to four the

The head drooped

doctor was called, and there was a general movement towards the door. The curtain was drawn back, and all saw the figure of the Prince. He sat on the edge of the bed supported by two servants-a "dying lion," says one witness. His long, white hair now hung loosely about the pallid and shrunken face. on the chest, but now and again he slowly raised it and looked with the last faint shadow of a smile on the great crowd that had come to pay the tribute of France. It was a "grand spectacle," said Royer-Collard; the fall of "the last cedar of Lebanon." He "died in public,' "died amidst regal pomp and reverence," say other eyewitnesses. The duchess and her daughter knelt by the bedside. He was conscious to the end-conscious that his career was ending amidst a manifestation of love, power and profound respect as great as he could ever have wished.

He was accorded by State and Church the funeral of a prince. In the Church of the Assumption, where he was to be interred until the vault was ready at Valençay, an imposing ceremony was held, at which Europe was represented. Over the catafalque on which his worn frame lay was emblazoned by priestly hands the motto of his house : "Re que Diou "-I lived so high that God alone towered above me. It was his last triumph.

The story-tellers close their version of his career with the statement that, as the cortège started some time after for the gates of Paris, to take the body to