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BROTHER AND SISTER
OF THE
UNIVERSITY
OF
BROTHER & SISTER
a flDemoir ant) tbe Xettere
^J) OF
ERNEST ^ HENRIETTE KENAN
TRANSLATED BY
LADY MARY LOYD
WITH PORTRAITS &* ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
1896
[Ail rights reserved'^
^jm «^^^
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press
NOTE
The Memoir of Henriette Renan, which pre-
cedes her correspondence with her brother, is the
exact reproduction of a pamphlet of which Ernest
Renan had a hundred copies printed in Septem-
ber 1862 tender the title, ^^ Henriette Renan: A
Memorial for those who knew her' In its opening
lines the following sentence will attract attention :
'* These pages are not intended for the general
public, and will never be offered to it!'
In 1883 Ernest Renan thus expressed himself
in the Preface to his ** Souvenirs d'Enfance et de
Jeunesse " : —
" The person zvho has had most infliience on
my life — m.y sister Henriette — scarcely appears
in this work of mine. A year after the death
of that beloved being, in September 1862, / wrote
a little pamphlet, consecrated to her memory, for
the benefit of the few who had known her, A
hundred copies only were printed. My sister was
2V^'?:ii
vi NOTE
SO modesty her aversion to the bustle of the world
was so extreme, that if I had offered these pages
to the general public I should have fancied her
casting reproaches on me out of her grave. The
idea of adding them, to this present volume has
occasionally occurred to me, and then again I
have felt it would be a sort of desecration. The
little work has been read with sympathy by a
few individuals who were full of kindly feeling
towards m^y sister and myself. But I have no
right to expose a memory I hold so sacred to
the scornful judgment which is part of the right
acquired over a work by purchase. It seems to
me I should do as wrong by the insertion of these
pages in a book placed on the open market, as if
I exhibited her portrait in an auction room. The
pamphlet will not be reprinted, therefore, till after
I am deady
In a codicil to his will, dated November 4, 1888,
Ernest Renan thus authorises the present reprint :
''My wife will decide the nature of the publicity
to be given to my little volume of memorials of
m>y sister HenrietteJ' The reprint included in this
volume was prepared by Madame Renan, who is
responsible also for the selection of the letters.
V
ILLUSTRATIONS
ERNEST RENAN Frontispiece
HENRIETTE RENAN To face page i
THE CATHEDRAL— TREGUIER .... „ 6
CLOISTERS OF THE CATHEDRAL ... „ 8
THE HOUSE WHERE ERNEST RENAN WAS BORN „ lo
THE HOUSE AT AMSCHIT ,,46
OF THE
UNIVERSITY
OF
;£iH/FORHi^
MY SISTER HENRIETTE
H /iDemoir
Man's memory is but an imperceptible mark in the furrow
each individual leaves on the book of Eternity ^ yet it is not
traced in vain. The human conscience is the highest ex-
pression known to us of the summed-up conscience of the
Universe. The esteem in which a single man is held
forms a part of Absolute Justice. Thus, although lives
nobly lived stand in no need of recollection^ save by God
Himself some effort is invariably made to fix the image of
their memory. I should be all the more to blame were I
to leave this duty to my sister Henriette unperformedy
because I alone knew all the treasures of that elect soul.
Her timidity, her reserve, her fixed opinion that a woman^s
life should be a hidden one, cast a veil over her rare
qualities which few were permitted to lift. Her existence
was one succession of acts of devotion, destined to remain
unknown. Her secret shall not be betrayed by me. These
pages were not written for the public, and will never be
offered to it. But those few to whom she revealed her
inner self would reproach me did I not endeavour to set
forth in order anything that served to complete their recol-
lection of her.
HENRIETTE RENAN
HENRIETTE RENAN
I
My sister Henriette was born at Tr6guier on
22nd July 181 1. Her existence was saddened
early, and absorbed by the sterner duties. She
never knew any pleasures save those she drew
from the practice of virtue and from her heart's
affections. From our father she inherited a
melancholy temperament, which left her but little
taste for frivolous amusement, and which even
inspired her with a certain inclination to shun
the world and its delights. She had none of
that gay, lively, witty nature which my mother
carried even into her vigorous and splendid old
age. Her religious feelings, narrowed in their
beginnings within the Catholic formula, were
always deep in the extreme. Treguier, the little
town where we were born, is an ancient episcopal
city, rich in poetic memories. It was one of those
great monastic towns, Gallic and Irish at once,
6 BROTHER AND SISTER
built by the Breton emigrants of the sixth century.
Its founder was an Abbd Tual or Tugdual.
When, in the ninth century, Nomenoe, desirous
of establishing a Breton nationality, transformed
all the great monasteries of the coasts of the Nord
into bishoprics, the " Pabre-Tual," or Monastery
of St. Tual, was among their number. In the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Treguier
became a somewhat important ecclesiastical
centre, and the gathering-point of a small local
nobility. At the Revolution the Bishopric was
suppressed, but after the re-establishment of
Catholic worship the important Church buildings
possessed by the town caused it to rise again into
an ecclesiastical centre, a city of convents and
religious foundations. Bourgeois life has de-
veloped but little within its walls. Its streets,
save one or two, are long, deserted alleys, formed
by high convent walls or ancient canonical houses,
surrounded by their gardens. A general air of
distinction strikes you everywhere, and gives the
poor dead city a charm unpossessed by the richer
and livelier bourgeois towns which have sprung
up over the rest of that country.
The cathedral especially, a very fine fourteenth-
century edifice, with its tall naves, its astonish-
ingly bold architecture, its graceful, exceedingly
high and slender steeple, and its old Roman
THE CATHEDRAL — TRf.GUIER
HENRIETTE RENAN
tower, the remains of some still more ancient
building, seemed formed to inspire lofty thoughts.
It used to be left open very late at night, so
that pious folk might pray there. Lighted by a
solitary lamp, in that warm damp atmosphere
peculiar to ancient buildings, the huge empty
fabric loomed vast and full of terror. The
neighbourhood of the town is rich in legends,
beautiful or weird. Within a quarter of a league
stands the chapel, built close to the birthplace of
the good lawyer, St. Ives, the favourite Breton
saint of the last century, whom local faith has
ended by erecting to the position of defender of
the weak and redresser of ail wrongs. Near it,
on a considerable eminence, is the old Church
of St. Michel, long since destroyed by lightning.
Thither we were taken on Holy Thursday every
year. It is an article of popular belief that on
that day, and during the profound silence then
imposed on them, all the bells travel to Rome
to crave the Papal benediction. We used to
climb the ruin -covered hillock to watch them
pass, and, closing our eyes, we could see them
float through the air, bending gently, their robes
of lace, the very ones they had worn at their
baptismal ceremony, fluttering softly behind them.
Somewhat farther on, in a charming valley, rises
the little Chapel of the Five Wounds. On the
8 BROTHER AND SISTER
farther side of the river, beside an ancient holy
well, is Notre-Dame-du-Tromeur, a spot much
venerated by pilgrims.
A childhood passed in these surroundings, full
of poetry and dreamy sadness, resulted in my
sister's strong inclination towards a life of retire-
ment. Some former nuns, driven from their
convent by the Revolution, and who had turned
school-teachers, taught her to read and to recite
the Psalms in Latin. She learnt everything that
is chanted in church by heart, and the attention
she later bestowed on the ancient text, compar-
ino- it with the French and the Italian, led to her
knowing a good deal of Latin, though she never
regularly studied it. Nevertheless her education
would have necessarily remained very incomplete
had not a lucky fate given her an instructress supe-
rior to any the neighbourhood had up till then
possessed. The noble families of Treguier had
returned from the emigration utterly ruined. A
lady belonging to one of these families, who had
been educated in England, commenced giving
lessons. She was a person of distinction both in
tastes and manner. She made a deep impression
on my sister, and her recollection of her never
grew dim. The misfortunes which surrounded
Henriette in early life increased her innate ten-
dency to thoughtfulness. Our paternal grand-
*^
;. S
HENRIETTE RENAN 9
father had belonged to a kind of clan of peasant
sailors which peoples all the "pays" of Goelo.
Our father served with the fleets of the Republic.
After the maritime disasters of those days, he
commanded ships on his own account, and by
degrees was carried into a considerable trade.
This was a great blunder. Absolutely untutored
in business matters, simple and incapable of calcu-
lation, perpetually checked by that timidity which
makes the sailor a very child in practical life, he
saw his little family fortune melt gradually away
into an abyss he could not fathom. His weak
and sensitive nature could not withstand such
trials — little by little his grasp on existence
weakened. My sister was the hourly spectator
of the ravages made by anxiety and misfortune
on that good and gentle spirit, strayed into occu-
pations of an order to which he was utterly
unfitted. This bitter experience led to her pre-
cocious development. By the time she was twelve
years old she was grave in thought and appearance,
borne down with anxiety, haunted by anxious
thoughts and melancholy presentiments. Return-
ing from one of his long voyages in our cold and
gloomy seas, my father had one last gleam of
happiness — I came into the world in February
1823. The advent of a little brother was a great
comfort to my sister. She attached herself to me
lo BROTHER AND SISTER
with all the ardour of a shy and tender nature,
endued with an immense longing to love some-
thing. I remember yet the petty tyrannies I
practised on her, and against which she never
revolted. When she was going out in full dress
to attend gatherings of girls of her own age, I
would cling to her gown and beseech her to
remain. Then she would turn back, take off her
holiday attire, and stay with me. One day, in
joke, she threatened she would die if I was not
a good child, and pretended to be dead, in fact,
sitting in an arm-chair. The horror caused me by
the feigned immobility of my dear sister is per-
haps the strongest impression ever made upon
me, whom fate did not permit to witness her last
sigh. Beside myself, I flew at her, and bit her
terribly on the arm. I can hear the shriek she
gave even now. To all the reproaches showered
on me I could only make one answer, " But why
were you dead ? Are you going to die again ? "
In July 1828 our father's misfortunes culmi-
nated in a fearful catastrophe. One day his ship
returned from St. Malo into the port of Treguier
without him. The crew, being questioned, de-
clared they had not seen him for several days.
For a whole month my mother sought him in
indescribable anguish. At last she heard a
corpse had been found upon the shore at Erqui,
THE HOUSE WHHKE ERNEST RENAN WAS BOKN
HENRIETTE REN AN ii
a village lying between St. Brieuc and Cape
Frehel. It proved to be our father's body.
How came he by his death ? Was he over-
taken by one of those accidents so common in
the life of seafaring men ? Did he forget himself
in one of those long dreams of the Infinite, which,
in that Breton race, often verge upon the eternal
slumber.^ Did he feel he had earned repose?
Had he seated himself upon the rock, conscious
he had struggled enough, and said, " This stone
shall be the stone of my eternal rest. Here will
I lie, for I have chosen it ! " We know not. He
was buried in the sand, where the waves sweep
over him twice daily. I have not yet been able
to raise a stone which shall testify to the passer-
by how much I owe him. My sister's grief was
profound. She inherited my father's nature.
She had loved him tenderly. Every time she
spoke of him it was with tears. She was per-
suaded his sorely-tried soul stood justified and
pure for ever in the sight of God.
II
From that day forward poverty was our ap-
pointed lot. My brother, then nineteen years
of age, departed to Paris, and there entered on
that life of labour and constant application which
never was to know its full reward. We left
Treguier, which had grown too sad a place of
residence for us, and went to live at Lannion,
where my mother's family resided. My sister
was seventeen years old. Her religious faith
had always been lively, and more than once the
idea of entering the conventual life had much
engaged her thoughts. On winter evenings she
would take me to church underneath her own
cloak. It was a great delight to me to tread
the snow under its all-embracing shelter. But
for me she would, without any doubt whatever,
have adopted a state of life in evident accord-
ance with her native piety, her lack of fortune,
and the customs of her country. Her heart
turned specially to the Convent of Ste. Anne
at Lannion, which united the care of the sick
with that of the education of young girls. Alas !
HENRIETTE REN AN 13
had she but followed her bent, she might have
worked more successfully for her own ultimate
happiness. But she was too good a daughter
and too devoted a sister to prefer her own peace
to her duties, even though the religious ^ pre-
^judices which she then shared might have re-
assured her on that head.
From that time forth she looked upon herself
as responsible for my future. Noticing my awk-
ward movements one day, she perceived I was
striving shyly to conceal the rents in a worn-out
garment. She burst into tears. The sight of
the poor child, destined to such black poverty,
with instincts so removed therefrom, wrung her
heart. She resolved to face the struggle with
life, and undertook the task of filling up, by her
unaided efforts, the abyss our father's misfortunes
had opened at our feet. A young girl's manual
labour was quite unequal to such an undertaking.
The career she embraced was the bitterest of
all others. It was decided that we should return
to Trdguier, and that she should there take up
the duties of a professional teacher. Of all the
conditions of existence open to the choice of a
well-educated and undowered person, the edu-
cation of girls in a small provincial town is,
beyond all contradiction, that which demands the
greatest courage. The period was that imme-
14 BROTHER AND SISTER
diately succeeding the Revolution of 1830, an
unfortunate and critical moment in those remote
provinces. Under the Restoration, the nobility,
seeing its privileges were uncontested, had shared
frankly in the social movement. Now, in its
fancied humiliation, it avenged itself by with-
drawing within a narrow circle, and thus im-
poverished the development of society at large.
All Legitimist families made a point of confiding
their children to religious communities alone.
The middle class, for the sake of being in the
fashion, and aping people of quality, soon followed
the same custom. My sister — incapable of con-
descending to those vulgarly - clever methods
without which it is well-nigh impossible for a
private school to succeed — my sister, with her
unusual distinction, her deep earnestness, and
her thorough information, saw her little school
deserted. The modesty, the reserve, the ex-
quisite tone of mind which she carried into
everything she did, were so many causes of
her failure in this matter. Struggling with the
most paltry touchiness, forced to reckon with
the silliest pretensions, her great and noble spirit
wore itself out in a hopeless, endless contest
with a decadent society, robbed of the best of
its former elements by a revolution which had
not as yet endowed it with any of its benefits.
HENRIETTE RENAN 15
Some few people, superior to the local small-
mindedness, knew how to value her. An ex-
ceedingly intelligent man, free from the preju-
dices which have reigned supreme in provincial
towns since their aristocratic population has either
completely disappeared or grown warped in mind
and stupidly reactionary, conceived a very deep
affection for her. In spite of a birth-mark to
which it took some time to grow accustomed,
my sister was at that age remarkably attractive.
Those who only knew her late in life, and worn
by a trying climate, cannot fancy the delicacy
of her features and their languorous charm in
earlier years. Her eyes were peculiarly soft, and
her hand the prettiest and daintiest imaginable.
Certain proposals were made, coupled with dis-
creetly indicated conditions. The effect of these
would, in fact, have been to separate her in a
measure from her own people, for whom it was
thought she had already toiled sufficiently. She
refused them, although the clear-mindedness and
justice of her own nature inspired her with a real
regard for one in whom she recognised similar
qualities. She preferred poverty to affluence
unshared by her family. Yet her position was
growing more and more distressing. The fees
due to her were so irregularly paid, that we now
and then regretted having left Lannion, where
i6 BROTHER AND SISTER
we had met with far greater kindness and sym-
pathy. Then it was she resolved to drain the
bitter cup to its very dregs. A lady friend of the
family, who travelled to Paris about this time,
spoke to her of a situation as under-mistress in a
small school for girls. The poor girl accepted it.
At the age of four-and-twenty, friendless, without
advisers, she went out into a world which was
utterly unknown to her, and in which she was
doomed to serve a cruel apprenticeship. The
beginning of her Paris life was terrible. That
cold and arid world, so full of imposition and
imposture, that populous desert, wherein she
counted Aot one single friend, drove her desperate.
The deep attachment which we Bretons bear our
country, our national habits, and our domestic
life, awoke in her with agonising bitterness. Lost
in an ocean where her modesty was misunder-
stood, prevented by her extreme reserve from
contracting those kindly acquaintanceships which
console and support, even when they do not mate-
rially assist us, she fell into a state of nostalgia
so profound as to compromise her health. What
makes the Breton's condition so cruel in the early
days of his transplanting from his home is that
he feels forsaken at once by men and by God
Himself. The heavens seem darkened to him.
His happy belief in the general morality of the
HENRIETTE REN AN 17
universe, his tranquil optimism, are shaken to
their foundations. He feels himself cast out of
paradise into a hell of icy indifference. The voice
of all that is good and beautiful sounds hollow in
his ears, and he is tempted to cry out, ** How
shall I sing the song of the Lord in a strange
land ? " To crown my sister s misfortunes, the
first houses to which she was led by fate were
quite unworthy of her. Let the reader imagine
a gentle girl, who had never left her God-fear-
ing little town, her mother, and her friends, sud-
denly planted in the midst of a frivolous-minded
school society, where her serious feelings were
incessantly wounded, and whose leaders never
betrayed any sentiments but such as proved
their light-mindedness, indifference, or sordid
love of personal interest. Owing to these early
experiences she always maintained a very low
opinion of the methods of female education in
Paris. A score of times she was on the eve of
departure, and all her invincible courage was
needful to induce her to remain.
But, little by little, people learnt to value her.
The management of the studies in a scholastic
establishment, a very creditable one this time, was
entrusted to her ; but the obstacles she encountered
to the realisation of her views, owing to the nig-
gardliness inevitable in private institutions, and
i8 BROTHER AND SISTER
almost invariably countenanced by the proprietors
for the sake of the paltry gain it brings, prevented
her ever taking much pleasure in this particular
line of teaching. She used to work sixteen hours
a day. She passed all the public examinations
prescribed by the regulations. This labour did
not have the same effect on her mind as it might
have on a more mediocre intelligence. Instead
of exhausting, it strengthened it, and produced
a prodigious mental development. Her informa-
tion, already very considerable, became excep-
tional. She made a study of modern history,
and in later years a few words of mine would
suffice to enable her to seize the sense of the
most delicate criticism. Simultaneously her reli-
/gious ideas underwent modification. From history
/ she learnt the insufficiency of any dogma ; but the
■ fundamental religious sentiment, which was hers
^ by nature, as well as by reason of her early educa-
\^tion, was too deeply rooted to be shaken. All
that development of thought which might have
been dangerous in another woman was harmless
here, for she kept it in her own heart. The culti-
vation of the mind had its absolute and intrinsic
value in her sight. She never dreamt of turning
it into a means of satisfying her vanity. It was
in the year 1838 that she brought me to Paris.
Educated at Tr^guier by some worthy priests who
HENRIETTE RENAN 19
managed a sort of seminary there, I had early
given signs of an inclination towards the eccle-
siastical state of life. The prizes I won at school
delighted my sister, who mentioned them to a
kind-hearted and distinguished man, physician to
the school in which she taught, and a very zealous
Catholic, Dr. Descuret, author of ** La Medecine
des Passions." He mentioned the chance of get-
ting a good pupil to Monseigneur Dupanloup,
then the brilliantly successful manager of the
small seminary of " St. Nicholas du Chardonnet,"
and came back to my sister with the news that
he had the offer of a scholarship for me. I was
then fifteen and a half years old. My sister,
whose own Catholic convictions were beginning
to totter, was already inclined to view the very
clerical bent of my education with some regret.
But she knew the respect due to a child's faith.
Never did she breathe one word to dissuade me
from a path which I was following of my freest
volition. She came to see me every week, still
wearing the plain green woollen shawl which had
sheltered her proud poverty away in Brittany.
She was just the same gentle, loving girl, but with
a touch of firmness and wisdom which the trials of
life and her severe studies had added to her.
The educational career is such a thankless one
for women, that after five years spent in Paris,
20 BROTHER AND SISTER
and several illnesses brought on by over-work,
my sister was still far from being able to suffice
for all the charges she had taken upon herself.
True it is that she took a view of them which
would have discouraged any one else. Our father
had left debts far exceeding the value of our
paternal homestead, the only property remaining
to us. But our mother was so beloved, and in
those days, in that kindly country, business was
still done after so patriarchal a fashion, that no
creditor dreamt of pressing for the discharge of
our liabilities. It was settled that my mother
should keep the house and repay what and when
she could. My sister would not listen to any
idea of rest till all this old and heavy debt was
cleared off Thus it was that she ended by
accepting proposals made her in 1840 to under-
take private teaching in Poland. It was a
question of years of expatriation and of accept-
ing a state of trying personal dependence. But
she had made a far greater effort when she had
quitted Brittany to go out into the wide world.
She started in January 1841, crossed the Black
Forest and the whole of South Germany buried
in snow, joined the family she was about to enter
at Vienna, and then, crossing the Carpathian
range, she reached the Chateau of Cl^mensow
on the banks of the Bug, a dreary residence,
HENRIETTE REN AN 21
where for ten long years she was to learn how
bitter exile is, even when sweetened by a lofty
motive.
This time, at all events, fate brought her one
compensation for its many former injustices, by
placing her in a family which I may mention
without hesitation, since a contemporary glory
which has brought its name to every lip has
added lustre to its historic renown. It was that
of Comte Andre Zamoyski. The passionate
eagerness with which she undertook her duties —
the affection she conceived for her three pupils
— the delight of seeing her efforts bear fruit,
especially in the person of her whose youth
caused her to remain longest under her care,
the Princess Cecile Lubomirska — the unusual
esteem she earned from all the members of this
noble family, who never ceased, even after her
return to France, to appeal to her sagacity for
timely counsel — the close affinity, in their mutual
gravity and uprightness, between her own char-
acter and that of the household in which she
dwelt — all helped her to forget the sadness in-
separable from the nature of her position, and the
rigours of a climate exceedingly unsuited to her
constitution. She grew fond of Poland, and con-
ceived a special feeling of esteem for the Polish
peasant, in whom she recognised a good-hearted
22 BROTHER AND SISTER
being, full of lofty religious instincts, not unlike
the peasantry of Brittany, but of a less ener-
getic nature. Her travels in Germany and Italy
completed the process of ripening her intelli-
gence. She made several and repeated stays
at Warsaw, Vienna, and Dresden. Venice and
Florence were a perfect dream of delight to her ;
but Rome especially enthralled her. In that
imperial city she grew to see, and that calmly
• enough, the distinction the philosophic mind
, must draw between religion in its essence and
its specific formula. She loved, with Lord
'Byron, to call it "dear city of my soul." Like
all foreigners who have lived there, she even
grew to feel indulgent towards those puerile and
senseless details which environ the Papacy in
these later days.
Ill
In 1845 I left the Seminary of St. Sulplce.
Thanks to the wise and liberal spirit animating
the managers of that establishment, I was far
advanced in philological study, and my religious
convictions were correspondingly shaken. Here
again Henriette was my true helper. She had\
outstripped me in the path of doubt, and her J
faith in Catholicism had completely disappeared /
but she had always refrained from exercising the
slightest influence over me in that respect. When
I made known to her the doubts which tormented
me, making me feel it a duty to relinquish a
career which indispensably demands the most
unquestioning faith, she was overjoyed, and
offered her aid to support me on the thorny
road. I was about entering on life, at the age
of twenty-three, old in thought, but as inexperi-
enced, as ignorant of the world as a young man
well could be. I literally did not know a soul ;
I lacked the assurance of an ordinary boy of
fifteen. I had not even taken my degree of
bachelier es lettres. We agreed that I should
24 BROTHER AND SISTER
seek for some employment in a school in Paris
of the nature known as au pair, which would,
that is to say, give me board and lodging, leaving
me considerable leisure for my studies. My sister
advanced me a sum of twelve thousand francs
(forty-four pounds), to enable me to wait, and
supplement whatever insufficiency of income such
a position might at first present.
That sum was the corner-stone of my whole
life. I never exhausted it, but it secured me the
calm of mind so indispensable if I was to think in
peace, and saved me from being overwhelmed by
taskwork which would have broken me down.
At this crucial moment in my life, Henriette's
beautiful letters were my support and consolation.
While I was struggling with difficulties increased
by my total inexperience of the world, her health
was suffering severely from the severity of the
Polish winters ; a chronic affection of the larynx
developed, and in 1850 took so serious a form
that her return was deemed necessary. Her task,
moreover, was accomplished ; our father's liabilities
had been completely discharged ; the small pro-
perty he had left us was safe in my mother's
hands, freed from all debt, and my brother's work
had earned him a position which promised to
become a wealthy one. The idea of a meeting
occurred to both of us. I joined her in Berlin
HENRIETTE RENAN 25
in September 1850. Those ten years of exile
had utterly transformed her. Premature old age
had wrinkled her brow. Of the charms she still
possessed when she bade me farewell in the
parlour of the seminary of St. Nicholas, nought
remained save her delightful expression of in-
effable goodness.
Then began those happy years, the recollec-
tion of which still draws' tears from my eyes.
We hired a small apartment at the bottom
of a garden near the Val de Grace. Here we
enjoyed the most perfect solitude. She had no
relations with the outer world, and desired none.
Our windows looked over the garden of the
Carmelite nuns in the Rue de TEnfer. The
life led by these recluses gave, in a measure,
the pattern of her own, and was her only inte-
rest during the long hours I was absent at the
Bibliotheque Nationale. She had the extremest
respect for my work ; I have known her sit of
an evening for hours by my side, holding her'
breath lest she should disturb me. Yet she
liked to see me, and the door between our two
rooms was always open. So judicious and so
ripened had her affection for me grown, that
the secret communion of our thoughts sufficed
her. Naturally exacting and jealous - hearted,
she was satisfied with but a few minutes each
26 BROTHER AND SISTER
day, so long as she felt assured she was the
sole object of my affection. Thanks to her
vigorous economy, she managed my home on
exceedingly limited means, so that nothing ever
lacked, and even endued it with a simple charm
of its own. So perfect was the union of our
minds that we scarcely needed to communicate
our thoughts. Our general views concerning the
universe and the deity were identical. There
was not a delicate shade in the theories I was
then evolving which she did not appreciate. She
surpassed me in knowledge on many points of
modern history, which she had studied at the
fountain-head. The general plan of my career,
the scheme of inflexible sincerity I had mapped
out, was so essentially the combined product of
our two consciences, that, had I been tempted
to fail in any particular of it, she, like a second
self, would have been found beside me to call
me back to duty. Thus her influence in my
mental sphere was very great. She was my
incomparable amanuensis. She copied all my
works, and understood them so thoroughly that
I could trust to her as to the living index of my
own intelligence. In the matter of form I owe
her an immensity. She read everything I wrote
in the proofs, and her invaluable criticism would
discover delicate shades of negligence in style
HENRIETTE REN AN 27
which might otherwise have escaped me. She
had formed an admirable one of her own,
modelled on the classics, so severely correct
that I doubt whether, since the days of Port
Royal, any writer has ever set himself a loftier
ideal of perfect diction. This made her a very
severe critic. She favoured but few of our con-
temporary writers, and when she saw the essays
I had composed before our reunion, and which
had not had time to reach her in Poland, she was
only half contented with them. She shared the ^
tendency of their ideas, and she felt, at all
events, that the measured exposition of deep
thoughts of such an order should be expressed
by each person with perfect freedom of indi-
vidual speech ; but she thought their form
abrupt and careless. Some passages in themV
struck her as being exaggerated, harsh in tone,,
and as treating our language after a fashion
which was barely respectful.
She convinced me that everything may be
clearly expressed in the simple and correct style
of the best authors, and that novel forms and
violent imagery always denote either misplaced
pretension or ignorance of the writer s real re-
sources. Thus a fundamental change in my own
style dates from this period. I formed a habit of
composing with an eye to her remarks, writing
28 BROTHER AND SISTER
various passages to see what effect they would
produce on her, and resolved to sacrifice them
should she demand it.
Since I lost her, this habit of my mind has
grown to be a semblance of the anguish of a
patient who has suffered amputation, and who
has the limb he is deprived of constantly within
his sight. She was a radical factor in my in-
tellectual existence, and with her a part of my
actual being passed away. On all philosophical
subjects we had grown to see with the same eyes
and feel as with one heart. She so thoroughly
comprehended my method of thought that she
almost always anticipated what I was about to
say, the idea striking us both at the same moment.
/ But on one point she far surpassed me. While
j I still sought, in matters of the soul, for interest-
i ing controversy or artistic study, nothing ever
j tarnished the purity of her close communion with
\ Good. Her religious worship of the truth suffered
not the smallest note of discord. One quality of
my work which gave her pain was the sarcastic
spirit which possessed me, and which I was apt
to carry into my best work. Never having
known real suffering, I took the cautious smile
which human vanity or weakness will provoke
to be a sort of token of my philosophy. This
habit of mine distressed her, and I relinquished
HENRIETTE RENAN 29
it little by little for her sake. I now see how
right she was. Good men should be simply •
good. Every touch of sarcasm implies some
residuum of vanity and personal defiance, which
in the long-run surely degenerates into want of
taste.
Her religion had reached the acme of simpli- ,
city. She absolutely rejected the supernatural,
but she preserved the deepest attachment to the
Christian practice. It was not Protestantism
exactly, even in its broadest sense, which attracted
her. She had the tenderest recollection of Catho-
licism, of the chanting, and Psalms, and pious
practices amid which her childhood had been spent.
She was a saint minus the saint's precise faith in
religious symbolism and its narrow observances.
About a month before her death we had a
religious conversation with that excellent man
Dr. Gaillardot on the terrace of our house at
Ghazir. She would fain have checked my
strong inclination towards the formulated con-
ception of an impersonal Deity and a purely
ideal immortality. Without being what is vul-
garly called a Deist, she could not tolerate the
thought of reducing religion to a mere abstract
idea. In practice, at all events, all was clear
to her. ** Yes," she said, ''when my last hour
comes, I shall have the consolation of telling
30 BROTHER AND SISTER
myself I have done all the good I could. If
there is a thought on earth which is not vanity,
that is one."
A keen appreciation of Nature was the source
of some of her most exquisite pleasures. A fine
day, a sunbeam, a flower, would suffice to delight
her. She had a perfect comprehension of the
delicate art of the great Italian idealist schools,
but she could find no pleasure in that brutal or
violent style which seeks for something else than
beauty.
A special circumstance gave her an unusual
acquaintance with the history of the Art of the
Middle Ages. She it was who collected for me
all the notes for the paper on the condition of
the Fine Arts in the fourteenth century which
will be incorporated in the twenty- fourth volume
of the '* Histoire Litt6raire de France." For this
purpose, and with the most admirable patience
and care, she examined every great archaeological
work published during the last half-century, and
collected every item that could serve our purpose.
Her own conclusions, which she noted down at
the same time, were remarkable for their accu-
racy, and I almost invariably had to adopt them
in the end. To complete our researches, we
travelled together into the country which was the
cradle of Gothic art, the Vexin, the Valois, and
HENRIETTE RENAN 31
the Beauvois regions, and the localities lying
round Noyon, Laon, and Rheims. During all
this inquiry, in which she took the deepest inte-
rest, she displayed extraordinary activity. The
ideal life to her was one of labour and retire-
ment lapped in affection. Often she would
repeat those words of Thomas a Kempis, ** In
angello cum libello." Amid such peaceful avoca-
tions many happy hours were spent, her mind
perfectly tranquil, and her heart, generally so
anxious, in deepest repose. Her power of work
was prodigious. I have known her never quit
her self-imposed task from morning till night for
days together. She assisted in editing several
educational journals, one managed by her friend
Mdlle. Ulliac-Tremadeure in particular. She
never signed her articles, and such was her
modesty that she gave herself no opportunity of
gaining anything beyond the esteem of a small
minority. But indeed the vile taste prevailing
in the composition of all French works intended
for the purposes of female education prevented
her ever looking for great pecuniary remunera-
tion or success. This work was undertaken
more especially to oblige her friend, who had
grown old and infirm. It was in her letters that
her whole being revealed itself Her travelling
journals, too, were excellent. I had looked to
32 BROTHER AND SISTER
her to relate the unscientific details of our journey-
in the East. Alas ! the history of that aspect of
my enterprise, which I had confided to her care,
has perished with her. The fragment I have
discovered among her papers is excellent. We
hope to publish it, and complete what is lacking
with her letters. Later on we shall bring out a
description written by her of the great mari-
time expeditions of the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries. She had studied deeply for the pur-
pose of this work, and had brought a critical
acumen to bear upon it rarely found in books
intended for the young. She never did anything
by halves. Her fine taste for absolute truth-
fulness proved the accuracy of her judgment.
She was not witty, if that word is taken, in the
French acceptation, to mean something light and
bantering — she never made game of any living
being. She hated all malice, and thought it
cruelty. I remember once, at a pardon in Lower
Brittany, to which we went by water, our boat
was preceded by one filled with poor ladies, who,
in their desire to be smart for the occasion, had
indulged in a style of toilet decoration at once
paltry and tasteless. Our companions laughed
at them, and the poor ladies perceived it. I saw
her burst into tears. To her it seemed barbarous
cruelty to make a mock of harmless beings who
HENRIETTE RENAN 33
were forgetting their troubles in a day's pleasur-
ing, and who perhaps had pinched themselves
sorely out of deference to public opinion. A
person who attracted ridicule at once acquired
her pity. With pity she gave love, and set
herself between the mocker and his prey.
Hence arose her indifference to society, and
her lack of that ordinary conversation which
is almost invariably a tissue of ill-nature and
frivolity. She had grown old before her time,
and she had a habit of exaggerating her age,
both in her dress and manner. She had a sort of
worship for sorrow. She welcomed, she almost
cultivated, every opportunity of shedding tears.
Grief became an enduring and almost an enjoy-
able sensation with her. Middle-class people, as
a rule, misunderstood her, and thought her stiff
and embarrassed in manner. Nothing which was
not completely good in its way found favour in
her eyes. She could not be false to her own self
The lower orders and peasants, on the contrary,
found her exquisitely kind, and those who knew
how to touch the finest chords of her nature
soon learnt to appreciate its depth and its dis-
tinction.
She had charming womanly flashes now and
then. Her youth would return to her for the
nonce ; she would seem to smile at life, and the
c
34 BROTHER AND SISTER
veil that parted her from the outer world would
drop.
These passing moments of enchanting weak-
ness, fleeting gleams of a dawn long past, were
full of melancholy tenderness. She was far
superior in this particular to those persons who
profess the indifference preached by the Mystic
school in all its gloomy abstraction. She loved
life, she was full of good taste, she could smile
over a jewel or some womanly trifle as she
would smile upon a flower. She had never
pronounced the ascetic Christian's sweeping re-
nunciation of Nature. Virtue, in her eyes, was
an austere endeavour, a deliberate eflbrt, the
natural instinct of a pure soul, tending in spon-
taneous striving towards good, serving God
without fear or trembling.
Thus for six years we lived a very pure and
elevated life. My position was always a very
modest one, but that was her own desire. Even
had I thought of it, she would not have permitted
me to sacrifice one tittle of my independence
to my worldly advancement. The unexpected
disasters which befell our brother, and led to the
loss of all our savings, did not dismay her. She
would have gone abroad again, had that been
necessary to ensure the steady development of
my literary life. Oh ! my God, have I done all
HENRIETTE RENAN 35
that in me lay to ensure her happiness? With
what bitterness do I now reproach myself for
my habit of reserve towards her, for not having
told her oftener how dear I held her, for having
yielded too easily to my love of silent meditation,
for not having made the most of every hour in
which she was spared to me ! But I take that
rare soul to witness that she was always in my
heart of hearts, that she ruled my whole moral
life as none other ever ruled, that she was the
constant beginning and end of all my existence,
in sorrow and in joy. If I failed her, it was by
a certain stiffness of manner which should never
give pause to those who know me well, and by
a feeling of respect, misplaced perhaps, which
caused me instinctively to avoid anything re-
sembling a desecration of her holiness. A similar
feeling checked her in her intercourse with me.
My lengthened clerical education, one of absolute
seclusion during four years, had given me a habit
of mind in this respect which her inherent and
delicate reserve prevented her opposing as much
as she might have done perhaps.
IV
My inexperience of life, and my ignorance,
especially of the profound difference between
the male and female heart, led me to ask a
sacrifice of her, which would have been beyond
the powers of any other woman. I had too deep
a feeling of what I owed to such a friend to
dream of changing our manner of life in any
way without her approbation. But she herself,
with her usual great-heartedness, took the first
step. In the earliest days after we met again,
she strongly recommended me to marry. She
frequently recurred to the subject ; she even
mentioned to one of our friends, unknown to
me, a marriage she had planned for me, and
which had come to nothing. The initiative she
thus displayed led me into an absolute mistake.
I sincerely believed it would cause her no pain
were I to tell her I had fixed my choice upon a
person worthy to share my home with her. I
had always taken for granted she would ever
remain what she had hitherto been to me, an
36
HENRIETTE RENAN 37
accomplished and beloved sister, incapable of
giving or taking offence, sure enough of the
feeling I had for her not to be wounded by that
with which another person might inspire me.
I now see how mistaken such an idea was. A
woman's love differs from a man's. All her
affections are jealous and exclusive. She admits
no shade of difference betwixt divers kinds of
affection. But some excuse I had. I was mis-
led by my own extreme simplicity, and to some
extent also by my sister herself. To tell the
truth, I believe she was the dupe of her own
brave heart. When the marriage she had planned
for me fell through, she was sorry after a fashion,
although in some respects the idea had ceased
to tempt her. But so mysterious is the heart
of woman, that the trial she had herself gone
out smilingly to meet seemed cruel when it came
to her. She was ready and willing to drink the
bitter cup her own hands had prepared, but she
shrunk from that I offered her, though I had
•used all my art to make it sweet. Such is the
terrible result of exaggerated delicacy of senti-
ment. A brother and sister united by the closest
affection, just for lack of sufficient plain-speaking,
came to lay snares for each other in all uncon-
sciousness, to seek and fail to find each other
in the dark.
38 BROTHER AND SISTER
Those were bitter days to us. We were tossed
by every tempest loving hearts can know. When
she told me she had only suggested my marrying,
in the first instance, in the desire of trying my
affection for herself, when she warned me that
the instant of my union with another person
would be that of her own departure, my heart
stood still. Do I imply that this was the real
feeling actuating her, that she actually desired
to raise obstacles in the way of the marriage I
longed for ? No ! in good truth. 'Twas but the
whirlwind in her passionate soul, the revolt of a
heart whose love was strong to violence. The
moment she and Mdlle. Cornelie Scheffer met,
they conceived that mutual affection which later
was so dear to both of them. M. Ary Scheffer's
open and noble manner struck and enraptured
her. She saw middle- class meanness and paltry
touchiness had no place there. Her goodwill
was aroused, and yet, at the decisive moment,
the woman in her woke again. Her power for
goodwill left her.
At last the day dawned which was to end this
cruel suffering. Driven into choosing between
two affections, I sacrificed everything to the older
— that which verged most closely on a duty. I
told Mdlle. Scheffer that I could never see her
again until my sister's heart ceased to bleed at
HENRIETTE RENAN 39
the thought of our meetings. This took place
in the evening. I went home and told my sister
what I had done. A great revulsion swept over
her soul. The thought of having prevented a
union so much desired by me filled her with
bitterest remorse. Very early next morning she
hastened to M. Scheffer's house, and spent long
hours mingling her tears with those of my in-
tended bride. They parted cheerfully and in
firm friendship. After my marriage indeed, as
before it, we had all things in common. It was
her savings which rendered the young house-
keeping a possibility. Without her I could never
have coped with my new responsibilities. But
so confident was I in her goodness that I only
long afterwards recognised the ingenuousness of
my own behaviour. These alternations in her
moods went on for a considerable time. Again
and again the cruel overmastering demons of
over-anxious tenderness, of jealousy and sudden
heart-rebellion and swift regrets awoke, and tor-
tured her. Often her melancholy talk would hint
at severing her own existence from one which in
her gloomiest hours she would assert no longer
stood in need of her. But such moments were
but as the remnant of some evil dream, which
gradually disappears. The delicate tact and
feeling of the sister I had given her won the
40 BROTHER AND SISTER
completest victory. When for a passing moment
she would blame me, Cornelie's gentle interven-
tion, her simple gaiety and charm, would change
our tears to laughter, and we ended the matter
in a mutual embrace. The uprightness in heart
and feeling manifested by those two women,
grappling with the most delicate of all the prob-
lems of the affections, were my perpetual ad-
miration. I came to bless the sufferings which
had earned me such a happy reconciliation.
The ingenuous hope I had indulged of seeing
another besides myself complete my sister's
happiness, and bring into her existence a gaiety
and stir I personally did not know how to supply,
was occasionally realised. More fortunate than
my indiscretion warranted, I saw my imprudence
turn to wisdom, and enjoyed the fruits of my own
foolhardiness.
The birth of my little son Ary completed
the work of my sister's consolation. Her love
for that child was a downright worship. The
maternal instinct, with which she overflowed,
there found its natural outlet. Her gentleness,
her unalterable patience, her love for everything
good and simple, made her unspeakably tender
to childhood. It was a sort of religion with her,
and one which, to her melancholy nature, had
an infinite charm. When my second child, a
HENRIETTE RENAN 41
girl, whom we lost In a few months, came
into the world, Henriette told me, several
times over, that the little one had come to
take her own place beside me. She loved the
thought of death, and would recur to it with
delight.
** You will see, my dear ones," she would say,
** the little flower we have lost will leave a sweet
perfume with us." And the memory of the little
creature who had gone was long held sacred
by her. Sharing as she thus did, with the full
strength of her great power of feeling, in all
our joys and sorrows, she ended by completely
identifying herself with the new life I had brought
about her. I count the fact of having realised
this masterpiece of self-sacrifice and simple de-
votion in the person of those two women, whose
lives fate linked with mine, as one of the greatest
moral satisfactions I have known. They loved
each other with a very deep affection, and I
have the consolation at this moment of feeling
the sorrow that walks beside me is as heavy
as my own. Each had her own separate place
in my existence, and that without division or
exclusion. Each, after her own fashion, was
everything to me.
When, a few days before her death, my sister
42 BROTHER AND SISTER
had a kind of presentiment of her approach-
ing end, she spoke some words to me which
proved that all her wounds were healed, and
that nothing but a memory of the bitterness of
bygone days remained.
V
In the year i860, when, the Emperor offered
me a scientific mission to the country known in
ancient times as Phoenicia, my sister was one of
those who pressed me most strongly to accept.
In politics she was a sturdy Liberal, but she
held that all party feeling should be set aside
when it came to realising a plan which in itself
promised good fruit, though its sole probable
reward was the peril encountered in its execu-
tion. It was settled from the first that she
should bear me company. Accustomed as I
had grown to her personal care and her invalu-
able collaboration in all my work, I also needed
her in this case to manage the expenditure and
keep the accounts of the expedition. This duty
she performed with the minutest care, and I was
able, thanks to her assistance, to carry on a very
complicated undertaking during a period extend-
ing over a whole year, without ever being dis-
turbed for a single moment by material questions.
Her activity was the wonder of all who saw it.
Without her help I certainly could not have car-
43
44 BROTHER AND SISTER
ried through my self-imposed task — too elaborate
a one, perhaps — within so short a space of time.
She never left my side. Step by step she fol-
lowed me up the steepest slopes of Lebanon
and across the wilderness of Jordan, seeing every-
thing I saw myself. If I had died, she could
have told the story of my travels almost as well
as I could have related it myself. The terrible
mountain tracks, the privation inevitable in this
sort of exploring expedition, never checked her.
A thousand times I felt my heart tremble as I
watched her swaying on the edge of some preci-
pice. Her steadiness and endurance on horse-
back were surprising. She would do eight and
ten hours' journey in the day. Her health,
naturally somewhat frail, withstood the strain
by dint of her strong will. But her whole
nervous, system began to develop an excited
condition, symptoms of which appeared in the
shape of violent attacks of neuralgia. Twice or
thrice, in the midst of the wilderness, she fell
into a state of suffering which terrified us. Her
astonishing courage deceived us all. So passion-
ately had she identified herself with this investi-
gation of mine, that she was resolved nothing
should part her from me till it was accomplished.
And the journey in itself was a source of keen
enjoyment to her. This year, in fact, was the
HENRIETTE RENAN 45
only one in her life which brought her no actual
sorrow, and it was almost the only real reward
she ever knew. Her power of fresh enjoyment
was complete. She took a childlike delight in
all the wonders our new existence revealed to
her. Nothing can exceed the charm of spring
and autumn in Syria. The perfumed atmos-
phere seems to inspire every living thing with
its own buoyancy. The most exquisite flowers,
magnificent cyclamens especially, tuft every rocky
crevice, and on the plains lying towards Amrit
and Tortosa the horses' feet trample a thick
carpet formed of our loveliest garden blossoms.
The torrents flowing down the mountain-sides
contrast deliciously with the merciless sun that
beats upon them.
Our first halt was at the village of Amschit,
three-quarters of an hour's ride from Gebeil
(Byblos), founded some five-and-twenty or thirty
years before by the rich Maronite chief, Mikhael
Tobia. Zakhia, Mikhael's heir, rendered our
stay exceedingly agreeable. He gave us a pretty
house overlooking Byblos and the sea. The
gentle manners of the people, their invariable
civility, the regard they formed for us, and for
her in particular, touched us deeply. She was
always glad to return to this village, and we
made it in some degree our headquarters while
46 BROTHER AND SISTER
in the Byblos region. The village of Sarba,
near Djouni, the residence of a kind and worthy
family of the name of Khadra, well known to
all French travellers in this part of the East,
also became a favourite stopping-place with her.
She delighted in the lovely Bay of Kesrouan,
with its closely dotted villages, its convents
perched on every peak, and its mountains run-
ning sheer down into the transparent waves.
A hymn of delight seemed to rise out of her
soul every time this lovely panorama burst upon
us as we came out amongst the rocks towards
the north on our way down from Gebeil. She
grew much attached to the Maronite people
generally. A visit she paid to the convent at
Bkerke, where the Patriarch then resided, sur-
rounded by bishops whose habits were of a
truly Arcadian simplicity, left a very pleasant
impression on her memory. She conceived the
greatest dislike, on the other hand, to the small
European tittle-tattle of Beyrout society, and to
the stiffness of that in such towns as Saida,
where the Mussulman type of life predominated.
The wonderful sights she witnessed at Tyre
delighted her. She was literally rocked by the
tempest in the lofty summer-house where she
was lodged. The nomad life, always so fasci-
nating in the long-run, had taken hold upon
OF THE
UNIVERSITY
OF
^alifqSJ^
HENRIETTE RENAN 47
her. Night after night my wife Invented some
fresh pretext to prevent her staying in her tent
alone. She would yield, though always with
something of a struggle. She delighted in the
atmosphere of close familiarity, shared with those
she loved, amidst that spreading wilderness of
space.
But her most passionate Interest was claimed
by our journey in Palestine. Jerusalem, with
its unrivalled memories, Naplousa and its lovely
valley, Mount Carmel, carpeted with spring
flowers, and Galilee above all — that earthly
paradise laid waste, on which the Divine breath
lingers yet, held her spell-bound for six en-
chanted weeks.
Starting from Tyre and from Oum-el-Awamid,
we had already made several little expeditions,
lasting six or eight days each, into those ancient
possessions of the tribes of Asher and Naphtali,
where such mighty things were once accom-
plished. When I first showed her from Kas-
youn, above Lake Huleh, the whole region of the
Upper Jordan, with the basin of the Lake of
Gennesaret, the cradle of the Christian faith, far
away in the distance, she thanked me, telling
me that sight had been the most precious joy
her life had known. Far above that narrow
sentiment which attaches historical interest to
48 BROTHER AND SISTER
particular localities, to concrete objects, almost
invariably apocryphal in their origin, she always
looked for the spirit, the true sense, the general
impression left by the event. Our long tours in
that splendid country, with Mount Hermon ever
in our view, its gorges marked in snowy lines
against the azure heavens, haunt the memory like
dreams of some other world.
In the month of July, my wife, who had been
with us since January, was obliged to leave us at
the call of other duties. The excavations were
all finished, the French army had evacuated Syria.
We two stayed behind to superintend the removal
of the objects unearthed, to complete our explora-
tion of the Upper Lebanon, and to make prepara-
tion for a final campaign in Cyprus during the
following autumn. Bitterly do I now deplore the
share I took in thus prolonging our stay over the
months most unhealthy to Europeans residing in
Syria. Our last journey in the Lebanon tried my
sister very much. We spent three days at Mas-
chnaka, above the Adonis river, sheltered by a
mud hut. The perpetual change from chilly val-
leys to burning rocks, the bad food, the necessity
of spending the nights in low-built houses, where
one had either to keep every aperture open or to
stifle, laid the seeds of that nerve pain which was
so soon to make itself apparent. Leaving the
HENRIETTE RENAN 49
deep valleys of Tannourin, after having spent the
night at the Convent of Mar-Yakoub, on one of
the abruptest crags in that vicinity, we entered
the scorching region of Toula. The sudden
change overwhelmed us. Towards eleven o'clock,
in the village of Helta, she was seized with agon-
ising pain. I made her rest in the village priest's
poor hovel, and a little farther on the road, while
I was collecting some inscriptions, she tried to
snatch some sleep within an oratory. But the
native women would not let her rest ; they kept
coming to look at her and touch her. At last we
got to Toula. There two days passed in hideous
suffering. We were without succour of any kind,
and the untutored roughness of the inhabitants
increased her anguish. Never having beheld a
European, they swarmed into the house, torment-
ing her after the most unendurable fashion while
I was away prosecuting my researches. As soon
as she could sit on horseback, we went as far as
Amschit, where she got a little better. But her
left eye was affected, and at times she suffered
from diplopia.
The intense heat prevailing all along the coast,
and our own fatigued condition, made me resolve
on settling down at Ghazir, very high above the
sea, at the far end of the Bay of Kesrouan. We
took leave of the worthy denizens of Amschit and
50 BROTHER AND SISTER
Gebeil. The sun was setting when we reached
the mouth of the Adonis river. There we rested
for awhile. Though far from free of pain, the
delicious calm of that beautiful spot fell upon her
spirit, and she had an interval of quiet cheerfulness.
We climbed the mountain of Ghazir in the moon-
light ; she was in great delight, and as we left
the burning seashore we fancied all the suffering
we had known there had departed from us.
Certainly Ghazir is one of the loveliest spots
in the whole world. The valleys around are
exquisitely green, and the slopes of Aramoun,
a little above it, are more beautiful than anything
I saw in the Lebanon. But the inhabitants,
corrupted by their commerce with the so-called
aristocratic families of that region, have none
of the good qualities usually found amongst the
Maronites.
We secured a nice little house with a pretty
arbour. Within its walls we enjoyed a few days
of most delightful rest. We were able to get
snow from the crevasses of the upper mountain.
Our poor fellow-travellers, her Arab mare and
my mule Sada, cropped the herbage close to us.
She suffered much during that first fortnight, then
the pain quieted down, and God granted her a
few more days of perfect happiness before she
left this world.
HENRIETTE REN AN 51
The memory of those days is inexpressibly
precious to me. The unavoidable delay connected
with such work as we were occupied in winding
up left me much leisure. I resolved to note down
all the thoughts concerning the life of Jesus which
had been stirring in my brain since my sojourn
in the Tyrian country and my journey into Pales-
tine. The personality of that great Founder had
risen very clearly to my mind as I perused the
Gospels in Galilee itself. Buried in the deepest
conceivable retirement, with the help of the
Gospels and of Josephus, I wrote a Life of
Jesus, carrying the story while I was at Ghazir
as far as the last journey to Jerusalem. Exquisite
hours, departed all too quickly ! I pray eternity
may be as sweet ! From morning till night I
lived intoxicated, as it were, with the idea un-
folding itself before my mental vision. I fell
asleep pursuing it, and the first ray of sun shoot-
ing above the mountain revealed it to me yet
clearer, stronger, than before. Henriette was
the daily confidante of the progress of my labour.
As fast as I could write a page she copied it.
"I shall love this book," she said, ** because we
have done it together, first of all, and then
because I like it in itself."
The elevation of her thoughts had never struck
me more. In the evening we used to walk on
52 BROTHER AND SISTER
our terrace under the stars. Then she would
give me the result of her reflections, full of tact
and wisdom. Some of them were absolute reve-
lations to me. She was perfectly happy, and this
was certainly the most blessed moment in her
life. Our intellectual and moral communion had
never been so intimate. She repeatedly told me
those days had been a paradise to her. A gentle
mournfulness of tone pervaded everything she
said. Her physical suffering was only numbed,
and would wake, now and again, as though in
sinister warning. Then she would complain that
fate was miserly, and grudged her the few hours
of perfect bliss it had ever granted her.
Early in September Ghazir became a very
inconvenient place of residence for me, in view
of the fact that the exigencies of my mission called
me to Bey rout. We reluctantly bade farewell to
our village home, and for the last time passed
down that beautiful road beside the river of the
Dog, which had grown so familiar to us during
the year just gone by. Though the heat was very
great, we spent some pleasant hours at Beyrout.
The days were exhausting, but the nights deli-
cious, and the sight of Sannin bathed in heavenly
glory by the rays of the setting sun was a nightly
feast to our delighted eyes. My transport opera-
tions were well-nigh concluded. The Cyprus
HENRIETTE RENAN 53
journey was all that remained for me to do.
We began to talk of our return to France.
Already we dreamt of pale and gentle sunshine,
of the cool damp Northern autumn, of the fresh
green meadows beside the river Oise, which we
had trodden at the same season two years pre-
viously. She would dwell with delight on the
joy of clasping our little Ary and our aged mother
to her heart once more. Now and then she had
hours of sadness, in which all her memories of
bygone days seeemed inextricably mingled ; at
such moments she would talk about my father, and
dwell upon that good and kindly nature, so rich in
deep and tender feeling. Her mood had never
struck me as more noble and more winning.
On Sunday, September 15th, Admiral de Bar-
bier de Tinan informed me that the crew of the
Caton could spare a week for a fresh effort to
exhume two great sarcophagi at Gebeil, the re-
moval of which had at first been deemed impos-
sible. My presence at Gebeil during that week
was really not indispensable. It would have quite
sufficed if I had gone there with the Caton to
furnish certain local information, and then returned
overland to Beyrout. But I knew how much she
dreaded separations of this kind. And remember-
ing she had enjoyed her former stay at Amschit,
a different plan occurred to me — that we should
54 BROTHER AND SISTER
both sail on the Caton, spend the week at Amschit,
and return in the same manner.
So on the Monday we set out. She had
been rather unwell the previous day, but the sea
passage revived her. She greatly enjoyed the
view of the Lebanon in all its summer glory, and
while I went with the captain to settle all the
details concerning the removal of the sarcophagi,
she rested pleasantly on board the ship. In the
evening, after the sun had set, we went up to
Amschit. Our good friends there, who had
never expected to see us again, gave us the
heartiest of welcomes, which delighted her. We
spent part of the night, after we had dined, on
the terrace of Zakhia's house. The sky looked
beautiful, and I reminded her of that passage in
the Book of Job wherein the aged patriarch
boasts as a sign of rare merit — '* That his mouth
had never kissed his hand, nor his heart been
secretly enticed, when he beheld the sun when it
shined, or the moon walking in brightness." The
whole spirit of the ancient Syrian worship seemed
to rise up before us. Byblos lay at our feet ;
southward, in the sacred region of the Lebanon,
rose the strangely jagged outline of the rocks
and forest of Djebel-Mousa, which legend denotes
as the spot where Adonis perished ; the sea, curv-
ing away to the north, towards Botrys, seemed to
HENRIETTE RENAN 55
hem us in on either side. That was the last day
of perfect happiness in my life. Any future joy
that I may know must carry me back to my past,
and recall the memory of her who cannot share
my present.
On the Tuesday she was less well ; and yet
I was not alarmed. Her indisposition seemed a
mere nothing compared with what I had seen her
suffer. I had set to work again, with passionate
eagerness, on my '* Life of Jesus." We worked
all day, and in the evening she continued in good
spirits as we sat on the terrace. On Wednesday
the suffering increased, and I took upon me to
ask the ship's surgeon to visit her. He gave me
no reason for anxiety. On the Thursday her
state was just the same. But that day was a
fatal one to us, for I was struck down by sickness
in my turn; I had carried my mission to its
conclusion without any serious illness, and, by a
fell chance, the memory of which will haunt me
like a nightmare till my life's end, the one
moment at which I was to fail was that in which
I might have watched over her last agony. On
that Thursday morning I had to go down to the
anchorage at Gebeil to confer with the captain.
Climbing back to Amschit, I felt the sun, rever-
berating from the scorching rocks upon the hill,
had struck me. During the afternoon I had a
56 BROTHER AND SISTER
violent attack of fever, accompanied by sharp
neuralgic pains. My sickness was really of the
same nature as that which was killing my poor
sister. Clever as the doctor of the Caton was, he
did not recognise it. The pernicious fevers of the
Syrian coast present characteristics which none
but medical men who have lived in the country
can understand. Powerful doses of sulphate of
quinine might have saved us both, even at that
point. In the evening I felt my senses going.
I warned the doctor, who, blind as he was to the
nature of our complaint, attached no importance
to the fact, and left us. Then, like a terrible
vision, arose the fear of what within three days
became a dread reality. I shivered at the
thought of the risks that threatened us should
we fall, alone and unconscious, into the hands
of these worthy folk, utterly devoid of intelli-
gence, and with the crudest ideas of medical
care. I bade farewell to life with a feeling of
extremest bitterness. The loss of my papers,
of my " Life of Jesus " in particular, appeared to
me utterly inevitable. We had a terrible night ;
but my poor sister's seems to have been less
bad than mine, for I remember her having the
strength to say to me next morning, *' Your
whole night was one long moan."
The Friday, Saturday, and Sunday are like
HENRIETTE REN AN 57
the phases of a painful dream to me. The attack
which so nearly carried me off on the Monday-
had a sort of retroactive effect, almost completely
effacing my recollection of the three preceding
days. The doctor, most unluckily for us, always
saw us in our easier moments, and thus did not
foresee the impending crisis. I still worked, but
I felt I was working badly. I had reached the
episode of the Last Supper in the story of the
Passion. When I read the lines over later on,
they struck me as being full of a sort of
mysterious sense of agitation. My mind had
been revolving in a perpetual circle, beating
wildly like the shaft of an engine out of gear.
Various other particulars still abide with me. I
wrote to ask the Sisters of Charity at Beyrout
to send me quinine wine, which nobody else in
Syria knew how to make, but I was conscious
my letter was incoherent. Neither Henriette
nor I appear to have had a very clear conception
of the gravity of our illness. I settled to depart
for France on the ensuing Thursday. '*Yes,
yes, let us start," she said, with perfect con-
fidence. *' Poor me ! " she added another time,
** I feel I am going to have a great deal of
suffering." On one of those two days she was
still able, towards sunset, to move out of one
chamber into the next. She lay down on a
58 BROTHER AND SISTER
couch in the room I slept and generally worked
in. The jalousies were open, and our eyes fell
on Djebel-Mousa. She had a momentary pre-
sentiment of the end, though not of such a
closely approaching one. Her eyes were wet
with tears. Her pale face, worn with suffering,
regained a little colour as together we looked
back sadly and tenderly over her past life. ** I
will make my will," she said. ** You shall be
my heir ; I have not much to leave ; still there
is something. I want you to spend my savings
in building a family tomb. We must all be
gathered together, and lie close side by side.
Little Ernestine, too, must be brought back to
us." Then she made a mental calculation, point-
ing with her finger to indicate the interior arrange-
ment of the vault, and seemed to desire it should
be large enough for twelve people. She wept
as she spoke of little Ary and of our old mother.
She told me what I was to give her niece. She
pondered over something which would please
Cornelie, and pitched on a little Italian book, the
'* Fioretti " of St. Francis, which had been given
to her by M. Berthelot. " I have loved you very
dearly," she added then; ** sometimes my love has
caused you pain. I have been unjust, exclusive ;
but I have loved you as people do not love
nowadays, as one has no right to love, perhaps."
HENRIETTE RENAN 59
I burst into tears. I spoke of our return home.
I led her mind back to little Ary, knowing how
closely that thought touched her. She loved to
dwell on it, and on every incident connected with
her tenderest feelings. She returned again to
the beloved memory of our father. That was
the last gleam of light we had. We were both
of us in the interval between two attacks of
fever. Her last was coming in a very few hours.
Except for the doctor's short visits we were quite
alone, at the mercy of our Arab servants and the
villagers ; all the other members of the mission
had started homewards or were busy elsewhere.
I have but little distinct recollection of that fatal
Sunday, or I should rather say that others have
revived the memories of which every trace had
been obliterated. All day long I went on like
an automaton to which some outside impulse has
been given. I can still distinctly recollect the
impression made on me by seeing the peasants
going to Mass. Generally, when they knew we
were going too, they would gather around to do us
honour. The doctor came during the morning.
It was settled that the sailors should come up
early next day before dawn with a cot for my
sister, and that the Caton should take us back at
once to Beyrout. Towards mid-day I must have
worked again in my poor sister's room, for I was
6o BROTHER AND SISTER
told afterwards that my books and notes were
found upon her floor, scattered about the mat on
which I usually sat. In the afternoon she grew
much worse. I wrote to the doctor to hasten up
at once, telling him her heart seemed threatened.
I do not remember writing the letter, and when
it was shown me some days later, it woke no
recollection in me. Yet I was able to move
about, for our servant, Antoun, told me I had my
sister moved into the sitting-room which served
as my bed-chamber — that I helped to carry her,
and remained with her a considerable time.
We may have bidden each other farewell for
all I know. She may have spoken some precious
parting word which the terrible hand of Fate has
wiped from the tablet of my brain. Antoun
assured me she never was aware that she was
dying, but he was so stupid, and knew so little
French, that he may not have realised what
passed between us.
The doctor came at six o'clock, the captain
with him. Both of them deemed it impossible to
think of moving my sister to Beyrout next day.
By a strange chance my attack came on while
they were with us. I lost consciousness in the
captain's arms. The two gentlemen, both of
them wise and upright men, though mistaken up
till that moment as to the serious nature of our
HENRIETTE RENAN 6i
case, took counsel together. The doctor, straight-
forwardly admitting his own inability to treat an
illness the progress of which had escaped his
control, requested the captain to go down to
Bey rout and return at once with fresh medical
assistance. The captain acted on this suggestion.
Only, with a respect for Turkish pratique which
other navies do not observe even in less urgent
cases, he did not start till four o'clock in the
morning. By six o'clock he was at Beyrout, and
had acquainted Admiral Paris with our condition.
With his usual extreme courtesy the admiral
ordered him to start back as soon as he had
shipped Dr. Louvel, the chief surgeon to the
squadron, and Dr. Suquet, the French sanitary
officer at Beyrout, who has earned a world-wide
reputation, exceeding that of any other French-
man, by his profound study of Syrian fevers.
By half-past ten all these gentlemen were at
Amschit. Almost at the same moment Dr. Gail-
lardot arrived, coming overland. Since the
previous evening we had both been lying un-
conscious, opposite each other, in Zakhia's big
sitting-room, with none to care for us but Antoun.
Zakhia's kind-hearted family had gathered round
us weeping, and protecting us from the local
priest, a sort of crack-brained fellow who wanted
to insist on treating us. I have been assured
62 BROTHER AND SISTER
that during the whole of this period my sister
never gave one sign of consciousness.
Dr. Suquet, to whom the direction of the
treatment to be followed was naturally confided,
soon realised, alas ! that she was beyond human
help. Every effort to create reaction failed.
She could not swallow the sulphate of quinine,
large doses of which are the supreme remedy
for these terrible attacks. Oh ! can it be that
if the new treatment had begun a few hours
earlier it might have saved her ? One agonising
thought, at all events, will never leave me. If
we had stayed at Bey rout, the attack would not
have been escaped, indeed, but in all probability
Dr. Suquet would have been called on in time to
overcome it.
All that Monday my loving, noble - hearted
sister lay fading away. On Tuesday, September
24th, at three o'clock in the morning, she died.
The Maronite priest, who was sent for at the last
moment, gave her extreme unction according to
the rites of his Church. Many heartfelt tears
were shed beside her corpse. But oh ! my God,
who would have thought my Henriette would have
passed away within a couple of feet of where I
was without my being able to receive her farewell
sigh ? Yes ; but for the fatal swoon that seized
me on the Sunday night, I do believe my kisses
HENRIETTE RENAN 63
and the sound of my voice would have kept life
in her for a few hours more, long enough, per-
haps, to have saved her in the end. I cannot
persuade myself her loss of consciousness was
so utter that I could not have roused her.
Once or twice, in feverish dreams, a terrible
doubt has risen up before me. I have fancied
I have heard her voice calling to me from the
vault where she was laid ! The presence of
French doctors at her deathbed of course dis-
poses of this horrible supposition. But the
thought that she was waited on by strangers,
that she was touched by menial hands, that I
could not even follow her to the grave, and
let my tears bear witness to the very earth how
deeply I had loved her — that if her sight returned
for even a moment's space before she left this
world, my face was not before her — will weigh
me down for ever, and poison all my future
happiness. If she felt herself dying without
knowing me at her side, if she realised that
I was agonising close to her, and she not able
to watch over me, oh ! then that angelic creature
must have passed away with a hell of anguish
in her heart ! Physical consciousness is so in-
finitely greater than its appearance or than our
recollection of it, that I find it hard sometimes to
feel perfectly easy in my mind about this matter.
64 BROTHER AND SISTER
My constitution, less exhausted than my sister's,
was able to bear the tremendous dose of quinine
which had been administered to me. Towards
the Tuesday morning, about an hour before the
time at which my beloved passed away, I began
to recover my senses. A proof that I was much
more conscious on the Sunday, and even during
my delirium, than my memory of that time would
indicate, lies in the fact that my first question was
an inquiry after my sister's health. *' She is
very ill," they replied. I kept on repeating the
same question through the half slumber in which
I lay. At last they answered — ** She is dead ! "
It was no use trying to deceive me, for they were
getting ready to carry me to Bey rout. I besought
them to let me see her. They absolutely refused.
They laid me in the very cot which was to have
been used for her. I was completely stunned.
The fearful misfortune that had befallen me hung
over me like some hideous dream. I was de-
voured with agonising thirst. I thought I was
with her, as in a burning vision, at Aphaca, where
the Adonis river rises, under the huge walnut
trees which grow above the waterfall. She was
sitting by my side on the cool sward, I held a
glass of icy water to her failing lips, and together
we plunged into the life-giving spring, weeping,
and borne down with overmastering sadness.
HENRIETTE RENAN 65
It was not till two days later that I recovered
full consciousness, and that my disaster broke
upon me in all its fearful reality.
Monsieur Gaillardot remained behind us at
Amschit to superintend my poor sister's funeral.
The villagers, who had grown much attached
to her, followed her bier. There was no possi-
bility of embalming the corpse ; some temporary
resting-place had to be found. For this purpose
Zakhia offered the tomb of Mikhael Tobia,
standing at the end of the village, near a pretty
chapel, and shaded by beautiful palm-trees. All
he asked was that when the remains were re-
moved, an inscription should commemorate the
fact that a Frenchwoman's body had rested in
the vault. She rests there still. I shrink from
the idea of taking her from the beautiful moun-
tains where she had been so happy, from the
midst of the worthy folk she loved, to lay her in
one of those dreary modern cemeteries she held
in such deep horror. Some day, of course, she
must come back to me, but who can tell what
corner of the world shall hold my grave? Let
her wait for me then under the palms of Amschit,
in the land of the antique mysteries, by sacred
Byblos !
We know not the exact relationship between
great souls and the principle of Eternity. But if,
E
66 BROTHER AND SISTER
as all things lead us to believe, conscious exist-
ence is but a passing communion with the
universe, designed to carry us more or less close
to the divine essence, surely into such souls as
hers it is that immortality is breathed ! If it
be true that man possess the power of shaping
a great moral personality after a divine model,
not of his choosing, compact in equal parts of his
own individuality and the ideal pattern, absolutely
instinct with life, it must be so. Matter is not,
because it has no separate existence. The atom
does not live, because it has no consciousness
of life.
The soul it is that lives when it has left a
faithful mark on the eternal history of goodness
and of truth. Was this destiny ever more per-
fectly accomplished than in my sister's person."*
She never could have developed a higher degree
of perfection than that she had attained when
she was taken from us in all the full maturity of
her nature. She had reached the acme of the
virtuous life. Her view of earthly things could
never have been broader — the cup of her devo-
tion and her love was full to overflowing.
Ah ! what she ought to have had — there is
no gainsaying it — is a happier life. I had dreamt
of all sorts of trifling sweet delights — I had woven
a thousand fancied pleasures for her. I pictured
HENRIETTE RENAN 67
her in her old age, honoured like a parent, proud
of me, resting at last in unalloyed repose. I had
vowed her good and noble heart, so tender it was
apt to bleed, should rest at last in calm — I had
almost said in selfish peace. God only permitted
her the steepest, hardest paths. She died well-
nigh without reward. The harvest-hour, wherein
men sit them down to rest and look back over
the weariness and suffering of bygone days, never
struck for her.
To say truth, she never gave reward a thought.
That spirit of self-interest which so often mars
the devotion inspired by positive religious beliefs,
and provokes the idea that virtue is only practised
for the sake of what it is likely to produce, had
no place in her great soul. When her religious
faith failed her, her faith in duty never flinched,
because it was the echo of her innate nobility.
Virtue was no result of theory in her case ; it was
the outcome of the unconscious bent of all her
nature. She did good for the sake of doing
good, and not to earn her ultimate salvation.
She loved all goodness and beauty without any
of that calculating spirit which seems to say to
God, ''If heaven and hell had no existence, I
would not love Thee ! "
But God will not permit His saints to see cor-
ruption. Oh, heart that ever nursed a flame of
68 BROTHER AND SISTER
tenderest love ! Oh, brain, the seat of thought
so exquisitely pure! Oh, lovely eyes, shining
with tender light! Oh, long and dainty hand,
so often clasped in mine ! — the thought that you
are fallen away to dust thrills me with horror !
But sublunary things are all but types and
shadows. The true eternal part of every living
soul is that which binds it to eternity. Man's
immortality is in God's memory. And there my
Henriette, in everlasting radiance and eternal
sinlessness, lives, with a life a thousand times
more real than when she wrestled, in her feeble
strength, to create her spiritual personality, and,
cast upon a world which never knew how to
understand her, strove obstinately to attain the
perfect state.
Let us hold fast her memory as a precious
demonstration of those eternal truths whereof
every virtuous life contributes proof.
Personally I have never doubted the reality
of the Moral Law. But now I see clearly that
all the logic of the universal system must come
to nought if such lives as hers were nothing but
a delusion and a snare.
LETTERS
OF
ERNEST & HENRIETTE RENAN
1842-1845
I
Mademoiselle Ren an, care of Comte Andrd
Zamoysky, Palfi Palace, Josefsplaiz,
Vienna, Austria,
IssY, March 23, 1842.
At last, dearest Henriette, I have your longed-
for letter. For more than a month my mother
and Alain have been assuring me I should get
it shortly. Day by day I have been on the
tiptoe of expectation, watching every post, and
never dreaming such an unlucky incident had
retarded my happiness. This expectation, long
drawn out, is responsible for my long delay in
writing you, for I did not want to do that till
I had your letter. I have it at last, dear
Henriette, and I'm happy! I hasten to reply,
and one of the long afternoons we have here
shall be spent in talking with you. How long
it is since I have had that pleasure !
More separation, my dear sister ! Vienna was
72 BROTHER AND SISTER
not far enough away ! The whole of Europe
must lie betwixt us, it seems ! I do trust this is
the end, and that you will not go beyond Poland,
at all events. Nothing smaller in area than
Russia could suffice, indeed, to calm my fears
and set a limit to your wanderings. Dismay
fills my imagination when it dwells on the im-
mense space that parts us. If any one had told
us, when we were living in the depths of Brittany,
that a very few years would see you buried in
the wilds of Poland, we should have held him
a wild dreamer. Yet he would have told us
truly. A strange thing, life ! I cannot describe
all the thoughts I think, especially when I go
back to the earliest period my memory reaches,
to the time when we hid our poverty at Lannion,
to the not less unhappy days of our struggles at
Tr6guier, when we shuddered at the very idea of
a separation of a hundred and twenty leagues.
And now behold us parted, not by a province
or two even, but by kingdoms and by peoples.
Such is human life! And should it all end in
happiness (which, in our case, means reunion),
we shall be fortunate indeed. If this does not
come to pass, 'twill not be by any fault of yours,
my dear good Henriette. And I have the
sweetest, steadiest hope of it. Well, I know
you will never endure to lead an idle, nerveless,
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 73
springless life. Ah ! no ; I know you far too
well to think that could ever be your taste, nor,
for the matter of that, mine either. That is not
what I mean. But I do believe all else in life
would be tame and empty and hollow without
that charm we find in friendship, and that never
is so solid and steadfast as between those who
are bound by ties of blood. This, then, dear
Henriette, is the end I love to fancy to all our
labours. The future again ! How incorrigible
is human nature ! We never think of the
present — we are always longing for some
coming joy ! Well, after all, we are not far
wrong. This present of ours is so sad and
wretched, we do well to lighten the burden, at
all events, by some glimpse of a future we
always fancy brightly coloured. Ah ! how right
Pascal was when he said, " Nous ne vivons pas,
mais nous esp6rons de vivre ! " Hope is our life,
indeed — our only life.
I have barely escaped falling into a philoso-
phical disquisition, which might have been better
placed. But I like talking over all my occupa-
tions with you, and at this moment philosophy is
my study — indeed, I may say, my favourite one.
Thanks to the prejudice accumulated during a
course of rhetoric, I expected, when I began
philosophy, to find it a tiresome and difficult
I
74 BROTHER AND SISTER
study, bristling with abstract propositions, and
as barbarous in doctrine as it often is in expres-
sion. But I soon got rid of this mistaken idea,
and, far from regretting the exchange, I would
not go back now to the declamations of rhetoric
for anything on earth. It represents the science
of words as opposed to that of things. Imagina-
tion, which in rhetoric is all in all, does indeed
serve but little in philosophy, where reason reigns
supreme. But surely the man who prefers the
pleasures of the imagination to those of reason
is no judge of true intellectual enjoyment. Yet
we must not expect philosophy to offer the abso-
lute certainties which distinguish mathematics,
for instance. The number of systems of philo-
sophy in existence prove this : where certainty is,
variety of system is non-existent. Some portions
of philosophy are as inflexible indeed, and as
severely reasoned out, as a mathematical problem.
Yet even here the domain of hypothesis is rarely
quitted. But these same hypotheses are deeply
interesting, and frequently seem to touch truth
as nearly as our weak reason is permitted to
approach it. The proper function of philosophy,
indeed, is not so much to give very definite
notions as to scatter a cloud of prejudices. It
is astonishing, once one applies one's mind to it,
to realise that you have hitherto been the sport
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 75
of half a hundred erroneous ideas, rooted in
general opinion, custom, or education. This
gives the deathblow to one's ideal conception
of the beauty of things. They appear as they
really are, and one is very much astounded to
find matters one believed decided once for all
ranked as unsettled problems. Realising these
numberless mistakes, one's first inclination is to
universal doubt. But that is false reasoning
again, and the German philosophers, who are
by no means over-inclined to certainty, do not
go so far. Kant, even, the father of modern
sceptics, holds back on that head. It is this
craving for truth, which philosophy engenders,
that makes mathematical study so fascinating.
There, at least, truth is to be found, absolute,
indispensable. And this study is the essential
complement of a course of philosophy. All my
own taste for it, which three years of literary
study had not utterly quenched, has now revived.
All I have had to do is, so to speak, to stir the
embers. This year we are on pure mathematics ;
next year we shall apply them in mechanics,
physical science, and so forth. As to my Ger-
man, I am the merest beginner, and, in spite of
all you say, it will be long, I doubt, before you
find anything of a rival in me. Up till now, I
have rarely been able to give any considerable
76 BROTHER AND SISTER
time to it. As soon as I began to study philo-
sophy, I perceived I should do no more than
wisely if I gave my undivided attention to so all-
important a subject. Now I have mastered the
key of that position, I shall be able to apply
myself to it still more fully. We really have
great facilities here for learning living languages ;
for the varied nationalities of those amongst
whom we live give us opportunities of talking
with them in their mother -tongues and form-
ing our pronunciation — always the most difficult
thing to acquire in a modern language — on that
of natives.
Having thus lengthily explained the object of
my studies, dearest Henriette, I must say a word
concerning my new abiding-place, of which your
recollection of St. Nicolas can give you no idea.
The two houses are radically different. .While
St. Nicolas, as a residence, was cramped, con-
fined, and dreary, Issy is spacious, pleasant, and
cheerful. While at St. Nicolas the differences
between master and pupil were strongly marked,
here they are imperceptible. Study here is as
serious as it was flimsy there. But there are
certain advantages on the other side. That per-
sonal care of each pupil which was so scrupulous
at St. Nicolas is quite neglected here. Each one
has to do for himself, both at his work and for
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 77
his material wants. And so it should be, as it
seems to me, for these pupils are not children,
as we were at St. Nicolas. There is no special
mark here whereby masters and principals are
distinguished from students. Equality reigns,
not amongst these latter only, but between them
and their instructors. This makes life freer, less
constrained. As to the pupils themselves, they
are more numerous, and more serious too as to
their work, than at St. Nicolas. And some of
them have remarkable talent to boot. This
indeed is a strong point at St. Sulpice. As it
is a seminary for the whole of France, and
not for Paris only, each Bishop sends his
strongest men, to secure the best teaching for
them. Thus the cleverness of the majority
is above the average, and narrow-mindedness
is quite the exception — a wonderful thing in any
seminary.
Your dear visits are the one thing lacking in
my life. It is a great trial to me, I confess, not
to have one soul to whom I can say a word
about my loved ones. And your letters are my
greatest happiness. Has Alain mentioned his
plan of living with our dear mother to you.-*
He dropped a word about it when I saw him
at the end of the holidays ; since then I have
heard nothing of it. I should be very glad, for
78 BROTHER AND SISTER
my part, if it were carried out, for our poor
mother really leads a sad and lonely life.
Thank you, dear Henriette, for your loving
care of me. Your bank-note will come in very
opportunely, for though our dear mother sent
me a remittance not long ago, it was exhausted
very soon, as I had to get a new cassock, &c.
Yours will enable me to supply my German
library, the scantiness of which partly paralyses
my progress in that tongue. I shall owe you
everything, poor Henriette! You have been a
second mother to me, and all my heart is given
to you and my mother and Alain. Often have
I reflected what a blessing it is for us all, who
are fated to be so far apart, that we love each
other so fondly. The pain of separation is
diminished a thousandfold by our affection. Do
endeavour to reconcile our mother to the idea
of your leaving Vienna, when you write to her.
Try to make the distance seem less. I saw,
during my holidays, how the thought of all your
journeys affected her. We must spare her all
the anxiety we can. She really needs repose
after the many storms of her past life.
Farewell, dear Henriette! My thoughts of
you are my dearest joy. My pleasure in your
letter is dashed by the feeling that many months
may roll by before another reaches me. Now
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 79
you know my address, pray give me that happi-
ness a little oftener — directly, indirectly, I care
not how, so long as I have your letters ! Fare-
well once more ! You know how much I love
you. Always, dearest, best of sisters, will you be
my joy and happiness.— Your beloved brother,
E. Ren AN.
N,B. — You can write me quite freely. Our
letters are never opened, and we get them as
soon as they arrive.
II
Mlle. Renan, care of M. le Comte Andre
Zamoysky, Zwierziniec, Poland^ via
Cracow and ZawichosL
IssY, September 15, 1842.
The distance between us is so heartbreaking,
that I dare not complain of the rarity of your
letters, my dear Henriette. Yet it tries me to
have nothing but indirect tidings of you, through
my mother and Alain.^ They suffice indeed to
1 As the reader will have gathered from the perusal of "My
Sister Henriette," Mdlle. Renan occupied a post as governess in
Poland. Her correspondence with her brother was subject to
protracted delays.
^ Ernest Renan's elder brother.
8o BROTHER AND SISTER
subdue the anxiety I might otherwise feel, but
they cannot satisfy that yearning for direct inter-
course with you which has become a part of my
being.
I long for volumes, and I have scarcely had
a word. If we were less devoted at heart, we
should be almost strangers to each other. But
that, my dearest Henriette, is a danger we need
never fear.
You probably know I am not going to spend
my holidays in Brittany this year. The fact of
not seeing my mother and the friends I am so
sincerely attached to has caused me some regret
indeed, but that must give way to the real advan-
tages of putting off my journey till next season.
For as our finances do not permit of our making
it annual, I would much rather delay it for another
twelvemonth. I shall then have brought both
my course of philosophy and my residence at
Issy to a close, and the trip into Brittany will
be a very pleasant change before I enter the
seminary in Paris. Besides, this last year has
flown so quickly that I feel as if I had only just
got back ; my impressions of Brittany have never
seemed fresher. And then, my kind Henriette,
how should I make any complaint when I think
of you, and the courage with which you bear
your exile, far longer and more trying than my
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 8i
own, which is none at all, indeed, except in so
far as that I am parted from the objects of my
affection. To wind up, Issy is a spot where a
man may spend a very pleasant holiday. The
situation is charming, the park is perfectly de-
lightful. It offers a quiet and repose most
admirably suited to my tastes. I can work and
think in peace. There is good society in the
place — some very pleasant company indeed —
and one is free as air. In fact, I am so com-
fortable here, I find it hard to move, and during
this past year I have sometimes been three or
four months without leaving the house. The
walks are all so long, and so uninteresting to
me since your departure, that my courage fails
me each time I ought to go out of doors, and I
only pay the most indispensable of visits.
We have just ended our first yearly course of
philosophy and mathematics. It is curious what
a revelation these grave studies are to a mind
just escaped from the comparative frivolities ot
a course of rhetoric. One makes more pro-
gress in a year than the human race does in
the space of a century. Things strike one in
such a different way. So many errors and pre-
judices appear where one had looked to find |*
nothing but truth, that one is half tempted to !
embrace a universal scepticism. That is the
F
82 BROTHER AND SISTER
first impression caused by a study of philosophy.
The uncertainty of human knowledge, and the
; instability of all opinions founded on human
reasoning alone, strike one deeply. If nature
allowed it, and if it were not as absurd to
reject all truth as to embrace all error, one
would be inclined to universal doubt. This is
but a negative result indeed, and we should have
to moderate our praise of philosophy were its sole
effect to be the weakening of every conviction.
But it has others, infinitely precious, espe-
cially when studied in connection with mathe-
matics and physics, from which it never should
be parted. Thus taken, it creates a power of
closest reasoning, it makes us look at all things
in simplicity and truth (a thing as rare as it is
difficult) ; and above all, it teaches us not to
live blind amongst the marvels that surround
us, more even in the intellectual than in the
physical order of things, and which too gene-
rally pass unnoticed. This again — the power of
appreciating the wonderful, wherever apparent —
is one of the most striking results of the study
of philosophy. If it does not solve every prob-
lem, at all events it teaches us to recognise
their existence. I like the methods of your
German thinkers, in spite of their being some-
what sceptical and pantheistic. If ever you go
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 83
to Konigsberg, I pray you make a pilgrimage in
my name to the tomb of Kant.
This taste of mine for meditation, joined to the
perfect peace and intellectual freedom I enjoy in
this retreat, where no special form of occupation
is imposed on me, has enabled me to think a little
about myself and my own future. I must admit
I had not given the subject much consideration
previously, content to follow whatever outside
impulse was impressed on me. I have begun at
last to examine it attentively. The first thing to
strike me was the huge influence the earliest
actions of life have on one's future, coupled with
the thoughtlessness with which they are per-
formed. Then all you have so often told me,
but which I never understood before, came back
to me. My first fear was lest I might have done
something foolhardy already, and then I rejoiced
at having as yet taken no decisive or irrevo-
cable step. But after ripe reflection, after having
studied my own tastes and nature thoroughly,
after having closely considered the character of
the profession I propose to enter, with the various
careers it opens up to me, and the probable
characteristics of my future colleagues, having
again carefully weighed my own convictions
(which might well be somewhat shaken by my
first attempt at philosophical study, so apt to heat
84 BROTHER AND SISTER
the brain), I have come to believe I have no
reason so far to regret the action I have taken,
and if I had the power to choose afresh, I would
repeat it.
I will not say I have not discovered enormous
drawbacks on every point I have referred to ; I
will even acknowledge to the sister from whom
I have no secrets that I can never accept many
ideas which general opinion classes as peculiarly
pertaining to the state in question ; that if I were
to be doomed to live with certain of my col-
leagues, whose frivolity, duplicity, and crawling
toadyism is well known to me, I would far rather
choose to spend my days cut off from all mankind.
And I have realised that I shall be submitting
myself to an authority which is apt to be sus-
picious, yet to which I will never bend, if in so
doing I commit an act of meanness. But I per-
ceived these same enormous drawbacks elsewhere,
allied moreover to a thousand others more worthy
of the name of downright impracticability than
of mere disadvantage, and no other condition of
life, it seemed to me, would give me greater
facilities for following my natural bent. My
great end and object, this many a day, has been
a life of retirement, freedom, and independence,
not devoid of usefulness — a life, in other words,
of laborious study. I believe I have made certain
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 85
of the fact that I am quite unfitted for what is
vulgarly called the world, that is to say, for life
in clubs and drawing-rooms. All the qualities I
have not are indispensable for that, and none of
those I have would serve me in it. I have no
taste for it besides ; I was not born for trifling
and for foolery, and the world, if so it calls itself,
seems to me full of them.
It is not the fervour of religious zeal which
makes me say this. Oh no, indeed ! I have no
weakness in that direction either. Philosophy
has a wonderful power of moderating such ex-
cesses, and the only result to be dreaded from its
study is too violent a reaction. I hated such
extremes in former days on purely religious
grounds. I hate them now in the light of reason
and philosophy, and also, I confess, by my own
instinct. A life devoid of thought and medita-
tion, without a moment given to self-examination,
is utterly incompatible with the deepest needs
of my soul. This granted, I must look on any
career which does not admit of study and quiet
thought as closed to me. This simplifies the
whole question and makes selection easy. More-
over, the sublimity of the sacerdotal functions,
when looked on from the highest and truest point
of view, has always struck me. Even if Chris-
tianity were but a dream, the priesthood would
86 BROTHER AND SISTER
always be a type of the divine. I know, indeed,
that, great as it is in itself, it has been be-littled
by its human representatives. They must needs
drag it down to their own level. I can even
understand, even while holding it as mere pre-
judice, the scorn with which some people view it.
But that contempt only concerns themselves, and
it is evident that a priesthood which is by neces-
sity numerically strong is bound to number a
certain proportion of mean and vile natures in
its ranks. These must degrade it in the sight of
those who, in their superficial view of life, instead
of looking at the matter in its truest light, see
only the man where they ought to see his mini-
stry. Besides, as aforesaid, that is only their
opinion, and I believe myself, by God's mercy, to
be above opinion.
I have now given you the result of my pon-
derings on this important question with that
complete frankness which you have always found
in me. Not that I have ceased thinking about
it. I am still trying, on the contrary, to clear
and settle all my ideas on the subject ; but
this is the most positive conclusion I have as
yet arrived at.
I will beg you not to mention my doubts to
our mother. If they should have no other out-
come than to confirm me in my past intentions,
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 87
she had better remain in ignorance of them.
They would make her anxious. But never think
she has influenced my decision on this head. No
one could desire more perfect freedom than that
she has left me in.
I had a letter from that dear mother of ours
the day before yesterday. She seems well and
cheerful. The day before that I had one from
Alain, equally satisfactory, though complaining of
the avalanche of work which leaves him without
a moment to himself. When will that poor fellow
enjoy a little peace and quietness ? I hope soon
to hear from you. I am rather afraid this letter
may not reach you. I always pay the postage
as far as Huninguen. Perhaps I ought to send
the letters by another frontier ? Tell me in your
next.
Farewell, my dear good Henriette. If the
whole universe lay between us, I could not love
you more, nor think of you more constantly. I
do not try to express my affection ; you know it
better than I can tell it you. — Your brother and
your friend, E. Renan.
88 BROTHER AND SISTER
III
October 30, 1842.
It is about twelve days since your letter of
15th September reached me, my beloved Ernest.
May the joy these lines of mine give you, equal
that yours caused me ! Yes, dearest one ; a
continent lies betwixt us, and judging by the
sparseness of our letters, a careless onlooker
might think that in our case too separation had
induced indifference. We in our hearts feel
such a disaster cannot reach us, for you can
never doubt my passionate tenderness and my
boundless devotion, wherever I may be. My
poor boy ! I live on my memories. But the
thought of those I love is ever with me. What
could turn me from it .'* . . .
Ever since I received your letter, my Ernest,
I have been pondering it deeply. I cannot help
shuddering as I read of the questions which
agitate your mind, and realise that you are
absorbed by these solemn thoughts at an age
when life is generally so frivolous and careless.
Yet, in spite of my tender love for you, I cannot
but rejoice to see you take such a serious view
of matters which so many others judge lightly,
or in accordance with the passions of their own
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 89
hearts. Yes, my dear friend, those first steps
in life do often have an irreparable influence on
all its future, as I deeply felt when I used so
constantly to appeal to your consideration of that
truth. People take the fancies of a boy of four-
teen for serious tastes, without considering that
a youth of sixteen and a man of thirty are two
well-nigh totally different beings.
My darling Ernest, I cannot say it too often—
I ask it with well-nigh maternal fondness — do
not bind yourself by any hasty action. Wait till
you can thoroughly understand them before you
accept engagements which must determine your
whole existence. I might, perhaps, my dear,
lay stress on the influence over you which my
affection and the experience of my much-tried
life should give me, but I will refrain, because I
have faith in your own reason, and I will always
be content to appeal to that. You say truly, my
Ernest, you were not born to lead a careless life,
and I should agree with you that the one you
dream of would be the best, according to your
tastes, if it were capable of realisation. Better
than any other woman, perhaps, this sister of
yours can comprehend the charm of a life of re-
tirement, free and independent, laborious, and,
above all things, useful. But where are you to
find it.^ Such independence, I believe, if not
90 BROTHER AND SISTER
impossible, is at all events granted to very few
in any state of life. In my own person I have
never known it. How then can I dare to hope
it will be your portion in a society based on the
hierarchical principle, and ruled, as you rightly
discern, by an authority which is apt to be
suspicious ?
We must not deceive ourselves. Authority of
a kind exists in every career. But surely in this
particular one it is to be specially dreaded, since
you are bound under it by an irrevocable oath.
I only suggest this to you as a question, leaving
you entire liberty of action and power of decision.
To it I will add another proceeding from it. Is
an ecclesiastic a free agent? Is he not forced
to follow the direction of his superiors.'^ I will
not contest what you say about the dignity of
the office. Truly, if all who entered it took your
view, nothing could be greater, more worthy of a
noble nature, than to devote one's life to softening
sorrow, to preaching and practising the sublime
truths of the Gospel. I will only add this one
word to your own reflections. You suffer now,
my Ernest, because you see personal interest and
ambition where your pure and upright soul had
dreamt of finding nothing but self-sacrifice and
devotion ; you have realised that many of those
who seem vowed to their great mission are very
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 91
far from understanding it, or being worthy of it
in practice. But will you be suffered to choose
the way you would desire to follow? Is there
not a certain indicated path from which you will
not be allowed to swerve ? Are not custom and
the majority stronger than the minority and duty?
Once more I say it, dear brother, I only suggest
these questions to you ; may your reason and
your conscience help you to solve them. I have
had much experience in life ; I love you with all
the strength of a devoted heart, and yet I shrink
from giving any direct advice in this particular.
If it had rested with me to guide your choice of
a career, I should not have been content to leave
you perfectly free while you were still a mere
child. I should have thought it right to hold
out for a long time before yielding to your incli-
nation. I take a different line now, because I
believe you to be sensible beyond your years,
and because I feel your decision must be yours
alone, uninfluenced by any other opinion. But
that is an additional motive for my entreating
you not to judge hastily in a matter of so great
importance. Wait till you have reached man's
estate, and are in a position to gauge what you
reject and what you accept. Even should you
persist in your present opinions, some experience
of life will, anyhow, be necessary to you before
92 BROTHER AND SISTER
you undertake to lead others through it. How
can a young man of four or five and twenty, who
has never quitted his scholastic seclusion, be
capable of guiding and supporting people who
are constantly involved in struggles of every
kind?
Let no consideration of family feeling stand
in your way. I beseech you, as a personal
favour, not to risk the whole of your life's
happiness to soothe the qualms of your own
kind heart. Has not the consolation of all my
labour been the thought that it might serve my
dear one — the child of my adoption — my beloved
Ernest? One day, if I am spared, your turn
will come, if indeed there can ever be any ques-
tion of repaying a debt to one we love.
Make yourself perfectly easy as to my secrecy
as regards our mother. I feel how vitally im-
portant that is. You know that, short of actual
dissimulation, I am inclined to keep her in ignor-
ance of anything likely to make her uneasy. Her
peace of mind is the chief object of my life. Tell
me your whole thought always, and be sure it will
never go beyond me. Write to me oftener, I
entreat you. I need to read your heart to feel
once more, and always, that I am your closest
friend. Sometimes, doubtless, as to-day, my
answers may repeat things I have already told
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 93
you over and over again, but that will be because
they so preoccupy my thoughts. My dearest
child, remember, whatever befalls you, you have
a sister to share your every feeling, whose dearest
and closest attachment is to you. Take anything I
say as being devoid of every personal feeling, and
solely dictated by the tenderest interest in you,
and the deepest desire to see you happy. Happy!
. . . can that be, in this troubled and sorrowful
world ? And, without reckoning the blows of
fate and of our fellow-men, is not one s own heart
a bottomless spring of restlessness and misery ?
What you tell me of your liking for the German
philosophers pleases but does not surprise me.
Germany is the classic home of quiet reverie and
metaphysical argument. The other European
nations will find it hard to bring their schools of
philosophy to the level reached by the German
thinkers. The contemplative turn of the Teu-
tonic mind, the quiet habits of the national life,
the very climate, all tend to develop that leisurely
mode of thought which is part of the North
German character, and one of the greatest enjoy-
ments known to its possessors. The French
mind, quick as it is, and fascinating, and prompt
at grasping an idea, is too volatile, generally
speaking, to be profoundly philosophic. The
Englishman is cold and calculating, submitting
94 BROTHER AND SISTER
everything to the chilliest argument. But the
German, who carries his native simplicity and
good -nature everywhere, even into the most
elevated questions, allows himself to feel and
think and grow poetic over everything. If you
prosecute your studies in the tongue of Kant and
Hegel, of Goethe and Schiller, you will discover
many delightful charms in its rich and varied
literature. I can only lay hold on driblets of its
wealth, but even that little has often given me
great pleasure. Unluckily, instead of making
progress, I have lost ground since coming to
Poland. We live in a desert, where masters are
not to be had, and working alone, I find myself
checked at every step. Study, dear Ernest, helps
one to forget many a vexation. By its means one
lives in a world of fancy, which, whatever it be,
is always superior to the reality. The less I am
able to enjoy it, the more I appreciate its quiet
delights.
I spent the month of August and part of
September at Warsaw, about sixty leagues from
this place. We have only been back about a
month. The only way to form an idea of the
country I inhabit is to fancy huge monotonous
sandy plains, which would make you think your-
self in Arabia or in Africa, but for the endless
forests of birch and pine which break them up.
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 95
and recall one's close proximity to northern lati-
tudes. And indeed the climate does not permit
you to forget it. It has been cold already, as
cold as it would be in Paris in late December.
I saw snow falling as I passed through Galicia
on the 30th of April, and on the 14th of October,
again, walking on the river -bank at midday, I
found icicles. Spring, summer, and autumn are
here crowded into a space of five months. All
the rest is winter.
We are to spend the one we are just entering
upon in this solitude, of which nothing in France
can give the slightest conception. The house is
a very fine one, surrounded by huge forests, and
here we live, cut off from the whole world. I
should be indifferent to that if all correspondence
were not so slow and difficult. It is not the want
of local news that I regret, but news of my be-
loved and distant home. Some of my letters
come fairly quickly, but others are delayed, arrive
open. . . .
You see, dear Ernest, that my love of work
and sedentary tastes are a blessing to me here.
What could I find outside them ? The Polish
peasant is the most poverty - stricken, brutish
creature you can conceive of Two - thirds of
the town population are Jews, filthy and loath-
some creatures, living in a state of abjectness
96 BROTHER AND SISTER
which exceeds all imagination. Nowhere is the
spirit of fanaticism and religious hatred carried
further than in this country, nowhere are the
passions of men more often cloaked under the
name of godliness. Jew-beating is a good deed
in a Christian. To rob the Christian is the sole
aim and object of the Jew. Nor is this all. The
Christian sects are not one whit more tolerant
of each other, and on every hand you see men
hating each other in the name of Him whose
teaching was all charity and peace. " Father,
forgive them : they know not what they do."
I had a letter yesterday from our mother, dated
22nd September. She seems well and easy in her
mind. I sent her a sum of money from Warsaw,
out of which I asked her to send you a hundred
and fifty francs to begin your winter with. But I
begged her not to stint herself, and if she has not
sent you the money I will arrange to let you have it
otherwise. Tell me frankly whether she has or not,
and do not mention it to any one else. Be quite
easy, my dear child ; I can manage it all. I have
very few personal expenses. Though I have to live
in a world which you justly call vain and frivolous,
I take my simple tastes there with me. I cannot
think I acquire greater merit by wearing a smarter
gown. Farewell, my dear Ernest ! I find it hard
to end my letter. I have cramped my writing.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 97
and filled up all the corners of my paper, so as
to have more space to write on. Remember me
and love me, and never doubt my unchangeable
affection.
Farewell ! in deepest tenderness, again farewell !
IV
Mlle. Ren an, care of M. le Comte Andre
Zamoysky, ZwierzinieCy Zawichost, via
Cracow, Poland.
Iss"^, January 17, 1843.
I have been talking to you, as it were, my
dearest Henriette, ever since your last letter
reached me. The boundless affection it breathes
is very precious to my soul, and the wise and
true considerations it suggests are the constant
subject of my thoughts. I cannot tell you all
the contrary feelings and conflicting desires its
repeated perusal has aroused within me. I had
long since begun to look seriously at things I
had scarcely glanced at, had even shrunk from
closely examining, previously. Your letter has
plunged me yet deeper into solemn thought.
The picture you draw of the innumerable diffi-
culties to which my choice of the priesthood
98 BROTHER AND SISTER
would expose me is no more than what my own
imagination had traced. A distrustful and often
bigoted authority, an indissoluble vow, the obli-
gation (if indeed it is one) to follow beaten tracks
even if they be tortuous, the frequent necessity of
calling those whom one is driven to despise by
the name of brother and colleague — all this had
occurred to me, magnified even by the shock to
my imagination of discovering obstacles where I
had anticipated none. The singular agreement
of your ideas with the impression which had
taken hold of me has struck me deeply, and
makes me fear it is only too correct. I have
often wished some decisive blow might fall from
one side or the other to end my painful doubts.
And oftener still I have rejoiced to think my
liberty — the most precious thing we have, and for
that very reason the hardest to preserve — is still
my own.
In considering the great question which fills
all my gravest thoughts, I always lay it down as
a principle that every man desirous of knowing
to what estate he is called must seek the solution
of that problem, the most important and the
most neglected in existence, in the study of his
own nature. Its true indications are to be found
in the bent and inclinations of each individual,
and I believe the reason so few men fall into
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 99
their proper place is that there are so few who
thoroughly know themselves. Well, one point
alone, I repeat, has been made clear by my in-
quiry — an enduring and exclusive taste for a life
of quiet and retirement, of study and reflection.
All the ordinary occupations of mankind are dull
and insipid to me, their pleasures would be my
boredom, the motives which govern them in
their different states of life simply disgust me.
Hence I conclude without hesitation that I am
fit for none of them. Even the teaching pro-
fession, though better suited to my sedentary
and studious tastes, is repugnant to me, on
account of the manoeuvres necessary to getting
above the dust of elementary instruction. But,
you will say, does the ecclesiastical state offer
you greater facilities for following your favourite
bent? Alas! my dear Henriette, I say it again,
I do not mince the matter ; my view of things
has been and is too close a one to allow of
any illusion. That would henceforward be un-
pardonable, for it would manifestly arise from
my own thoughtlessness. But what else can I
do ? Any career full of exterior occupations
runs counter to my tastes. There is no time for
self-communion, for reflection ; one is a perfect
stranger to one's own self. A completely private
life, if I may so express it, would be my delight ;
loo BROTHER AND SISTER
but that it seems to me stained with selfishness,
I should live to myself indeed, but also for
myself alone. And besides, could I endure the
thought of being dependent on those I love?
But the priesthood unites every advantage of
such a life without any of its drawbacks. The
priest is the guardian of wisdom and counsel,
he is a man of study and of meditation, and with
it all he is the servant of his brethren.
This happy mixture of publicity and privacy,
of solitude for one's own sake and sacrifice for
that of others, would be my beau-ideal of a happy
and completely rounded life. Why should it be
disturbed by human fault .'^ though that indeed
must be expected. All that is fairest and purest
changes and undergoes corruption in its passage
through the hands of men. What is greater and
more beneficent than religion '^ and what more
baleful and more mean as practised by the human
race, which uses it as the instrument of its pas-
sions, and drags it down to their mean level ?
What can be more sublime than the sacerdotal
office? yet what more vile when looked at in
the person of those who exercise its functions
in a shameful spirit of self-interest ? But he
who seeks the highest and noblest truth must
acquire the habit of raising himself above the
superficial view, must put aside all contempla-
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE loi
tion of individual men, and look into the heart
of things.
The men around me (I speak of the principals
of this house) would indeed be very likely to pre-
possess me favourably, did I not remind myself
how few there are like them. The seminaries
of St. Sulpice and of Issy are under a congrega-
tion of priests independent of episcopal authority,
and who have always been remarkable for the
moderation of their views. M. Cousin has just
published a book in which he gives them well-
deserved praise. The resemblance I notice be-
tween my own aspirations and those of our
Superior has given me great confidence in
him. I have even gone so far as to touch on
the subject now engaging our attention, under
the reserve, of course, which can never be
dropped outside one's own family. I have told
him frankly, **Sir, I confess I should be glad
not to have to give any one an account of my
actions. A life of freedom and independence is
what would suit me best." ** Alack ! dear friend,"
he answered, ** where are you to find it ? " He
seemed to say, " I too have sought it, and I have
sought in vain." I recognise the fact that, in a ^
century like ours, he only who commands is free.
That thought alone should suffice to inspire me
with ambition. And then there is a reflection
I02 BROTHER AND SISTER
which often occurs to me, and which consoles
me. Every man has one certain refuge ; to with-
draw into himself, and, in the enjoyment of his
own internal resources, to indemnify himself for
his exterior servitude. The Author of our being
conferred an inestimable benefit on us in that
internal liberty of ours, safe from all external
constraint, in the case at least of those who know
how to preserve it. For how very few, again,
enjoy this blessing ! If I were making this
inquiry coldly and without any instinctive bias,
it would not cause me so much pain. But it is
an unspeakable grief to me to think how much of
my poor mother's happiness depends on it. This
will not influence me, for that my conscience
forbids ; but I have to gather all my strength
together to prevent it. For I assure you from
the bottom of my heart, I would willingly be
unhappy all my life sooner than give her one
hour of sorrow.
Go on talking to me, dearest Henriette, in
fullest frankness. Tell me your whole thought,
and fear no indiscretion. You can send your
letters direct to me ; they are never opened.
And besides, we are allowed to go and fetch
them from the porter at post-time. I send you
this one through Alain. The prepayment of
the postage to the frontier is too complicated a
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 103
business for the mind of the servant to whom
I have to confide it. I have the greatest trouble
in making him take it in, and still greater fear
that he will fail in carrying it out.
The routine studies of philosophy and physics
which occupy me this year still have their old
attraction, and are a real support to me. All
you say in your letter about the charm ot study
is delightfully true, and I verify it every day.
Our professor of physics is a man of first-class
merit. His digressions on the history of science
and its true spirit are deeply interesting. As to
our professor of philosophy, he is a novice, but
day by day I grow more convinced that the
mediocrity of the professor is no drawback in
that department of study. To learn philosophy
well, you must practically do your own reason-
ing. I am now reading, with extreme enjoy-^
ment, the philosophical works of Malebranche,
undoubtedly the finest thinker and the most
merciless logician that ever existed. I find a
double satisfaction in them. Malebranche cer-
tainly was a bold thinker, and yet he was a
priest, nay, more, a member of a religious con-
gregation, and he lived in peace at an epoch
when the secular arm and the spirit of the
age united to give ecclesiastical authority even
greater pride and power than it now possesses.
I04 BROTHER AND SISTER
So man's own weight inclines him on the side
of hope.
Space fails me, dear kind sister, and I tremble
at the thought that even within a month this
letter may not have reached you, and that several
may elapse before I can receive an answer.
I entreat you to let me hear as soon as
possible. Farewell, beloved Henriette ; my chief
happiness is in my trust in you. Your affection
is my greatest joy ; try to imagine, then, how pas-
sionately I return it. E. Ren an.
V
March 12, 1843.
My Ernest, — Your last letter broke upon my
solitude about a fortnight ago. As no doubt of
my tender affection can, I hope, enter your heart,
I will not repeat that the reception of any proof
of your regard is one of the liveliest joys that
can be granted me. Yes ! the thought of pos-
sessing one steady affection, amidst a life so full
of instability and uncertainty, is sweet indeed.
Well, brother mine, on that happiness, at all
events, the only one I have to give you, you
may always reckon, confident in my tried and
faithful love. Think sometimes of that deep
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 105
devotion which so often gives me strength, and
of which I would fain convince you utterly.
Would I could share more directly all that
which finds so sure an echo in my thoughts,
that which is ever in my heart ! Poor boy !
How bitterly, as I read your letter, did I feel
the hardship of our separation, now that both
heart and soul in you are crying out for sym-
pathy and support.
Let me come back, my well-beloved, to the
ideas your letter to me expresses. You are per-
fectly right to say the taste and inclination of
each man are the proper basis of any decision
as to his ultimate fate. This is an evident truth,
from which every one must deduce the same
natural conclusion — that what would be happi-
ness to some must often be a source of misery
to others. When I constantly repeat that your
resolution must be solely yours, I apply this
principle to what is dearest to me on all this
earth — to your peace, to your whole future, my
poor child. Yet be sure of this, anxious as I
am that your decision should be absolutely free,
I am just as resolved to tell you my opinions
and my fears without exception. I have never
thought of forcing them upon you ; I never shall.
I desire merely to call your attention to the
points which strike me, leaving you the most
io6 BROTHER AND SISTER
perfect liberty of action as regards taking my
advice. Let this, I beg, be clearly understood
between us. Yes, beloved friend, a life of soli-
tude, of devotion to others, of complete indepen-
dence, would certainly be the dream of every
generous heart. Unhappily there is no such
life on earth. Independence itself, that foremost
of all good things, is but a brilliant figment of
the fancy, and the Superior who has gained your
confidence was very right to tell you, " Alas !
where will you find it ? " How often have I, like
yourself, longed for it above all things ! How
often, in a splendid room, or before some sump-
tuous table, I have cried out in my heart, ** O
God ! give me a crust of bread, and peace and
freedom ! " Vain longings, which many another
has nursed as hopelessly, which so very few are
destined to attain ! I agree with you that we
are happy to possess some faculties which no
man can coerce, and in the enjoyment of which
we forget many an injustice ; but believe me, my
Ernest, I can assure you out of my own experi-
ence that it is only after many a struggle that
our internal liberty can be secured from all ex-
ternal interference, and it is very hard to con-
vince our paymasters that there are certain points
whereon one owes no account save to God and
one's own conscience.
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 107
These are painful truths to tell, more painful
still to realise. But so things are, and so we
must have courage to face them. Yet, granted
that the conditions of human life must always
tend towards slavery, there always remains the
question of degree. Speaking as a woman and
a governess, I have never known any but the
minimum of independence ; but, my dear Ernest,
I am far from being convinced that the maximum
of that priceless blessing is to be found in the
career you think of embracing. In it especially
the state of subordination alarms me for you,
because there is no means of ever escaping it.
I know, my dear, that my fears are open to
many objections ; if I did not, my language
would be still more explicit. I know, too, that
I may be accused of giving judgment on a sub-
ject I have had no opportunity of examining
closely, but you yourself admit that many of
your hopes have melted away before your eyes.
How then can I do otherwise than dread some
fresh disappointment for you? Ernest! dearest
friend ! forgive me if I add my anxiety to your
own, without saying a word to solve all your
difficulties. Often do I accuse myself of deepen-
ing the abyss by thus leading you to probe your
own thoughts, by searching them with you. But
I cannot hide my slightest impression from you.
io8 BROTHER AND SISTER
How then could I conceal those which are fore-
most in my mind ? You very truly remark, dear
Ernest, that the manoeuvres which ensure success
in so many careers, even that of a teacher, are
repugnant to your feelings. I will add that they
might often offend your innate sense of upright-
ness. Public tuition, above a certain level, is a
noble and attractive profession, inasmuch as it
permits of a life of study and offers opportunities
of usefulness to others. But it is difficult to
reach that level, and the work at any lower one
is very discouraging. You have had opportuni-
ties of judging this matter as closely as myself
Observe, however, that though I mention the
great difficulties to be overcome before rising to
professorial rank, I am far from believing it to be
impossible. Others have done it, which proves
its feasibility. And besides, it should be remem-
bered that there is no profession in which the
first steps are not difficult. Private tuition, in a
man's case, is a career offering no outlook, which
frequently renders any attempt at providing for
the future utterly hopeless, and thus exposes him
to a very pitiable old age. It is a life, too, in
which dependence and subjection are strained to
their uttermost limit, in which personal tastes
must be perpetually sacrificed, and one's dearest
studies put aside to overlook or assist pupils
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 109
whose education bristles with difficulties caused
by their own parents' follies. It is less fatiguing
and laborious than public teaching, and yet, for a
man, I should think this latter much to be preferred.
I do not attempt, my poor dear friend, to
paint things gayer than they are. Always, alas !
I must premise that life means suffering and
struggle, and that it is a hard thing to make a
position for oneself. Yet you must not lose
courage. Far from it. If the path be rough,
we have plenty of strength to carry us over its
difficulties. In an upright spirit, a worthy end,
a firm and unchanging will, we already possess
the chief groundwork on which the edifice must
rest. Whatever happens, my dear good brother,
you will always have my active and zealous co-
operation. My power to help is very small, un-
happily, but that little, at all events, shall never
fail you. Courage, then ! go on in truth and
wisdom and prudence, and be your choice what
it may, at all events you will always be an honest
man ! Never let your confidence in me waver ;
be sure I shall always hold it sacred and most
dear. I shall reckon on it all my life, just as I
do on your returning the boundless affection I
bear you. There is something so sweet in feel-
ing such an inward strength, and in being able to
lean on it without a taint of fear !
no BROTHER AND SISTER
I have had no news of our dear good mother
for a long time. Though this does not make me
particularly anxious, it saddens me deeply, and
that because I seem to have been neglectful of
her in what has really been a very involuntary
manner. Some three months ago I promised
her a remittance which I had taken steps to send
her. Living as I do in a country where I hardly
know a soul, and where I consequently can do
nothing by myself, I was obliged to apply, as
always in such a case, to my pupil's father. He
began by delaying, as rich people so often do,
without meaning any harm, in money matters ;
then he went away from home, and has not yet
returned. Our poor mother may be blaming
me, while I have really neglected no means open
to me of fulfilling my promise. I am always
thinking she may be in difficulties, and that you
too ... O Heavens ! the thought afflicts me !
Why cannot the rich consider that those who
have no fortune but what they earn need to be
regularly paid? Because, my dear, sad as it is
to say it, man only enters into those sufferings he
has himself endured — none others exist for him.
^How often I have had occasion to recognise this
truth ! I accuse no one. I excuse them rather.
I hope soon to be able to rid me of the load
which weighs so heavily on me.
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST in
Let me know when your vacation begins. I
do not forget that you are to spend it with our
dear mother this year, and I want to make my
arrangements in advance for carrying out this
delightful project. Write me, I beg of you,
whenever that is possible. Ah ! if you knew how
happy it makes me to get a letter from you !
Poor Ernest ! how my heart ached when I left
you ! Farewell, my dear loved brother. Love
me always, and be very sure that my fond me-
mory turns to you in those moments when my
heart seems weighed down with the sadness that
so often haunts one in a foreign country, in spite
of all one's efforts to be cheerful. Do not let
this sadden you, dear Ernest. Though my life
has been full of struggle, I have always been full
of courage too, and I find it afresh in the thought
of your dear affection for me. Farewell again.
Never forget I shall always be your closest friend.
H. R.
N.B. — Give our mother your news of me, I
beg. Here is my exact address. It is not
necessary to prepay letters to ensure their being
delivered : —
Mile. R.,
Chateau de Clemensow.
Poste de ZwierzinieCy
near Zamosc^ Poland.
112 BROTHER AND SISTER
VI
Mlle. Ren an, Chateau de CUmensow, Zwier-
zinieCy near Zamosc, Poland.
My Dear Henriette, — You will forgive my
long silence when you know its motive. Since
last we talked together many things have hap-
pened, things that in so peaceful a life as mine
may well pass for events, and which render your
counsels even more urgently necessary than be-
fore. Never have I realised the misfortune of
being parted from my own people so bitterly as
in the moments of perplexity whose story I will
now comfort myself by telling you. Oh! how
often and how enviously have I looked back
upon those happy days when my troubles never
lasted long, seeing I could end them once for all
by confiding them to you. Now is the time, my
dearest Henriette, when your presence and your
counsel would indeed be useful to me. Is it fate,
kind Heaven, that wills us never to appreciate
our blessings till we have lost them } With the
close of my stay at Issy came the moment fixed
by the custom of that house for the tonsure of
those deemed worthy of the rite, and I was
among those called upon by our Superiors to
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 113
take this first step in the sacerdotal path. This
was no order, you must understand, not even a
suggestion ; it was simply a permission, whereof
each was to avail himself or not, according to his
own conclusions and the counsels of his Director.
You may perhaps conceive, but I can never ex-
press, all the doubts and perplexities into which
such a proposal naturally plunged me. I do not
believe myself to have either exaggerated or
dissimulated the importance of the step I had
to consider. The engagement suggested was not
an irrevocable one ; it was no vow, but it was a
promise — a promise based on honour and on
conscience — a promise made to God Himself —
and such a promise borders very closely on the
nature of a vow. I felt, therefore, that I must
meditate most deeply before making it, and
my conscience cannot reproach me with having
neglected any possible means of enlightenment.
I did not lack advice. God granted me a
treasure as priceless as it is rare in the person
of a remarkably kind and sagacious Director.
In him I found a simplicity and truthfulness of
character in perfect harmony with my own, and
above all, a sensitive and practised tact, quick to
understand and appreciate those shades of feeling
which in such delicate matters can only be faintly
indicated. At first his counsels tended towards
H
114 BROTHER AND SISTER
an affirmative decision. Indeed, at one moment
he was positive on the subject, but my tempta-
tions and doubts seemed to redouble their in-
tensity in proportion to the earnestness I brought
to bear on the all-important decision. And be-
sides, the example of several of my comrades,
who had settled to wait till they were at St. Sul-
pice, and had concluded their theological studies
(the usual course of action), before giving their
first pledge, was before my eyes. To be brief,
all my previous difficulties crowded back upon
my mind. Your advice, my own meditations,
all added to my uneasiness. Truth compels me
to acknowledge, indeed, that the idea of taking
a backward step in the sacerdotal career never
occurred to me. I never considered the matter
except as a question of delay, and my Director
strongly urged my taking no other view of it.
But I could not conceal the fact that such a
delay had become almost indispensable to me.
At last the fresh considerations I submitted to
him prevailed against his first opinion, and he
informed me that, as no harm could be done by
waiting, and some might possibly arise, in the
present state of my mind, from undue precipita-
tion, he would consent to the delay I asked for.
** But in any case," he said, "keep the question
in hand quite apart from that of your vocation for
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 115
the priesthood. They are utterly and absolutely
distinct, and you know my judgment as to the
second of the two."
This, dearest Henriette, is a true history of
what has come to pass. Perhaps you will think
my conduct betrayed some irresolution. You
must admit that if ever subject excused it, this
one does. God will judge whether my motives
have been tainted by inconstancy or thoughtless-
ness. My fault in the matter, if fault there is,
lies here, that when it seemed about to take
decisive form, I did perhaps mention it too posi-
tively to our mother, and I may have roused
hopes she cherished, and which I have since
been driven to dispel. That, I confess, has been
much the tenderest point with me. I have had
to summon all my courage to follow the voice of
conscience rather than that of my own blood and
its affections, in a business which I feared might
cause sharp suffering to the most beloved of
mothers. I gather from her letters that she has
not been seriously affected. But the terrible
dread I had of such an occurrence will be a great
lesson to me for the future.
Finally, my dear Henriette, you may be sur-
prised when I tell you that my views on the
ecclesiastical state have never been so settled
as since I have passed through this first ordeal.
ii6 BROTHER AND SISTER
Never have I been so thoroughly convinced,
never have my superiors so perfectly agreed in
their assurances, that it is God's will that I should
enter the priesthood. Not that I conceive it to
be the ideal state of human happiness. Neither
my knowledge of my own character nor my ex-
perience incline me to that opinion. But after
all, dear Henriette, it is folly to amuse oneself
running after a chimera when the thing itself
has no existence here below. Duty, virtue, the
gratification inseparable from the exercise of
the noblest of our faculties, these are the only
joys a man may reasonably seek for. Enjoy-
ment, in its widest sense, is not for him, and
he only wears himself out by fruitlessly pursuing
it. Christianity once accepted, as it rationally
may be, human existence has a different object.
Nothing, to my mind, more conclusively attests
the divine origin of the Christian theory of
human life and happiness than the reproach so
bitterly made against it by the modern schools,
of forcing men to put themselves perpetually
aside, to force back the tide, as it were, of their
own natures, to set their happiness beyond the
sphere of their own individuality and earthly
pleasures. I can forgive the unbelievers freely
enough, indeed, for not accepting Christianity.
God makes the Christian, not himself, so that
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 117
is only partially their fault. But I cannot forgive
their failure to perceive that the Christian theory
is merely the expression of a fact — the fact of the
downfall and present misery of the human race.
A simple practical study of mankind should have
convinced them of this truth.
This point established, Christianity once proved
and God's will manifested, as I have reason to
believe it has been in my case, the logical con-
sequence appears inevitable. One difficulty, how-
ever, has often preoccupied me. Even supposing,
as I believe, that the fear of losing some com-
forts and of undergoing possible and considerable
trouble is not a sufficient reason for drawing
back, might not — so I have said to myself — the
desire of preserving that sweet liberty and honest
independence so necessary to the free action of
the moral and intellectual faculties excuse me
from embracing a career which, as I cannot con-
ceal from myself, will give me but small oppor-
tunity of enjoying them ?
Here is my answer. There are two kinds of
intellectual freedom. \ One is bold, presumptuous,
carping at all reverence. That kind of freedom
is forbidden me by my priestly office, and even
were I to embrace a different life, my conscience
and my sincere love of truth would still forbid
it me. So there can be no question of that sort
ii8 BROTHER AND SISTER
/ of independence in my case. There is another
I kind, wiser, respecting all things worthy of
respect, despising neither persons nor beliefs,
j inquiring calmly and straightforwardly, using
\ the reason God has bestowed because it was
j given for that purpose, never accepting nor re-
. jecting any opinion on merely human authority.
' This is a freedom permitted to all men, and why
not to a priest ? It is true he has a duty in
the matter beyond that of others — the duty of
knowing when to hold his peace and keep his
thought in his own heart ; for those who take
alarm at what they cannot comprehend are legion.
But after all, is it such a trial to think for oneself
alone, and is it not a secret spring of vanity
which makes one so eager to communicate one s
thoughts to others ? Must not every man who
desires to live in peace make to himself that
law of silence of which I have just spoken ?
**We must have a hindmost thought," says
Pascal, ''and judge all things by it, yet must
we speak as do the people."
This, too, is what the learned Director I have
already mentioned to you impressed on me, laying
such stress upon the point as to seem to speak
out of his own experience. ** Dear friend," he
said, '* if I did not know you to have the power
of keeping silence, I would beseech you no^ to
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 119
enter the priesthood." '* Sir," I replied, ** I have
examined myself, and I think I can answer for
possessing it."
Here, then, dearest Henriette, is the true story
of my present position. It is an unspeakable con-
solation to me to know that in your heart, at all
events, I shall always have a refuge where I may
find that independence one so rarely meets with
outside one's own. I take it as a quite special
sign of His divine beneficence that God should
have given man the enjoyments and familiar
confidence of family life to compensate for the con-
straints necessarily imposed upon him by society.
I often find great delight in dreaming of those
ancient times when the family constituted the
only social bond. We have made great progress
since those days — so people say. Truly progress
is a very relative term !
I find a somewhat less hazy consolation in the
thought that I shall soon be enjoying the com-
pany of my good old mother and of our dear
Alain. I do not think I have ever longed so
earnestly to see them. The plan of our journey
is already made out. It is settled that I am to go
straight to Treguier, and that towards the end of
my vacation we are to move, my mother and I,
to St. Malo. Mother will stay on there some
time after my departure. Will this lead to a
I20 BROTHER AND SISTER
more permanent reunion ? I should dare to hope
it, did not the very prudent views expressed in
your last letter make me hold my expectations
concerning so delicate a business rigorously in
check. It will be an experiment, at all events,
an indispensable preliminary, as you justly indi-
cate, to any such arrangement.
You have doubtless heard of the excellent
transaction Alain has just concluded, by which
he undertakes to carry on M. Lemonnier's busi-
ness operations. Though I am far from being in
a position to appreciate its results, I fancy they
will be very advantageous to him.
My dearest Henriette, pray calm the fear a
passage in your last letter has aroused in me.
You seemed to indicate — at all events, I fancied
I understood — that the family in which you are
employed is careless as to the repayment of the
immense sacrifices you have made for it, and that
you had to fight hard to secure that private inde-
pendence which is the dearest treasure of exist-
ence. Oh, my Henriette! can it be thus your
services are requited ? Is this the reward of your
exile .•* Tell me everything, I do beseech you.
Use no more reserve in disclosing your troubles
to me than I do in confiding mine to you. I shall
suffer less, knowing their sad reality, than fancy-
ing, as I now do, that you are secretly nursing a
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 121
sorrow which must be all the bitterer because
it presupposes a most shameful ingratitude in
those to whom your life has been devoted. That
has been my worst fear. Oh, if it should prove
true! Reassure me, I entreat you. Alain has
forwarded me two hundred francs for my travel-
ling expenses, and my mother tells me of a still
larger sum you have sent to renew my wardrobe.
Must everything fall on you ? Poor Henriette !
How can I ever repay all I owe you ? God
knows the chief sacrifice I offer Him in devoting
myself to His service lies in renouncing the hope,
not of repaying you indeed, but of doing so to
anything like the extent you deserve. My love
must supply what else is lacking.
I shall start between the 20th and 28th of
July. So, if you calculate your answer cannot
reach me before that date, you had better send
it to Brittany. Yet I would rather have it here.
Do tell me whether there is any glimmer gf a
chancfi.^of your coming to France before many
years are out, either in charge of your pupils,
or with their whole family, or otherwise? You
mentioned such a possibility before you left us,
and I often think of it. Tell me if it is nothing
but a dream.
Farewell, my dear, good Henriette! Seeing
the sole consolation of this earthly life is to love
122 BROTHER AND SISTER
and to be loved, let us love each other unre-
servedly. And let us hope. Hope is always a
happiness, and often it is bravery as well. May
this thought sustain us ! I can never know hope-
less sorrow, for my part, so long as I have your
affection to lean on. May you realise how fondly
I requite it ! E. Renan.
VII
Mlle. Renan, Zamoyski Palace, WarsaWy
Poland.
Paris, November 27, 1843.
It is with great delight, my dearest Henriette,
that I take up the thread of our intercourse,
interrupted during the last few months by the
moves from place to place which have broken
the usual monotony of my life. My departure
from Issy, my journeys to Tr^guier and St. Malo,
my settling down at St. Sulpice, have all left
vivid, though very various, impressions on my
mind. Now I am back at last in the ordinary
channel of my existence, let me spend a moment
in going over the past with you, dear Henriette,
and try to give you some notion of my present
condition of mind. You are the only living
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 123
being, probably, to whom I can confide it wholly,
without a shadow of concealment. My stay at
Treguier, dearest sister, was a time of perfect
happiness to me. In all truth, I sorely needed
it. My close and serious work during the two
years I spent at Issy, the lack of a holiday the
year before — for I do not count the weeks spent
there in absolute solitude as being a real holiday
— and above all, the severe trouble I went through
at the close of my second year, had so broken me
down, physically and morally, that I was unre-
cognisable. I almost frightened all our friends,
and they astonished me not a little by inquir-
ing if I was quite recovered from my illness.
You know how fruitful that country is in hypo-
thesis, especially as to other people's affairs !
However, my good mother's care of me has quite
restored my health, and the happiness of being
with her scattered, for the time, at all events,
the anxieties which had haunted me so long.
Indeed, I do not think I ever spent two happier
months, and all the more so from their contrast
with the preceding ones.
I led a pleasant tranquil life, admirably suited
to my tastes ; I met with frank and honest
friendship ; I had the joy, always a keen one to
me, of seeing my beloved Brittany once more ;
and above all, I sunned myself in that maternal
124 BROTHER AND SISTER
love, so fond, so watchful, so devoted, which
resembles no other affection, and of which our
mother is the very pattern. I scarcely left her
side during those two months. I was never so
happy as with her, because nowhere else did I
meet such confidence, such simplicity, and such
truth. I was delighted, dearest Henriette, with
her condition in every way. Her health is as
good as we have any right to expect at her
age, and considering the life she has led. She
has a natural courage and cheerfulness which
enable her to bear her loneliness perfectly, and
indeed she receives every sort of attention from
our own relations and all her neighbours. It is
a real joy to me to have seen all this with my
own eyes, and to feel I may be perfectly easy
about her. I am convinced she could not be
better off anywhere, once granting she must be
parted from her children.
Now, dearest Henriette, I come to my own
personal concerns, and I will begin by saying a
few words about the new house where I am
settled. It is not very like those I have already
passed through. The rule is broader and more
general than at Issy. All that there smacked of
the educational establishment is eliminated here ;
and indeed we are all of us young men of be-
tween twenty and thirty, most of whom have
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 125
finished our ecclesiastical studies, and are work-
ing on our own account. Hence each, as it
were, lives his life apart. The tone among the
pupils is very good. There is perfect politeness,
together with a striking air of coolness and mutual
indifference. The huge majority come up from
the provinces to spend a year or two, and care
little about making acquaintances whom they are
never likely to meet again. So the life is really
a private one. Besides, there are so many of
us, that we hardly see each other oftener than
once in two or three months. Hence you may
judge how rare any amount of intimacy must be.
You may imagine, too, that so large a company
must be very mixed. This is true enough ; yet
the spirit of evil, of intrigue, of envy is kept
under, at all events, if not utterly stifled.
Life here has not that quality of monotony
which makes Issy so unendurable to those who
have no taste for meditation. For my part, I
am rather inclined to complain on the score of
dissipation, and if there is one thing about Issy
which I regret, it is the sweet if somewhat melan-
choly calm caused by the small number of the
pupils and the quiet of the place. As for the
Principals, their attention and care is admirable ;
but one feels it is all mechanical, that they are
men who have been in the habit of doing the
126 BROTHER AND SISTER
same thing for the next - comer for the last
twenty or thirty years, and look on you merely
as another pupil committed to their charge, never -^
giving a thought to your personal individuality. ^
But on the whole, the number of learned and^ '
distinguished men collected here surprises me.
There is not a single member of the teaching
staff who has not real merit, and some of them
are remarkable alike for their talents and their
erudition. The lectures are very carefully pre-
pared and delivered, and are much more com-
plete as to the instruction they impart than
those in any other ecclesiastical establishment ;
in short, nothing which could possibly facilitate
our studies is neglected. In material matters,
everything is perfect. The cleanliness approaches
luxury, though that is kept within reasonable
bounds.
As to study, the only one practised here,
strictly speaking, is Theology in all its various
departments, canonical law. Scriptural history,
and so forth. Hebrew is the only branch of
knowledge, apart from Theology, in which a
special course is given.
Theology has two very distinct sides, as far
removed from each other in their object as in
their method, and towards which I feel very
differently inclined. One is what I should be
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 127
disposed to call the demonstrative or apologetic
side, which establishes the general principles
and proofs of religion and of the doctrines of
the Church. The second — what I should deno-
minate the expository side — takes the first for
granted, and explains the decisions and dogmas
defined by the Church or contained in Scripture.
The first of these two sides is grand and noble.
It is a real philosophy, necessitating an analysis
of mankind, of society, of critical discussions of
all kinds, which, in a word, forces one into prac-
tical research. It is bound up with the highest
questions which have occupied the human mind,
and seems to me indispensable to any thinking
man.
The case with regard to the other aspect of
theological study is very different. Nothing in-
deed can be deeper than the dogmas which form
its subject ; but in that very fact the root of the
evil lies. The human mind has lost itself in the
endeavour to fathom such mysteries. Its efforts
to class and submit to its own judgment matters
belonging to an order of things totally beyond
its comprehension have only ended in unfathom-
able subtleties of reasoning and unintelligible
explanations. Such is the real character of this
second department of Theology. It is permeated
with the spirit of Mediaeval Scholasticism, and
128 BROTHER AND SISTER
Still modelled, as it were, on its empty and ab-
stract formulas. Happily form cannot affect the
heart of any matter. Dogmatic Theology with-
out Scholasticism has existed, and there is no
reason why it should not emancipate itself once
more. Nothing proves this possibility more
thoroughly than the truth and beauty which
mark the apologetic department of Theology.
This, founded entirely on fact and induction, yet
astounds one by its depth. For one of the
greatest evidences of Christian truth, to my mind,
is that its reality has to be demonstrated by the
analysis of all the deepest feelings of mankind.
There lies its key. If, on the other hand, Chris-
tianity were a delusion, such an analysis could
not fail to overthrow it.
To my theological studies I have added that
of Hebrew, over which I expect to spend the
greater part of my working hours. We have an
excellent Hebrew professor, a profound scholar,
abreast of all the additions modern science has
made to that branch of learning. He has several
times mentioned the name of a Mons. Latouche,
of whom I fancy I have heard you speak. I
have his work on Hebrew grammar, and I have
looked into his general method. His principles
seem to me correct, but, as far as I can judge,
he is too hot-headed a person to be equal to
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 129
constructing a scientific edifice. Though all his
principles, as I have already stated, are true in
substance, they are pushed too far. But some of
his views, at all events, are excellent, and he pos-
sesses a most unusual amount of acuteness and a
huge power of observation and of generalisation.
This is the Professor's opinion as well as mine.
The text-book for our Hebrew lessons is a French
abridgment of the famous Grammar by Gesenius.
Here again the Germans bear off the palm.
They have turned the study of Hebrew into a
real and rational science, as accurate as geometry,
wherein memory plays but a subordinate part.
The difficulties are far from great, however, when
once one grows accustomed to the curious manner
of writing the vowels, and to the variety of sounds
given to the same letter. And indeed the know-
ledge of Hebrew leads up to such important lin-
guistic rules, and it is so indispensably necessary
to the due comprehension of the most ancient and
remarkable, not to say the most venerated, of
all books, that nobody could grudge the labour
necessary to acquire it.
You will be surprised, perhaps, at my beginning
to learn another language so soon after taking up
German, in which I have made so little progress.
Here is the truth, if it must be confessed. You
know that when I began German I was short of
I
I30 BROTHER AND SISTER
money, and I had to sponge on other people s
books, i.e,y instead of buying my own grammar,
dictionary, explanatory works, &c., I borrowed
them from one of my fellow -students, who had
made great progress in the language. But, to
my misfortune, he departed, taking his books
with him. So I had to give up German for a
season. When I got to St. Sulpice, I might have
begun it again, but as I have the advantage here
of a special course of Hebrew lectures, remark-
able both for clever treatment and careful de-
livery, you will readily understand my preferring
them to going on with a language I should have
had to study alone as best I could.
Space fails me, dearest Henriette, and I have
said nothing yet about the solemn reflections
which fill my mind whenever it is not absorbed
by study. You can easily guess their subject.
Fresh though not imperative hints about taking
that first step were given me almost as soon as
I had entered this establishment. They have
brought back all my doubts and anxieties.
During the vacation my sole chance of happiness
had lain in my rigid determination not to dwell
on them. It is now my duty to examine the
matter afresh, however painful it may be. Great
Heaven ! how cruel it is that a question so deeply
affecting a man's whole existence must perforce
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 131
be decided in such early youth. But that, my
dearest Henriette, is a quite inevitable necessity,
and must be submitted to, whatever line I may
take up. For could I avoid it, even were I to
renounce the ecclesiastical state ? No, indeed ;
the matter must be settled one way or another,
but a decision there must be, and the very word
is terrible to me.
If I could do aught to avoid it I would seize the
chance; but I see none. It is a merciless dilemma.
An abyss yawns on my right hand and on my left.
Never did I realise the power of Providence over
human destiny as when I perceived how little,
man himself is able to control the act which most'
affects his own fate. For I cannot conceal from
myself the fact that all my meditation can serve
but little to guide me, seeing the future, which
alone could give me a fixed point for my in-
quiry, is mercilessly hidden from my view. True
indeed it is that we are led. Happily the
Christian may add, ''We are well led!'' This
indeed is our only true and logical consolation.
To conclude, my ideas have undergone but little
change. Things in themselves, abstractions,
drawn from facts, a priori reasoning, attract
me, but actual experience terrifies me. My
own reflections, and the facts I daily witness,
only confirm these two antagonistic tendencies
132 BROTHER AND SISTER
of my nature. Will you believe that I can
already appeal to personal experience in this
particular? Did space permit it, my dear Hen-
riette, I could tell you various things which
would convince you my fears are not imaginary,
and that if I do persevere I shall do it by sacri-
ficing myself. Suffice it to say that envy and
small-mindedness did much to embitter my last
month at Issy. Fortunately the final advantage
was mine before my own conscience, and even in
the sight of men.
Farewell, my dearest Henriette! I expect to
hear from you very shortly. The dates men-
tioned in Mdlle. Ulliac's ^ make me think letters
get here more quickly from Warsaw. So I shall
be on the watch a day or two hence. Oh, if you
knew the happiness those letters of yours give
me ! They are epochs in my life.
Farewell, once more. You know how bound-
less is the confidence and how deep the affection
of your Ernest.
' Mdlle. Ulliac Trdmadeure, a devoted friend of Mdlle. Renan's.
Her name is mentioned in " My Sister Henriette."
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 133
VIII
Mlle. Ren an, Zamoyski Palace, Warsaw,
Poland.
Paris, April 16, 1844.
My Dear Good Henriette, — I snatch a
moment from the study and meditation which
absorb me to rest and talk a little with you.
Never has the need of such sweet intercourse
seemed so intense as after these six long months
of an isolation which would seem intolerable to
any one unaware of the extent to which habit
and a man's deliberate determination to rule
his own mind will inure him to the most dis-
agreeable conditions of existence. Conceive that
since I said good-bye to our dear mother, that
interchange of true and disinterested affection
which our poor hearts so imperiously crave has
existed for me in your and her letters only !
Never one of those precious talks in which two
hearts meet and comprehend one another with-
out the cumbrous medium of artificial forms and
borrowed language. Of the people who sur-
round me, some (few, luckily, in number) are
unworthy either of my friendship or my con-
fidence ; the others, stranded here for a time.
134 BROTHER AND SISTER
have either given their affections elsewhere, or
possess none at all, and care little for the stranger
chance has set beside them, who will be a
stranger to them to the end of time. Imagine
one of those ancient Roman walls which, one
is told, is built of stones laid one on the other
without any mortar between them. There you
have an exact image of the house in which I
am spending a considerable portion of those
years which the world assures us are the fairest
of our lives. Local contiguity is the only bond
uniting these often incongruous elements, drawn
together by views as various in their origin.
And thus it is to you, my dearest Henriette,
and to our beloved mother, that my thoughts
tend, as though by their own weight, the moment
they are free to turn whither affection calls them.
How often, in the midst of arduous labour and
abstruse study, have I caught myself wandering
in that Poland of which you draw such a melan-
choly picture, but which I cannot help fancying
beautiful and smiling when I remember it holds
the object of my love ! How often, too, I have
fancied myself between you and my mother,
the happiest trio ! Nature, perforce, fills up the
emptiness of reality by dreams. Would you
believe, dear Henriette, that for an instant I
thought mine were about to come true? About
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 135
a month ago I had a letter from our dear mother,
and you may conceive my astonishment and joy
at reading these words : — *' Henriette tells me
she is coming to France ; we hope to arrange
so that she will be here during your vacation,
&c., &c." The most admirable plan, in a word,
that could have been invented. Even the dates
and the length of your stay had been made
out.
Such a brilliant plan, so unexpected, so sudden,
astounded me, and as you may well believe, it
coincided too closely with my dearest wishes for
me to hesitate much as to believing in it. I
did so believe in it, and I began to make plans
of my own — to improve on our poor mother's
dreams even. That sort of thing is catching,
so it seems. Yet I could not help feeling occa-
sional twinges of doubt. Supposing our good
mother had been paying more heed to her own
desires than to the strict meaning of the letter?
Supposing she had turned the expression of a
wish into an assertion ? The possibility alarmed
me all the more, because, looking at the project
in the light of my past recollections, I could not
but feel it all too unlikely.
Another letter came at last, and proved my
fears were only too well founded. " Alas ! my
dear Ernest," wrote my dear mother, " I mis-
136 BROTHER AND SISTER
understood that passage in Henriette's letter.
Madame Gaugain has pointed out to me that
the whole thing depends on whether the family-
decides on coming to France or not." What a
disappointment, my poor Henriette ! It has so
disheartened me that I have a mind to give up
building castles in the air for ever.
By a singular coincidence, your last letter
reached me on the very day — I had almost said
at the very hour — when, after long and painful
doubt, I took my first formal step in the ecclesi-
astical career. Two days previously I was still
in a state of overwhelming uncertainty. Neither
my mother, nor anybody in the world except
the person with whom I was bound to confer
on the subject, knew anything of It. I should
merely repeat what I have so often described
were I to attempt to reproduce the thoughts and
impressions which passed through my mind con-
cerning this all-important decision. I only made
it because I perceived that not doing so meant
making the very opposite one, which was still
more distasteful to me. So I had to make up
my mind to it, all the more so because the en-
gagement I was called upon to contract has no
irrevocable character either In God's sight or
man's. It is no more than an expression of a
present intention, leaving the future free. And
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 137
that present intention I conscientiously entertain.
Besides, I say again, to have shrunk afresh from
so undecisive a forward step would have been
tantamount, under the circumstances, to taking
a very decided backward one ; though at the
same time I can honestly affirm that I did not
obey any exterior influence whatever. After all,
in vowing my life to God, and to what I hold to
be His truth — in taking that truth for the portion
of my inheritance (the literal words I used in my
profession), in renouncing all vanity and super-
fluity, all foolish delights, and what are known
as pleasures — I only do what I have always un-
flinchingly desired to do. Any hesitation I have
felt has arisen from my not being certain what
was truth, and whether that truth demanded that
I should serve the Church, in spite of the per-
sonal difficulties I could not help foreseeing.
But whether I entered the priesthood or not,
nay, more, whatever my feelings as to the re-
ligion in which I believe I have found the truth
may ultimately be — a grave and quiet life, retired
from luxury and pleasure, would always be my
choice. I have promised nothing beyond that,
and such a promise seems to me the necessary
preamble to any really serious pursuit, the in-
dispensable preliminary to a life devoted to virtue
and to truth.
138 BROTHER AND SISTER
If I had been the leader of a school of philo-
sophers, I would have imposed a ceremony on
my disciples, the very counterpart of that which
the Church has instituted for the first stage of
ecclesiastical consecration, because the whole
spirit of that ceremony is summed up in the
renunciation of all that is neither good, nor
true, nor noble, and apart from such renuncia-
tion philosophy cannot exist. If ever I become
a vain and frivolous man, clinging to the des-
picable treasure that must pass away, or to a
public opinion more despicable still (I do not
speak of glory, which is no vanity, when pro-
perly understood), then indeed I shall know I
have failed to keep my vow.
I have thought a great deal, my dear Henriette,
over the suggestion contained in your last letter
as to my accepting some position which would
give me an opportunity for foreign travel before
definitely settling down into the ecclesiastical life.
You may imagine that, while unable to make an
immediate decision on such an important point
(though it could not take immediate effect in any
case), I greatly value the hope of making use of
such an opportunity at some future time. I feel
with you that nothing is more likely to give one
an insight into men and things, and to form
those reasoning powers which must be rooted in
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 139
experience and in contact with mankind. Not,
indeed, I confess, that I believe myself destined
to be a man of action, properly so called : I fancy
the world of thought is much more likely to be
my domain. But, nevertheless, I hold that even
in that respect foreign travel, occasional, if not
habitual, confers a great and inestimable advan-
tage by raising the traveller's mind above that
narrow partial prejudice which, as it were, forcibly
imprisons the man who has never breathed any
intellectual atmosphere save that of his own
country.
Yet I often ask, as I think of the future most
congenial to my tastes, whether the years still
at my disposal would not be best employed in
further study. In my present state of mind I
dare not answer positively. This fact will make
you feel how determined I am not to prejudice
the liberty I reserve to myself of making some
future decision in the matter. In any case,
nothing can happen for the next eighteen months,
for I want to spend the whole of next year at St.
Sulpice, so as to push forward my theological
studies and perfect myself in Hebrew, for which
special facilities are here offered.
It is more than likely that I may be invited to
spend several years at St. Nicholas as a teacher.
The offer might indeed come very shortly ; but
I40 BROTHER AND SISTER
though the plan has some advantages, on other
accounts I only half desire it. I love and esteem
M. Dupanloup as a man, for his qualities of head
and heart. He unites remarkable acuteness
with a generosity and nobility of feeling rare
enough now-a-days. But he is well known to
be one of the most imperious natures on the
face of the earth, though certain very sharp dis-
comforts which he has lately endured in conse-
quence of this failing may have given him a
profitable lesson, if indeed such a fault as his
be curable. And besides, the greater number
of the teaching staff of that establishment are
afflicted with a small-mindedness which borders
on love of tittle-tattle, and which would not at
all suit me. Nevertheless, as I should never set
myself up to dispute M. Dupanloup's manage-
ment of his own seminary, and as the second
drawback can always be avoided, as far as interior
influences go, by keeping oneself to oneself, I
should not object to spending one or two years
there, so as to have an opportunity of attending
certain lectures and pursuing certain researches
which can only be conveniently made in Paris ;
after which, my dream would be to bury myself
in the depths of Brittany with my mother for a
while, so as to ruminate in peace over the facts I
shall have collected, and to ripen certain ideas in
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 141
my brain. The researches must be made in Paris,
I think, and the result must be thought over and
elaborated amidst a silence and calm which I
should never find in greater perfection than in
our little home, with my poor dear mother.
Besides, this plan would give both her and me
a certain period of happiness. But you will
understand, my dearest Henriette, that I am too
well aware of our position to dare to look at the
realisation of this last point in any light but that
of a desire, or at the utmost of a very distant
hope ; yet it has long been an element in every
plan of mine. What dreams, dear Henriette, and
how foolish we should be did we not laugh at
them even while we dream them !
As to the more distant future, it often beckons
me, I must confess, but I make a rule never to
allow it to preoccupy my thoughts. Yet it seems
to me useful to glance at it from time to time, so
as to regulate the march towards one's appointed
end. Well, I already hold some important facts
which convince me I need not be drawn against
my inclinations into a sphere of occupation un-
suited to my tastes and intellectual needs. The
chief of these is the strong opinion expressed
by my superiors as to my qualifications and the
tendency of my character, which opinion, as you
may fancy, has a decided influence on my future.
142 BROTHER AND SISTER
They have frequently and formally assured me,
and I had previously assured myself, that the
priestly office in its ordinary sense, what I might
call parochial duty, would in no way suit my turn
of mind. But, you may say, beyond that par-
ticular line there is nothing left a priest to do
except to teach ; and teaching in general, espe-
cially in the case of an ecclesiastic, does not offer
a smiling prospect, under present circumstances.
That is true, dear Henriette ; yet I think some
happy medium may perchance be found between
that ministry to which God certainly has not
called me, and the thorny career of the profes-
sional teacher. Without being able exactly to
define it, I think I at least perceive a possibility
of such a thing. The Archbishop of Paris is even
now engaged in ripening a great plan — that of
founding a college for advanced study, with a
curriculum so high-class and so extended as to
satisfy every taste. My present Principal, a man
of considerable merit, is to be one of the chief
pillars of the new institution, and several times,
when I have expressed my fear of being set to
do work quite out of harmony with my tastes, he
has given me indirect hints that he would see
there should be an opening for me if I desired it.
But I confess I should be very fastidious, and I
should insist on being permitted a close and care-
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 143
ful preliminary study of the spirit and constitu-
tion of the establishment. In any case, one last
resource is open to me — to enter the Society of
St. Sulpice for a few years, at all events. There I
am sure of being received with open arms, as is
proved by the tolerably explicit proposals already
made me thence, which I have thought it best
not to notice so far. As this congregation only
deals with the great seminaries, the duties are
not so irksome as where elementary and classical
teaching is required. But I would not join it
except on the express condition of never being
employed outside the diocese of Paris, and I
should do so with the full intention of leaving it
in the course of a few years, as do most of the
priests who enter it. For although the body is
known as a Society, in its case, as in that of its
pupils, juxtaposition is the sole bond of fellow-
ship. Its members make neither engagements
nor promises. If this were not so, I would not
have anything to do with it for all the world. I
am steadfastly bent on preserving the hope of
some day being able to lead that solitary and
retired life which, granted a small circle of true
friends, has such a charm for any one capable of
thought or feeling. Oh, dearest Henriette ! then
indeed your presence will become an indispen-
sable element in my happiness ! You are the
144 BROTHER AND SISTER
being God has given me to love, and to love me,
with that pure affection which is Nature's true
gift, and therefore that of Providence. I have
told you all my idle dreams. Who else should
know them but the dear confidante of my inmost
thoughts, she who, with one other person only,
fills a heart God has blessed with such great
power to love. However things fall out, my
chief desire, for the sake of which I am prepared
for any sacrifice, to which I shall ever cling,
though that should call for superhuman strength,
is to preserve those principles of uprightness
and honesty which ensure true happiness, apart
from chance events and human struggle.
I had a letter from our good mother very lately.
She is well, and cheerful, and contented, still
living, as she has always lived, in us and for us.
She is already rejoicing, poor dear soul, at the
thought of having me back with her before many
months are out. You may fancy the idea makes
me as happy as her. But it pains me, dear
Henriette, I confess, to feel your labour and your
exile pay the price of our enjoyment. The
thought casts a kind of shadow on my happi-
ness. When will you cease to be the only one of
us that does not benefit by your own work ?
Farewell, my dearest Henriette! I thank
Heaven for giving me your love in compensation
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 145
for my many troubles. The confidence I can
repose in you consoles me amply for the inevitable
reserve and silence of my daily life. I count the
days that must go by before you can receive this
long effusion of mine, and try to calculate how
soon I may expect your answer. You may fancy
how much I long for it. Farewell, once more.
He who inspired my love for you alone can
realise how deep it is.
Ernest Renan, CI. T}
IX
Warsaw, May 9, 1844.
I have been reading your letter over again
and kissing it, my dearest dear beloved brother !
That letter I had longed for so earnestly, and
welcomed with such intense delight! Alas! my
Ernest, too true it is that life, in many a case at
least, has to be spent among people with whom
no intercourse beyond the coldest civility is
possible, and neither you nor I are likely to be
satisfied with that. Heaven grant that your
experience of a life which must be hard and
trying for many years in any case, and to which
^ Clerc tonsurd — tonsured clerk.
K
146 BROTHER AND SISTER
some men never can grow accustomed, may be
but temporary. Already I keep reckoning up
the months yet to elapse before you see our
dear mother again, and hail the approach of that
moment as joyfully as she can herself To know
you two happy is the greatest satisfaction I can
feel.
I hopelessly wonder, dearest Ernest, what pas-
sage in any letter of mine can have given our
mother the idea of the fair dream you mention,
and concerning which she too has written me.
No more delightful plan could be devised, but
none, alas ! could at this moment be less practi-
cable. You may rely on this, my dear boy, I
never could have mentioned any date to our
mother, seeing I have no right to nurse the
smallest reasonable hope of the kind she means.
Courage, patient waiting, resignation, must still
be our cry. Far from moving homewards, I am
just about starting off again in the very opposite
direction. We are leaving Warsaw for the lonely
country-house where I have already spent two
summers, and though it is only sixty leagues
from here, my heart is heavy at the thought of
turning my back on Western Europe and all I
hold most dear. My letters too are always
greatly delayed in transit there, which is a severe
trial to me. Except for these two causes I shall
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 147
regret nothing at Warsaw. My life here is as
quiet as it is in the country, and indeed since I
have been in Poland I have grown perfectly in-
different as to what spot I live in. I never meet
a congenial soul in any of them. In consequence
of this departure I must ask you, my Ernest, to
direct all letters in future thus : — Mdlle. R., Cha-
teau de Clemensow, Zamosc, Poland.
Will you be good enough to give the same
instructions to our mother and to Alain, for I feel
very uneasy about any letters which might arrive
here after our departure. Nothing can exceed
the uncertainty of the postal arrangements in
this country.
Our brother had already told me, dear Ernest,
very briefly, that you had resolved upon the pre-
liminary engagement you also mention in your
letter. I have no right to cavil at it, my poor
dear boy, nor yet to advise you on the steps still
lying before you. My first duty and my chief
desire are to leave you perfectly free in every
decision you may have to make. Why, oh why
must they be taken at an age when you must
still perforce be so inexperienced in life's difficul-
ties? You will have observed, my dear, if you
read my last letter over again, that the prospect
of travel indicated to you was very distant, and
that indeed I rather suggested an idea than
148 BROTHER AND SISTER
pointed out a course of action. So it will always
be, my dear boy. I shall tell you anything I
think worth your consideration, and you will be
perfectly free to decide afterwards as you think
best. I have never had any opinion of advisers
who take it ill if their counsels are not followed.
The idea of your accepting a professorship at
St. Nicholas, at your early age, does not recom-
mend itself to me. To make such a position at
all advantageous, it should carry some special
facilities for continuing your advanced studies.
Failing that, what would you gain by accepting
the wearisome duties of an usher, or even by
taking an elementary Latin class .^^ Would it
not be a pity thus to spend time which might
be so much more usefully employed ? Your idea
of going into our native province and ripening
the fruits of your studies in solitude is by no
means impracticable. If God grants me life and
health and His divine support, you will find
me only too glad to second this and any other
project of yours.
It is futile, perhaps, to try to look into the
more distant future. Circumstances may alter
that so much. But let me beseech you, my
poor boy, never to join any society which would
destroy your liberty of action, thus denying you
the enjoyment of your own intellect, and parting
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 149
you from those who love you. Never forget
that by the very act of joining any such associa-
tion you abdicate all right of personal judgment,
and you will frequently find yourself forced into
some action for the corporate body, which, as
a private individual, you never would have at-
tempted. It would be the bitterest sorrow of
my life to see you forced into a line unnatural to
you, and driven to take part in squabbles which,
I feel and hope, your desire would always be
to avoid. Dearest Ernest, do calm my sad-
dened heart by often telling me you are resolved
to keep your spirit pure and upright, that no
man shall ever shake it, and that should Heaven
be pleased to reunite us, I shall still find you the
brother I have loved so fondly, and whom I shall
cherish to my life's end.
Do me a learned service, dear brother ! Will
you kindly write me out a list of the chief Greek
and Latin historians, with the period each of them
covers, and send it to me as soon as you can do
so, without inconvenience or fatigue. I have read
several (in translations, of course), but I fear I
may have overlooked some important authors,
and I rely on you to remedy my mistake. Do
not let this request astonish you, dear Ernest ;
alone and unaided, I have been forced to fill
many a gap in my original education, and alone
I50 BROTHER AND SISTER
too I have had to fit myself for my present great
undertaking. After a considerable amount of
historical study, I have fallen back on its original
sources, the genuine classics, like any lower form
schoolboy. Nothing daunts me when the ad-
vantage of the young minds I have to cultivate,
the accomplishment of the duty confided to me,
comes in question. And indeed, spending so
much time alone as I do, study is my great
consolation, the only one left me, perhaps, in
this country, where habits, tastes, and social con-
dition, everything in fact, differ so utterly from
my home surroundings. Often I feel I would
prefer to live entirely in my own room and my
pupils' schoolroom. But that, unluckily, is not
always possible, although I do often take advan-
tage of the reputation for oddity my love of
solitude has earned me. I could not make up
my mind to waste my time as I see those
around me waste it, nor spend long hours in
futile vapid talk.
I feel my letters often betray this peculiarity
of mine. I tell you scarcely anything about
outside things : first of all, because I am forced
to be very circumspect in that particular, and
also because I cannot fancy your finding any
interest in descriptions of the Cossacks of every
shape, and Orientals of every shade, who pass
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 151
incessantly before my sight. Sometimes, in the
winter, as I watched long files of sledges passing
the gates of this splendid house, I used to find
myself wondering whether I could really be
living in the same hemisphere as before. That
doubt has often struck me since. Fortunately
for me, I have made up my mind to pay no
attention to anything beyond what affects the
advancement of my pupils' education. Nothing
else has any interest for me. To serve those
I love, devote all my powers to them, pour out
my affections on them, these are the mainsprings
of my life, the objects always foremost in my
mind, and which I follow with equal keenness
under every sky. Have no anxiety about me,
my Ernest, personal matters very seldom affect
me. Forgive this disjointed letter. I finish it
on the very eve of our departure, and amidst
all the confusion consequent upon it. At least
it will prove the unchangeableness of my love
for you, and my constant eagerness to ex-
press it.
I hope you will write before the vacation
opens. Tell me when it begins, and how long
you will be able to stay with our poor dear
mother. Every one who sees her confirms
what your letter tells me of her excellent state
of health. You will believe that nothing short
152 BROTHER AND SISTER
of this unanimity of opinion could still an anxiety
which must be endured to be appreciated. Her
own letters, too, are calm, and even joyful, now
she has a hope of soon seeing you again. She
tells me she is to go and await you at St. Malo.
Farewell, my dearest Ernest. Be sure the con-
fidence and affection your letter breathes have
cheered and strengthened my heart. You know
they fall on no ungrateful ground, and that the
dearest affection of your sister, your true friend,
is yours for ever. H. R.
P.S, — I transmit this letter by the same means
as I employed in sending you the last. Do not
forget to let our mother and Alain know my
address. You will kiss them for me within two
or three months from now.
X
Mlle. Ren an. Chateau de CUmensow, near
Zamosc^ Poland,
VKRiSy July II, 1844.
Before I join our good mother, my dear ex-
cellent sister, I must have another talk with
you. When these lines reach you, I shall, I
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 153
think, be close on meeting her, for my de-
parture is fixed for some day between the 20th
and 25th of this month. The thought of it has
absorbed me for some time. It is the natural
centre-point of all my hopes and longings, when-
ever I allow them to follow their instinctive
bent. A life of solitude has certain charms, no
doubt, but stripped of all those sweet affections
which feed the heart, and unduly prolonged as
well, it is a cruel torture. Imagine that during
the last ten months I have never seen one
familiar face save those of the persons chance
brought hither when I came myself A poor
sort of friendship that, born of a connection
utterly devoid of mutual heart attraction.
I do not complain of the dearth of those
uninteresting visitors who may suffice to the
happiness of people, the sole object of whose
exterior intercourse is to get rid of themselves,
and escape the weariness inseparable from their
own personal reflections. I am thankful to be
rid of them. But I do cruelly miss the visitors
to whom the purest and most legitimate affec-
tion binds me — the delightful talks in which
soul speaks to soul as though it spoke to itself
— the kind of intercourse, in short, which God
permitted me while gradually teaching me to
live a kind of life to which I was a perfect
154 BROTHER AND SISTER
Stranger, and the trials of which I as yet
ignored. But I am ashamed, my dearest
Henriette, to talk of loneliness when I re-
member that you bear it at its bitterest, with-
out even that annual rest which breaks the
usual tenour of my dreary life. I never think
of the happiness I am shortly to enjoy without
remembering that she to whom I owe it will
herself be bereft of it, for years, it may be,
yet. The thought pains me deeply, dearest
Henriette, and my sole consolation is in hope,
and in the consciousness of that affection which
is the only true reward of such devotion as
yours. Do you remember how you wept, five
years ago, when I was leaving you to go and
see our good old mother ? I weep myself when-
ever I think of it. Poor Henriette ! What shall
we say now ? Ah ! that the thought of you will
never leave us through the happy time now draw-
ing near. Last year it was on you that all our
conversation turned.
I must tell you, my dear Henriette, that since
last I wrote I have made another forward step
in the ecclesiastical career. But it has not cost
me the anxiety and hesitation which marked my
first, of which it is, so to speak, the outcome.
It adds neither bond nor obligation to those
of my former condition, which in itself indeed
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 155
entails nothing of that sort. Therefore no
special scruple was called for. But in future
the case will alter. The next step, now lying
before me, is definite and irrevocable.^ It is
still in the dim distance, fortunately ; the strictly
minimum period before taking it is a year, and
that may be extended, I believe. I cannot think
of it without terror, and when I remember my
past anguish I cry, " My God ! my God ! let
this cup pass from me ! " Nothing is so painful
as doubt in a matter which must affect the whole
of one's future life. Yet, ** Not my will, but
Thine be done ! " You will support me, will
you not, my Henriette ? at all events by assur-
ing me you love me.
There is one point, among the considerations
for our future on which our last letters have
touched, to which I desire to return, for I
should not at all like you to misunderstand my
real feelings concerning it. They are irrevo-
cably fixed, and are as follows : — When I ex-
pressed my inclination to a life of study and
retirement, in preference to one involving the
exercise of the exterior functions of the priest-
hood, you seemed to fear I might seek to realise
this project by joining some religious congrega-
tion or society. The thought alarmed you, and
^ The sub-diaconate.
156 BROTHER AND SISTER
I can well understand it, for I assure you I am
as averse as you can be to a manner of life
which would absorb all my individuality into an
abstract body. Such a body destroys, as you
justly remark, all personal feeling, and forces its
members to do in its service what they never
would have dreamt of as private individuals.
My opinion on the subject is a very strong
one, I repeat, but I believe it to be quite
correct. I am convinced that religious corpora-
tions, useful as they may be at certain periods
and to certain persons, are equally out of place
in, and unsuited to, others. I am further
convinced that the present is one of the
periods, and I myself one of the individuals in
question.
To my thinking, an honest searcher after
truth must ever endeavour to elude a bondage
which makes it his duty (or his necessity rather,
for duty is quite another thing) to adhere to
the doctrines of such and such a school, rather
than to the truth his own reason recommends.
Amidst the lively controversies now occupying
public opinion in this country, and which I look
on as part of the frivolous pabulum indispen-
sable to those whose passions need some special
stimulant — while recognising that the observer
who is able to keep himself scornfully outside
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 157
them may yet draw useful conclusions from
them — amidst these controversies, I say, which
I have carefully considered, I have succeeded
in forming an opinion (on religious societies) as
far removed from the frantic declamations ot
those who love to see mystery where none
exists, as from the absurd panegyrics lavished
by those small minds who see the type of sove-
reign perfection in a very human institution.
Both parties seem to me equally ignorant of
the two great laws of human nature: ist, That
whoever thinks to find a human work, under
whatever name, be it even that of Jesus Christ —
whatever its avowed object, even the saintliest
— whatever means, even the purest, serve its
ends — in which the human passions, their influ-
ence and their action, have no share, seeks the
impossible. 2nd, That whereas humanity eter-
nally progresses, and such institutions remain
stationary, it inevitably follows that those of one
century must be out of harmony with the next,
and that to attempt to keep them going is like
trying to warm a corpse, and is a proof of ex-
treme folly. Such is my idea, and its practical
corollary is that I must hold myself absolutely
aloof from the passionate and self-interested dis-
cussions so eminently distasteful to the faithful
seeker after truth, who should never pay such
158 BROTHER AND SISTER
follies the compliment implied by heated argu-
ment concerning them. Once they have died
out and I am dead, neither they nor I will have
gained much by their absorption of that small
modicum of calm which constitutes the chief
charm of our little earthly span and is so easily
dissipated. Therefore I will keep clear of those
empty controversies which only divert mankind
from the true objects of existence, and never
allow myself to be an interested party to any
of them. But, my dear Henriette, I do not look
on an aggregation of men brought together by a
common object and similarity of occupation, and
only united in the bond of a purely temporary
and voluntary propinquity, as a regular religious
society. A man is not supposed to abdicate his
liberty when he joins a teaching body — at a uni-
versity, for instance. Well, I seek in vain for
the symptom of any closer bond amongst the
members of the societies to which I have alluded.
No other, in fact, exists.
However, dear Henriette, certain events, the
forerunners probably of other and more impor-
tant ones, which have begun to shape themselves
since my last letter to you, will probably and
completely alter my future plans. I do not en-
large on them just now, for everything is still
in a mere hearsay condition as far as I am
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 159
concerned — and besides, the fulfilment of the
commission you gave me, and which I send
herewith, obliges me to be somewhat curt. The
matter shall be the subject of our next talk on
paper.
I beg you will forgive the confusion of the
secondary paragraphs in the notes I send you.
It was easy to keep to a fixed method in dealing
with the great historians. But with the cloud
of lesser ones I should have had to devote a
large amount of time and care to a mere work
of arrangement, which I felt your own clear-
headedness would easily supply. May I ask you
to do me a somewhat similar service ? If you are
on friendly terms with any learned ecclesiastic,
would you find out from him what the general
teaching is in Polish schools and those of neigh-
bouring countries, on the following theological
subjects : —
1. Are the Dogmatic Decrees of the Sovereign
Pontiffs looked on as rules of faith, infallible and
unchangeable by their own nature, or is the con-
sent of the Universal Church necessary to give
them this weight?
2. What is the Sovereign Pontiff's power with
regard to the Canons of Discipline, and can
he force any particular church to renounce its
customs and its freedom.-^
i6o BROTHER AND SISTER
3. In matters of doctrine and discipline, is
the Pope superior to the CEcumenical Council
or not?
4. Has the Pope any authority, direct or in-
direct, over monarchs in the temporal sense, and
if not, how are the various incidents during the
Middle Ages, when such power was claimed, to
be explained? Were they downright usurpa-
tion, or the outcome of the public rights which
governed civil society at that period ?
I am anxious to discover whether the answers
French theologians give these questions, which
are known as the Gallic Doctrine, are really
peculiar to themselves. The fact is very much
contested just now, and I thought you might
be able to throw some light on it. You under-
stand, of course, that what I desire to know
is the teaching in the schools, and not the feel-
ing of any private individual, nor the intrinsic
value set by him on the doctrines set forth
above. My question only relates to a matter
of fact.
We must part for the nonce, dear Henriette.
I hope the happiness I shall have in our dear
mother's society will be increased by hearing
from you. I write to-day to say I shall be with
her shortly. My sense of the mutual love which
swallows up the miles between us is my only
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE i6i
consolation for the irreparable void your absence
causes us.
Farewell, beloved Henriette. Think of the
great love and tenderness for the best of sisters
that fills your Ernest's heart. E. Renan.
XI
Mlle. Renan, Chateau de CUmensow, Zamosc^
Poland.
My Dear Kind Henriette, — I too must send
you a few words ! How happy I have been
since I wrote you those last lines from my usual
place of residence ! To embrace our darling
mother ; to look once again on scenes which
never fail to rouse the tenderest association of
ideas ; to come back to those domestic habits
which shed such powerful sweetness on the
soul, softening and yet not enervating it —
these joys were more than enough to cure the
weariness caused by my usual mode of life, and
to alter the somewhat severe cast of thought
thereby induced. A mother's voice seems to
have a peculiar power to soften everything, even
when she intends it least. And where is pure
and disinterested affection to be found save on
i62 BROTHER AND SISTER
one's mother's breast ? It is but just, seeing
how urgently man's heart needs it, that God
should provide for each human being a refuge
where he is sure to find what he would vainly
seek elsewhere.
My mind has never been so clear as now.
The intellectual faculties have some secret affinity
with those of the affections and the moral powers,
and rebound to every pressure which causes
these last to suffer or rejoice. The two systems
are meant to walk abreast, not to supply each
other's place. Study, by feeding one's intelli-
gence, may soften the suffering of one's starved
affections. This is true enough, but the result
is obtained by diverting the mind from their
hunger, not by staying it. Thanks be to God,
then, my dear Henriette, for having granted us
this blessed rest, this balm for every ill !
I have called a truce with my dreams about
the future. It is not that such thoughts never
assail me, except in the course of my ordinary
existence. I try then to master them, and not
let them preoccupy me. But if they sometimes
do come back on me here, they are more like
dreams than thoughts. And there is no great
harm in dreams, especially in vacation-time. I
find our good mother in very good case. It
is wonderful how she bears her loneliness, great
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 163
as it is. She has the very happiest nature I
have ever known. And her health seems to
me very satisfactory. Her tender affection is
the one great happiness of my holidays. I
am very fastidious about the persons on whom
I bestow my confidence and friendship, and
the characteristics of my neighbours here do
not tempt me to form fresh intimacies among
them.
The neighbouring clergy, worthy as they are,
are so limited in their views that I should fear
any close or prolonged intercourse with them
might end by making mine as narrow. There
is one work only, as far as I can see, for which
they are eminently fitted, and that is, to preach
a crusade against the University. They would
begin it to-morrow, I doubt not, if they could
count with certainty on finding followers. How-
ever that may be, their enthusiastic and dis-
interested zeal is really comical. It amuses me
vastly, and has given me opportunity for some
curious physiological observations as to the
manner in which human opinion is formed,
and the guileless fashion in which simple-
minded men blind themselves to their real
motives.
The holiday task I have set myself is to carry
on my Hebrew studies. What I did last year
1 64 BROTHER AND SISTER
has enabled me to vanquish mere textual diffi-
culties and to enjoy the beauty of that pure
and ancient literature. I apply myself especially
to its poetry, and above all to the Psalms, the
most precious relics left us in that department.
They are an inexhaustible source of admiration,
and of scientific observation as well, to one who
recognises them as the earliest childish song of
the human race, and their language as that in
which mankind lisped its first accents. From
this point of view these ancient fragments are
of priceless value, and if any psychologist were
to endeavour to work out the theory ot the
faculty of spontaneous inspiration — the poet's
(one which has been less studied than almost
any other) — here it is that his materials should
be sought. For, to my thinking, this faculty was
a childish one which only existed in the ancient
world, and those who now call themselves poets
merely imitate as to its form. But the thing
itself, the poetic flame, is quenched utterly, and
our poets are driven to assuring us they are
inspired in splendid verse to hide their lack of
genuine inspiration. Hence it is that, as Pascal
says, honest folk see no distinction between a
poet's work and an embroiderer's.
I hope for your answer both to these few
lines, and to the letter I sent you on leaving
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 165
Paris, before we leave for St. Malo. This will
crown my holiday delights. I have left all
business details to our mother. But we discuss
them in leisurely fashion in our walks and talks.
May they all end well ! Farewell, my dear good
Henriette! You know how few human beings
share your Ernest's heart, and you know too
how large a place in that heart you hold.
E. R.
XII
Mlle. Ren an, Chateau de Clemensow, Zwier-
ziniecy Zamosc, Poland.
Paris, December i, 1844.
I have put off writing for some time, my dear
kind Henriette, because every day I have hoped
for a letter from you. I fancied I recollected
that in the last I received during my vacation
you promised I should have a long one during
the first days after I got back to the Seminary,
early in November, that is to say. I must have
been mistaken, for I have received nothing. As
so often happens, I must have taken my own
wishes for realities, and my yearning must have
turned to hope. So I wait on from one post
i66 BROTHER AND SISTER
to the next, and the visiting hours, once so
indifferent to me, now rouse my impatient in-
terest, because I hope they may bring Mdlle.
Ulliac s messenger, who has so often been the
bearer of good news to me. I still hope he
will come before long, but I will not further
delay the pleasure of a quiet talk with you.
Well, I parted from our dear mother some six
weeks since. I think I told you, dear Henriette,
what a joy it was to me to find her health and
cheerfulness unaltered. With what delight did
I hear her contrast her latter years with the
troubled and sorrow-laden days of her former
life, and attribute the change under God to her,
beloved children ! Truly our mother is the most
beautiful type of motherhood I can conceive.
She lives in us alone, she identifies herself with
us utterly. The only difference I noticed in her,
this last visit, was that her loneliness seems to
try her more than heretofore. She never said
so, but several little circumstances made me draw
that conclusion.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 167
XIII
Mlle. Renan, Chateau de Clemensow, Zwier-
ziniec, 7iear Zamosc, Poland,
Paris, December i, 1844.
The quiet and calm In which I spent the holi-
days has quite restored me from the state of
exhaustion into which I fell during the closing
months of last year. My health has never been
better, and indeed I am actually stronger now
than when I returned. Yet the first days were
very trying. I was astonished to find how pain-
ful the ordeal still was in spite of having gone
through it so often before. A whole world of
sad and painful thoughts, bitter and anxious
too, which had been slumbering within me
began to stir once more. After a day or two
however, when I had settled down to work
my nerves grew calmer. Moreover, dearest
Henriette, my position has undergone a change
this year, which seems to me important. Not
so much in itself as because of the influence I
already perceive it may have upon my future.
I have adverted to my Hebrew studies, and
the fairly rapid progress I have made with
1 68 BROTHER AND SISTER
them. In fact, though I have only been work-
ing at it for a year, our Hebrew professor, who
finds the two sets of lectures given here simul-
taneously more than he can manage, has in-
duced the principals to entrust one course
to me.
I had no hesitation about agreeing to his pro-
posal, as much for the sake of the scientific ad-
vantage it may bring me, as because I saw at
once it might lead to something else. Besides,
it is a principle of mine always to follow a path
that seems to open up before me, seeing I cannot
tell whither it may not lead me. Other people
take my view, and those who have congratulated
me have not failed to point out that the present
Professor of Hebrew at the Sorbonne began in
a precisely similar way. I have, indeed, already
had a hint about a professorship, or rather an
assistant-professorship (in the first instance), of
the same language, in a sort of Theological
Faculty just now projected by Monseigneur
Affre, the Archbishop of Paris. But the plan
appears so vague, both as to the time and
manner of its execution, that I hardly know
what to think of it. Yet I hear it said the
College will certainly be open within a year.
That remains to be seen. You will understand
I have not definitely refused. If the position
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 169
realised that which I conceive possible, without
daring to hope for, it would ensure me the life
of study and meditation I pine for, without forc-
ing me to join a religious society, from which I
so greatly shrink.
The professors, so I learn, would occupy an
excellent position in every way. Without putting
much confidence in this particular plan, I think
I may certainly conclude from my present cir-
cumstances, from the opinions of my fellow-
students and of my superiors, and from the
reputation my success in my college career,
reckoned somewhat remarkable, has brought me,
that I may dismiss all fear as to the nature of
my future life. And I feel protected from that
too common danger of self-delusion by the fact
that I have never known myself err on the side
of optimism. In any case, let me repeat, I build
no special hopes on this particular plan, of which
indeed I am inclined to doubt, for several reasons.
I confine myself to deducing certain possibilities
from the fact of its suggestion.
I was not a little astonished when the Superior,
in proposing I should undertake the duty I have
mentioned, expressed a desire I should accept a
pecuniary remuneration, in spite of the fact that
I am still following the general course of study,
and am not supposed to be anything more than
lyo BROTHER AND SISTER
an ordinary pupil. He first suggested a sum of
two hundred francs. You may imagine how
gladly I would have accepted, both on your
account and mine. But his proposal was couched
in a form which made me suspect that the Society
was willing to do this, and even more, for me, in
the hope of my one day rendering it valuable
service. And I know the same thing is being
done in the case of others who do intend to
join it.
This idea did not please me, and I carefully
avoided giving any colour to such a supposition.
With this object I refused to accept a fee. At
last, pressed by the Superior, I consented to take
a hundred francs, to cover the cost of several
important books necessary to the proper prepa-
ration of my lectures. To strike the balance
between us, he fixed the sum at a hundred and
fifty francs ; I preferred to sacrifice fifty, and
accept what is given as a friendly acknowledg-
ment of service rendered, rather than receive
payment as a future member of the Society.
An implied promise, nay, even a cause for grati-
tude to any Society alarms me, for the only way
to prove such gratitude, it seems to me, would
be to enroll oneself a member. It is better to
refuse a benefit than to expose oneself to any
risk of not being able to acknowledge it. I have
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 171
taken your consent for granted. For indeed,
dear Henriette, the matter, in a sense, concerns
you more than me.
I too have begun to work seriously at my
German this year. I have already made some
progress, and a few days ago, following the uni-
versal custom, I began Lessing's Fables. On the
whole, the queer construction of the language
and the anomalies of its irregular verbs are the
only real difficulties which strike me. I get much
useful help from some German comrades, who
advise me. I often think of the suggestion you
made some time ago as to my travelling, and I
should like to be fitted to accept a proposal of
that nature should it ever seem likely to serve
my purpose. I confess I incline more and more
to the idea.
Through all my occupations, my dear Henriette,
my heart turns lovingly to you and to my mother
in search of that repose it would seek in vain
elsewhere. It is a sad fate to have to stifle one
faculty by means of another, because one has no
chance of developing them all. God grant I may
never be driven to it. Sometimes I am half
tempted to try, but the thought of you and of
my mother saves me. I shall never really be in
my normal condition until I can unite study and
meditation with the constant enjoyment of family
172 BROTHER AND SISTER
affection and friendship. My last vacation was
perfect in this respect, and is the pattern of what
I should desire my future to be. And what air-
castles we did build, my poor dear mother and
I ! You were always an integral factor in every
dream. Tell me in your next what your views
are as to your own future, and as to returning to
France. I have often tried to guess them, but
I have nothing satisfactory to go by, and you
always avoid the subject with us. Farewell, my
dearest Henriette. You know the depth of my
affection for you. It is the only return I can
make for all you have done for me. I pray I
may some day prove my gratitude as you would
have me do it. — Your brother and your friend,
E. Ren AN.
XIV
Mlle. Renan, Chateau de Cldmensow, Zwier-
ziniec, near Zamosc, Poland.
Paris, February 13, 1845.
Your last letter, dearest Henriette, pained me
exceedingly by its account of the anxiety our
long silence had caused you. It was too bad
indeed to add that suffering to all you endure
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 173
for us. Indeed I cannot conceive how we came
to neglect writing to you, for our thoughts and
conversations were always full of you. You may
rely in future on my sparing you a misery of
which nobody knows the bitterness better than
myself.
I am a little beforehand in writing to - day,
because I want to confer seriously with you on
the future, concerning which some sort of decision
is growing imperative. Up till now I have pas-
sively followed the line traced by superior autho-
rity, and I cannot as yet find it in my heart to
regret having done so. Surely a man too young
to act for himself with sense and judgment cannot
be blamed if he does not resist a power frequently
far wiser than himself, and which is sure to find
its own means of enforcing obedience. But the
time has come at last when duty drives me to
take a personal share in the decision of my
future, and play an active part in shaping my
own destiny.
The suggestion I have already adverted to
of offering me the Hebrew professorship in the
Seminary for advanced study, which is to be the
outcome next year, so men declare, of Monseig-
neur Affre's scheme, has taken further shape.
The idea that the College would be opened so
soon seemed very chimerical to me, and the result
174 BROTHER AND SISTER
has proved me right. But I have been assured the
offer will be ultimately made, though only when
my time here has expired. I wonder this was
not realised from the first by those who spoke to
me of the plan. I assure you it is no disappoint-
ment to me. I am rather glad of it, indeed, for
I preserve my liberty, and besides, the general
characteristics of the proposed establishment do
not attract me. There is something belligerent
about them, and I have no taste for being a
party man. On the other hand, I see the time
approaching when I shall be called on to take
the irrevocable step connected with the priestly
career. Reasonable probabilities supported by
wise advice sufficed to guide my preliminary
action, but absolute certainty, founded not on
external influence and circumstances, but on my
own internal convictions, come to of my free and
personal will, has now grown indispensable. And
where am I to find it ?
The silence I have kept upon these painful
questions seems to have led you to believe all
my irresolution had disappeared. Alas! dear
Henriette, my silence was no true type of my
busy thoughts. Yet what was the use of harp-
ing on a trouble no human power can cure ?
Through all this painful uncertainty, my one
idea has always been, not to decide, to wait —
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 175
always to wait. Yet I begin to feel waiting is
out of season. Supposing I want to retrace my
steps when once my own delay has closed every
door behind me? So I have had to turn my
eyes towards some position which will give me
present freedom and future hope, while at the
same time it makes the transition easier, and
leaves me some way of escape should my sense
of duty force me to go back. All my present
plans are directed to the conciliation of those two
latter objects, and to you, my dearest Henriette,
to whom I owe, and gladly shall owe, everything,
I turn for help in carrying them out.
My thoughts have reverted to a suggestion
you have repeatedly made me, of accepting some
position which would couple the advantage of
avoiding hurry (as to my ultimate decision) with
that of the opportunity of studying life on a
wider stage, and often in a truer light, than I
can find in books, the only means I have as yet
possessed of studying it at all. This course
would also serve me to acquire the knowledge
without which a man can hardly solve the great
problem of life. If the plan is still feasible, I
believe this to be the most favourable moment
for putting it into execution. I am free from
any special engagement, my mind is fairly well
cultivated, I have studied closely, and possess a
176 BROTHER AND SISTER
good deal of varied information. I have reached
an age at which the first wind is not Hkely to
blow me where it listeth, and yet I have suffi-
cient flexibility of character to realise what is
good and beautiful, wherever met, and try to
copy it. The accomplishment ot such a project
would fitly supplement an education still incom-
plete on certain points, and be a pleasant mode
of passing out of my training stage into my actual
active life.
Besides the intellectual advantages referred to,
it would be the simplest means of inducing the
superiors of this house to accept a refusal which
may be merely temporary. Prudence would for-
bid my disobliging them, even if common honesty
did not call on me to show them gratitude. And
then, too, I naturally desire to relieve those per-
sons who have sacrificed so much to help me as
soon as possible.
But as it was you, dear Henriette, who first
suggested this idea, you will realise all its advan-
tages as fully as I can. I am quite ignorant as
to the nature of the situation you then thought
of for me, or how and whether time may have
modified your original plan. So I abstain from
entering into details. I give you full and free
authority to act for me. Everything you have
done, so far, has been so good for me, that I
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 177
cannot do better than place myself unreservedly
in your hands. I need hardly tell you that the
position which would leave me the greatest
leisure for private study, or which would only
involve my helping others to learn what would
be useful to myself, is the one I should prefer.
For my own intellectual progress will ever be my
dearest object. The subjects I would rather
undertake, and upon which I feel I could impart
considerable information, are classical literature
and languages, Oriental tongues, science, both
mathematical and physical, history (though my
studies in that direction are not so deep), and
above all philosophy. Indeed, my knowledge
of my own facility and my information on various
subjects inspires me with the confident hope that
I shall shortly be equal to directing another per-
son in any course of study he may select. As
to teaching elementary classics, I could make up
my mind to it if necessary. The locality of my
choice would be that in which thought is most
advanced, as Germany (the university towns),
for instance, and all the more so because I shall
soon have a pretty close acquaintance with the
language of that country, and that I have been
struck by the surprising harmony between my
own ideas and the mental standpoint of the chief
German philosophers and authors. I leave the
M
178 BROTHER AND SISTER
whole business, dear Henriette, In your maternal
care. I approve beforehand of everything you
do, accepting whatever you may settle for me as
the work of a beneficent Providence which has
always used me well, and chosen you for Its
active instrument.
Yet It might be wiser, after all, to do nothing
decisive as yet. I cannot quite reckon on what
the next two or three months may bring forth.
Some proposal might be made me here which I
could not refuse without an open rupture. If
you can give youself out as not being certain of
my consent, do what you will. If not, I will
undertake to give you a definite answer In a week
or two. Uncertain as things are, I still desire to
Inform you fully of them, so that you may advise
me and direct events accordingly. I think the
most propitious moment to enter on this new
phase of existence would be the opening of next
(academic) year. Yet I should not object to
spending a good many months of it here. The
facilities granted me for attending various courses
of lectures at the Sorbonne and the College de
France, makes my stay here useful and very
tolerable.
What plans, dearest Henriette! and all for a
future I may never see ! The thought of death
haunts me continually, I know not why. But It
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 179
does not sadden me, fortunately. I am beginning
to face life more resolutely, though doubts still
weigh me down. It is so trying to go onward
in the dark, one knows not whither. There are
moments when I regret man should have been
left what little power he has over his own destiny ;
I would rather it were utterly ruled for him,
or else entirely dependent on individual action ;
whereas now we are strong enough to struggle
against our fate, and yet have not sufficient power
to direct it, so that the shadow of liberty we
possess only serves to bring us misery. Then,
again, I console myself by the thought that God
orders all things for the best. Farewell, my dear
kind Henriette; my hours of trouble are cheered
and brightened by your affection. Oh, when
shall we be able to tell each other all our thoughts
at leisure ? You know how sincerely and tenderly
I love you. E. Renan.
Our mother is very well and in good spirits.
During the holidays I mentioned the possibility
of our new plan to her, and she did not seem
averse to it, taking it to be a mere temporary
thing. The thought of that beloved mother
of ours is very sweet to me, for she is mixed
up with all my dreams of happiness. Yet
sometimes it breaks my heart to think of her.
i8o BROTHER AND SISTER
Great Heaven ! what would become of her sup-
posing matters take a certain turn? How cruel
it is that the action of a mere youth should pro-
duce results of such importance in public estima-
tion. I would sacrifice everything, even my life's
happiness, to my mother. Everything save duty !
I pray that may not force me to what no other
power would make me do. Farewell, beloved
Henriette !
XV
February 28, 1845.
I was in the act of writing to you, my beloved
Ernest, when your last epistle was put into my
hands some hours ago. I put aside the three
or four pages I had already written to answer
your affectionate letter, every word and every
thought in which has sunk deep into my heart.
Dear much-loved friend ! it is twenty-two years
to-day since you first opened your eyes on a
world which has been as full of bitterness to you
as it has been to me. Since that moment, never
an hour has passed in which you have not been
my first and tenderest thought. Oh, you are
right indeed to turn to me when grief oppresses
you ! It proves you understand how much I
love you ; you pay back all I have given you
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST i8i
with usury. Yes, my Ernest, before you go fur-
ther in the career you have entered, before you
take another and an irrevocable step in that
direction, your mind, as you justly feel, must be
absolutely freed from all exterior influence, and
your decision must be based on your own per-
sonal knowledge, and come to of your own free
will. Now, to ensure that freedom, you must
escape, for a while at all events, from the atmos-
phere in which you have lived up to the present ;
and to acquire the necessary knowledge, it is all-
important that you should make some acquaint-
ance with the world in which your life has to be
spent ; for there are certain things no book on
earth can teach you. The idea I suggested is
not more difficult nor impossible to realise now
than when first I spoke of it, and once I know
the plan is to your taste, you may rely, dear
brother, on my leaving no stone unturned to
carry it out.
Be quite easy as to the secrecy which is so
imperatively necessary to prevent anything like
responsibility for you, and to avoid compro-
mising your already difficult position. Every-
thing shall be done in my name alone. I will
see you are left entirely free ; you will not
appear in the matter at all. It is I who will
have planned and done the whole thing.
i82 BROTHER AND SISTER
Further, so as to guard against any possible
indiscretion, I will not, in the first instance
anyhow, make use of Monsieur D , who
first mentioned the subject to me. I have
other acquaintances whom I can very well ask
to oblige me. I will get it done, be sure, but
without committing you personally, until I am
certain of your approval and consent. Whether
I succeed or not, I am firmly convinced you
ought to be quite free of your present engage-
ments for the whole of the next twelve months.
Do you think the idea of your living indepen-
dently and studying in Paris or abroad for a
year frightens me ? Not at all, my dear Ernest ;
and if I do not succeed in finding what I want
for you, I shall certainly come back to it. Every-
thing I possess is at your service ; I can afford
even that for you, and I shall be too happy
to spend something more, if it brings back a
little calm to that poor heart of yours, which
I can read even from this lonely spot, and
which I know to be so full of suffering and
agitation. My heart ached at the thought that
Death was in your mind, and that its prospect
did not sadden you. Alas! dearest, who would
desire to live ! if one thought of oneself only ?
But does such love as mine for you count
nothing in your sight.'* Do you never think,
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 183
when you dwell with pleasure on such thoughts,
of the two women whose dearest hopes and
tenderest affections are centred on you? One
of your mothers indeed you have persuaded of
your happiness, but does not the other, she
who now weeps with you so bitterly, deserve
that you should gather up your courage when
you think of her ? Cheer up, my Ernest, at
the thought that you are not alone in the
world, that you have a sister, on whom also
fate has laid its heavy hand, who is ready to
share your sorrows with you, softening them
as far as is permitted to her, and who will
always find her sweetest consolation in your
love. I have played Cassandra's dreary part
in all this business of yours. I foresaw and
foretold the cruel doubts which now assail you.
Nobody would believe me, and I was not strong
enough to fight it out alone.
No, dear child, no ; public opinion, blind and
unjust though it may be, is not so cruel as to
attach a responsibility, the thought of which
draws such a bitter cry from you, to the action
of a youth. I have known several honourable
and much-respected men who shrank from the
fetters now proposed to you, and nobody has
dreamed of making their delicate conscientious-
ness, too rare, alas ! into a crime. What honest
i84 BROTHER AND SISTER
man could dare it nowadays, when those who
should only speak the words of peace and
goodwill are so often found in the arena of
party quarrelling and strife ? So do not let that
thought dismay you. I do not desire to suggest
or advise a rupture, but should you be driven
into one by your convictions and your own
conscience, fear not that the only people whose
opinion is worth a thought will blame you.
Do not let pecuniary difficulties trouble you
either. I am prepared to remove them all, at
least in so far as my modest means permit me.
As to the matter of finding you some other
outlook, your brother and I will help you in
that too, and we should, I hope, succeed — not,
perhaps, to the full extent of my desire ; but
after all, my Ernest, would not any position en-
suring food and independence, those two prime
necessities of existence, be welcome, for a time
at all events ? Once more I say it, dear brother,
I do not desire to incite you to any particular
course ; I am only anxious — this indeed is my
paramount object — that you should have two
years' freedom, during which you may judge
calmly of the proposal now before you. If after
that you desired to take up your old life again,
1 should not have a word to say, seeing you
* would do it of your own personal will and know-
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 185
ledge. I cannot think such an arrangement
would cost our mother a tear, for I can con-
ceive nothing more precious to her than your
repose and peace of mind. Besides, as you
have realised already, when a thing becomes a
duty, every other consideration, however deli-
cate, must bow to its imperious law. When it
becomes necessary, we can canvass this tender
and most important point more amply.
I do not think it necessary, dear brother, to
sum up what I have expressed so fully to you.
You realise, I trust, that you have my full sup-
port and loving help whatever happens. I flatter
myself I foresee every probable difficulty, and
should others arise, they would find me ready
to face them with fresh courage. So do not
be disheartened, my beloved child. Life is full
of hard trials. Yours have been early and bitter.
But remember you are not left alone to bear
them. Whenever you think any indiscretion
concerning the steps I am about to take for
you less likely to cause trouble, let me know,
so that I may ask the help of the person who
first advised my inducing you to leave an in-
terval of time between finishing your studies
and taking vows. Until you give me leave, I
will not mention it to him ; I will work through
others. But I think that even in his case I
i86 BROTHER AND SISTER
could make a preliminary inquiry without com-
promising you in any way. I will see about it.
You understand, of course, that I have several
strings to my bow, and that in any case you
will have leisure for private study. Ernest, dear
child, would I could see you, if only for an
hour! I know you are borne down with sad-
ness and anxiety, and I am hundreds of miles
away from you. Oh, my God, bestow on him
the comfort I am not there to give ! Speak
words of consolation to his heart, grant him
Thy succour and protection !
You will easily conclude from this letter of
mine how anxiously I shall wait for news of
you. Write to me, then, whenever it is possible,
and write, above all, should any fresh sorrow
come to darken your soul. I seem to antici-
pate nothing now but trouble.
I had news of our mother on the very day
which brought me your letter of December ist,
and to-day again I have had a letter from each
of you. She says she is well, very well in-
deed, and a line from Emma still further sets
my mind at rest as to her health and her sur-
roundings. The previous post had brought me
news, too, of our brother and his wife. They,
at all events, are happy. May they always re-
main so! Give our mother news of me. Tell
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 187
her I kiss her fondly, and that I have her letter,
and wait a little before answering it, as she
will know I am well through you. It is very
late, dear child, and yet I find it hard to say
good-bye. Farewell ! Be of good courage and
trust in those who love you. You cannot be
utterly miserable in life while you possess such
affection as that I bear you. I have poured my
whole existence, my Ernest, into yours. They
shall never be parted now, believe me. — Yours
ever, and with my whole soul, H. R.
XVI
Mlle. Re nan, Chateau de CUmensow, Zwier-
ziniec, near Zamosc, Poland.
Paris, April w, 1845.
How appropriately your last letter arrived, my
dear good sister, to comfort my poor heart and
raise my hopes. No, indeed, God has not for-
saken me while He spares me your faithful gene-
rous love. So set your mind at rest, dear
Henriette, as to the secret suffering and cruel
perplexity your heart has guessed in mine. I
am too straightforward in my dealings with you
to deny my soul has been most severely tried.
1 88 • BROTHER AND SISTER
but your affection, so tenderly and effectually
expressed, suffices to temper all its sorrows.
And indeed, dear Henriette, I never absolutely
lost every gleam of hope. Even in those rare
moments when death seemed the only possible
solution of all my ills — well, even then there
was a certain calm in the recesses of my inmost
being. It is at such moments that one feels the
blessing of being capable of elevated thought.
If happiness were man's sole end, life would be
unendurable by those to whom Fate grudges it.
But when one's affections are set on things above,
the tempests of these lower regions toss one less
sorely. I drew consolation from the thought that
I was suffering for conscience' and for virtue's
sake. The figure of Jesus in the Gospels, so
pure, so noble, so calm, so far beyond the com-
prehension of his devoutest adorers, was especi-
ally supporting to me. When that sublime ideal
of suffering and virtue was conjured up before
me, I felt my strength return, and I was even
ready to suffer again. '' My God, if it be possible,
let this cup pass from me. Nevertheless not my
will, but Thine, be done.'*
I must begin by telling you, dearest Henriette,
that, in accordance with your advice, and with
what appeared to me my duty, I have refused to
become a sub-deacon this year, as was suggested
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 189
to me. This step, as you are perhaps aware, is
looked on as irrevocable. I am convinced my
action in the matter will have no disagreeable
result. Before beginning to discuss our plans, I
should like to complete the picture I have already
given you of my present condition of mind, so
that you may thereby direct the measures you
are good enough to take on my behalf. I do
not remember ever having set forth the reasons
which have made me cease to incline towards
the ecclesiastical career. I should like to do so
to-day with all the clearness of a frank and up-
right nature addressed to an intelligence capable
of understanding it. Well, here it is in a nut-
shell. I do not believe enough. While the
Catholic faith was the incarnation of all truth
to me, its priesthood was invested in my eyes
with a brilliant fascination, compact of dignity
and beauty. Though some accidental circum-
stances, merely human, may have somewhat
checked the spontaneous impulse of my soul,
they were mere clouds, which passed away as
soon as I came to understand that every con-
dition of life involves such trials, and some far
worse ones. At this very moment I am dis-
posed to scorn them more than ever, and if God
were to grant me that divine inspiration which
puts its finger on the truth and makes all
I90 BROTHER AND SISTER
doubt impossible, from that instant out I would
consecrate myself to the service of Catholicism,
and would face, not death indeed — for in these
days that does not enter the question — but
scorn and reproach of every kind to defend a
cause which had gained my full conviction of
its truth.
But all this time my brain was working des-
perately. Once roused, my reason demanded its
legitimate rights, which every time and every
school of thought have granted. Then I fell
to verifying Christian truth on rational grounds.
God, who sees the secrets of my heart, knows
whether I did it faithfully and carefully. Who,
indeed, would dare to pass light and trifling judg-
ment on doctrines before which eighteen centuries
have knelt? If I had any weakness to contend
with, it was that I was favourably rather than
hostilely inclined towards them. Had I not
everything to make me lean towards being a
Christian — my future well-being, long habit, the
attractive power of the teaching in which I had
been brought up, which had tinged every idea in
my existence ? But all had to give way when
once I saw the truth. God forbid I should say
Christianity is false, that word would prove my
intelligence very limited. Untruth could never
bear so fair a fruit. But it is one thing to say
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 191
it is not false, and quite another to assert its
absolute truth, at least as those who profess to
be its interpreters understand it.
I shall always love it and admire it. It has
been my childhood's food, my boyhood's joy.
It has made me what I am ; its moral law (I
mean that of the Gospels) will always rule my
life. I shall never cease to loathe those sophists
(for such do exist) who attack it by calumny
and dishonest means. They understand it even
less than those who follow it in blind obedience.
Above all, Jesus will always be my God. But \
when from this pure Christianity (which really/
is reason personified) we come down to the
narrow shabby ideas, to all the mythical stories, ?
that fall to pieces at the touch of candid criti- ^^
cism . . . Henriette, forgive me for saying this
to you ! These thoughts do not express my
absolute opinion, but I am full of doubt, and
it is not in my power to see things other than
as they appear to me. And yet they tell me
I must accept the whole thing, that unless I
do I am no Catholic! Oh, my God, my God!
then what am I to be ? Here you see my
condition, my poor Henriette. . . . All these
speculations are nothing as between you and
me. But I want you to understand my posi-
tion. Yes, I say it again, this is the one bar
192 BROTHER AND SISTER
to my taking orders. Humanly speaking, it
would suit me. The life would not be very
far removed from that I should lead in any
case ; it would ensure me a future quite in ac-
cordance with my tastes ; everything about it
would seem to unite in making matters easy
to me. I may even say to you that the re-
putation I have already acquired would end by
raising me above the insipid common herd. But
duty comes before everything. My mother !
that is the one thought that breaks my heart.
But there is no help for it.
Let us turn to our plans, dear Henriette.
I think you should go forward, but gently, and
above all not letting my action appear as any-
thing but a matter of delay in certain quarters.
This is really true in fact, and if I had to make
a decided retrograde step, I would yet wait
awhile. Supposing I did not so wait, and that
further reflection brought a revulsion of opinion
with it, what should I do ? I will never accept
your proposal of a year of independent study.
God knows the idea in itself is" pleasing, but 1
should be too wretched at the thought of all
it would cost you.
No, dearest Henriette, I am very well off
here, where I am treated with every kindness.
And I can conscientiously stay on, because I
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 193
only doubt as yet, and if all the doubters were ]
to depart, the place would soon be very empty. |
An ordinary tutorship would only suit me in
so far as it offered facilities for my own intel-
lectual improvement ; for otherwise it would
not do me much future service. I have some-
times thought of graduating at the University.
A few weeks of study would suffice to ensure
my Bachelor's degree. But I have my doubts
about the University. Not that I agree with
the exaggerated abuse I hear some people
shower on it, but I know there is a good deal
of inquisitorial interference, and that everything
there goes by favour. I do not care to struggle
out of one bondage only to submit myself to
another. I have lately perceived what may be
another opening for me. I go twice a week to
M. Quatremere's lectures on Oriental languages
at the College de France. As he has only four
or five pupils, I soon made his acquaintance,
helped thereto by an introduction from our chief
Hebrew professor at the Seminary, who has
scientific relations with him. As he is practi-
cally at the head of his own department of study
in France, I should hope he might push me in
it, if he chose. It is one which I should espe-
cially like, as I have made considerable progress
in it. But I should not settle on any of these
N
194 BROTHER AND SISTER
plans without studying them more closely. That
would be rendered quite possible, if you succeed
in carrying out the project you are now working
at for me. On that all the rest must depend.
So I just wait, dear Henriette, to hear the
result of your efforts. So long as the authori-
ties of this Seminary and my mother remain in
ignorance, and that the affair takes the aspect
I have already mentioned, that of mere delay
and self-examination, we need have no fears.
Would I had time to tell you all my thoughts !
It makes me miserable to think it takes us a
whole month to exchange a single idea! Fare-
well, my dear good Henriette ; on you rest all
my hopes of happiness. May I some day be
able to repay all you have done for me ! The
uncertainty of my future saddens me deeply.
At all events my deepest tenderness is yours.
It is the only return I am absolutely sure of
making you, E. Ren an
XVII
June I, 1845.
Nothing can increase the love I bear you, my
beloved Ernest. But had that been possible,
your last letter would have been the surest
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 195
means to do it. Yes, my dearest, tell me
your full mind on every subject, unfailingly and
completely, and be very sure your feelings will
not only be understood, but shared, and with
the tenderest sympathy. It is a month already
since this last precious proof of your confidence
reached my hands, and if I have not yet told
you all I felt on receiving it, dear boy, it is
because I desired to wait for the answer to a
letter I had sent to Vienna, and in which I
asked a resident there, who is quite devoted to
my service, to assist me in taking certain steps
which I detailed to him. I have that answer
now, and will shortly refer to it. First of all,
dear Ernest, 1 must tell you that, guided by
your last letter, I have decided not to apply to
Monsieur des . What we look at from the
point of view of our hearts and consciences is
to him, as to many others, a mere matter of
expediency. I found this hard to believe, but
I have had to submit to proofs. I could not
reckon on his discretion with regard to the
people about you ; indeed, I am pretty sure he
would have spoken to them in the very first
instance. I therefore turned my attention to
another quarter, and the answer just received
announces that prompt steps have been taken,
the result of which we have now only to await.
196 BROTHER AND SISTER
Keep your mind easy. You do not appear.
Everything has been done in my personal name,
and, whatever comes of it, you are in no way
bound. The whole thing is being carried on,
as such a business, dear Ernest, should be, with
the utmost prudence and circumspection.
Now, my dear, let us come back to your letter,
and let us consider whether, according to what
you tell me, the idea of a tutorship is the best
for you. How could I blame you, dear Ernest,
because there is a doubt in your mind.'^ Does
not my own experience teach me that we have
no right to refuse to hearken to what our con-
science tells us, what our love of truth inspires ?
Nay, more ; once that voice of conscience speaks,
we cannot close our ears — we must obey its com-
mand. So, my poor boy, you may be certain
nobody can sympathise in all you confide to me
better than I.
I will say nothing as to the source of all your
agitation, for I sincerely believe that in such a
delicate matter every external influence, even
that of a man's nearest and dearest, should
vanish and be dumb.
So I take up the question at the point where
your mind strikes me as having been at the
moment your last letter was written, and I con-
fess I can hardly think, according to that glimpse
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 197
of it, that you can ever go back to your original
views and early tendencies. When certain ideas
have been roused, they always leave some trace,
and the very slightest trace, my Ernest, should
suffice to stop you short. This conviction leads
me to inquire whether a tutorship, advantageous
as it certainly would be at present, would be as
much so for your future ? I decide nothing ; I
merely submit the considerations raised by this
question, so all -important for us both, to your
own judgment. Such a position would have the
great advantage of restoring you your liberty of
thought and action without shock, disturbance, or
rupture, perhaps even without formal explanation,
for a time, at all events. It would also give you
that opportunity we have so often discussed, of
learning and watching life on a wider stage, and
perfecting your studies by dint of comparison.
But if, as I, dear Ernest, am disposed to think,
you are tending towards a different career from
that on which some would fain have seen you
embark, I fear a tutorship may debar you from
entering any other line, while in itself offering
only a very limited outlook. You speak of your
Oriental studies, of your acquaintance with M.
Quatremere, of the possibility of his helping
you to some advancement in that direction. Is
there no danger, dear Ernest, that if you went
198 BROTHER AND SISTER
far away you might break off relations with the
learned professor you mention, and make it
impossible to renew the acquaintance ? I fear
it, I must say, and that reason especially pre-
vents my desire for the success of my pre-
sent efforts being very keen. The course of
independent study I suggested to you, and
after which I still hanker, would allow of the
continuance, and even of the increase, of this
intercourse.
It would, I know, be symptomatic of possible
rupture in the eyes of those whose interest is
all in favour of keeping their hold on you, and
who would be sure to take fright at once. I
ask your careful consideration of these two ideas,
dear Ernest. They may be summed up thus.
A tutorship would never give rise to any suspi-
cion of hesitation on your part, and it would be
very easy, after the lapse of two or three years,
to prepare every one's mind, even our mother's,
for a change which might be more shocking if
it were sudden. But, granting the alteration in
your ideas to be fairly decided, would not such
an occupation, causing you the loss of two or
three years, make any other career difficult of
attainment? Consider this, my dear, my excel-
lent Ernest, while my friends are looking about
them, and let me know all your thoughts and
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 199
feelings without the slightest reserve. As to the
delicacy which prevents your accepting my offer
regarding your studying independently, let me
argue that the ensuring of your future is my
first thought, my dearest wish, the one aim of
all my labour. How, then, can the consideration
of a trifling outlay affect me, when I remember
your whole life depends on it? A steady and
hard-working youth can live for a year in Paris
on twelve hundred francs. If, to ensure your
future, that sum had to be doubled, or even
trebled, believe me, dear brother, I should not
feel a moment's hesitation ; I should be too
overjoyed to see the way clear before you. All
this, of course, would be absolutely between our-
selves. Have we not agreed long since to hold
all things in common ?
Our mother writes me you have decided not
to take any step towards irrevocable vows this
year. I assure you solemnly this neither sur-
prises nor upsets her. She will easily, with
time, be led to take other views for you, and
for that purpose your temporary residence abroad
would be of special service ; yet, dear Ernest,
it would not do to turn our backs on any other
plan merely on account of this consideration. I
cannot believe our mother would take a change
of resolution on your part as hardly as you fear.
200 BROTHER AND SISTER
Having always foreseen what has happened, I
have repeatedly told her she must expect it,
and she has invariably replied that her greatest
desire was that you should act in perfect inde-
pendence. So pray be less uneasy on that
head ; and besides, dear friend, you must remem-
ber this is a matter on which there can be no
quibbling. ** Duty, sublime word ! thou prof-
ferest no pleasant thing to man ! Thou speakest
of sacrifice alone, and yet alone thou teachest
him his dignity, his freedom ! " Do you recog-
nise Kant in this maxim ?
I write on my arrival at Warsaw, where I am
again for five or six weeks. The journey, the
trouble of settling down, the interruptions of
town-life, have all added to my work and de-
layed my letter, which distresses me much, my
Ernest, when I think how you are longing for
it. I write amidst constant interruption, for my
most longing desire is to send you a word or
two of quiet, tender affection. How I do thank
you, dear brother, for having hearkened to my
voice and that of your own conscience, and
refused to take the engagements which were
being already pressed upon you. I dare not
say more. My letter is very reticent, because I
am convinced the privacy of my correspondence
is not respected. May God and your own
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 201
reason inspire you. May your love of what is
good and true suggest the counsels I am too
far away to give you. Ernest, will the time
ever come when there shall be free and uncon-
strained intercourse between these two hearts
of ours, which will understand each other so
well, and so delight in their mutual support
and enlightenment ? What a fair dream ! Fare-
well, my well beloved. Believe you are always in
my thoughts. Believe I watch over you with the
tenderest anxiety, the most devoted affection. —
Yours always, and with all my heart,
Henriette Ren an.
I hope this letter will reach you without delay,
as I post it in Warsaw. I shall be here till
towards July loth ; so if you write to me in the
course of June or early in July, you must address
your letter —
Mademoiselle R.,
Zamoyski Palace ^
Warsaw,
Manage, my dear, so that I have your answer
before I go back to the country. I will let you
know as soon as I have any news about what is
being done for us in Germany. If you do not
feel certain about my direction after 2nd or 3rd
July, use the Warsaw address. If I am gone,
202 BROTHER AND SISTER
my letters will be sent after me ; and they must
come this way in any case. — Affectionate greet-
ings again, dear Ernest.
XVIII
Mlle. Renan, Zamoyski Palace^
Warsaw, Poland.
VA.^is,/uly 21, 1845.
I thank my God, dear Henriette, for giving
me one human being who understands me !
Yes, in you alone I find the perfect compre-
hension of my mental state which guesses the
delicate shades I cannot express, and the honest
broad-minded appreciation that never seeks to
decry intentions which I sincerely believe pure,
though many people will interpret them so ill.
How little do I care for their opinion, so long
as I have the assent of my own conscience, and
of those persons whose judgment I value, and
while the purity of my motives is ratified by
the testimony of one whose moral sense far
surpasses that of many who are renowned for
their great powers of mind ! At all events, I
shall have acted as few men in my position
have done. I shall have fought boldly against
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 203
a fate which would seem to be my irrevocable
destiny, and to which I have seen many others
succumb. Shall I ever be able to rise above
it? However that may be, the duty to which
I shall have sacrificed my all will console every
sorrow that may await me. What a wonderful
decree of Providence it is, whereby the sweetest
and purest joy is hidden beneath the hardest
sacrifices man is called to make ! Happy he who
has courage to pay the price !
Your reflections on the alternative courses
now before me would occur to any reasonable
man in my position, and are all familiar to me.
The tutorship in Germany supplies present
need perfectly, but does nothing towards the
future. The other plan, which would involve
my taking a more decided step in the direction
of some one or other career, offers many pre-
sent difficulties, but is more likely to secure
my ultimate ends. This is my exact position
at the present moment. From it we must
draw our practical conclusions. Besides the
German tutorship, three principal courses are
open to me, about which I must have more
positive information before I can decide any-
thing whatever. I have often mentioned my
intercourse with M. Quatremere ; it has grown
closer since the closing weeks of the year,
204 BROTHER AND SISTER
when I ended by being his only auditor, and
I had made up my mind to open the subject
of my intentions with him after one of his
last lectures, when an unlucky incident came
in the way. He published a sudden announce-
ment that he could not conclude the course,
and all my plans were thus upset. But I am
resolved to make an effort in that direction
early next year. It will not be a very rapid
road to travel perhaps, but it is a sure and
safe one, and the small number of competitors
I should find on it would spare me that inces-
sant and selfish rivalry, the scourge of every
other career, and so distasteful to the ethical
and philosophic mind, which, content with being
what it is, has no desire to fight or struggle
with the vulgar herd.
A second course, to which I am more in-
clined, has been suggested by one of my
professors, who has certainly given me the
impression of being more just and impartial
in his views than any of his fellows. He is
clear my proper sphere is at the 6 cole Nor-
male. Such advice, given at St. Sulpice, and
under present circumstances, would seem to
prove him pretty liberal - minded. The chief
difficulty about taking it evidently lies in the
ecclesiastical nature of my past education. But
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 205
that does not seem to me insuperable. In the
first place, I believe the University authorities
would make no objection on this score, if I
manifested any intention of entering their ranks.
Numerous precedents convince me of this fact,
and hence a passage in my last letter, the con-
ciseness of which may have rendered it unin-
telligible, seemed to indicate that my joining
the University, and my entrance into its teach-
ing staff, might probably be simultaneous. If
that turned out to be impossible, it still remains
with me to enter myself, paying the ordinary
fees, at one of those preparatory establishments
where one is taken as having got through the
University courses of Philosophy and Rhetoric
in a period of six months. During which time
I would prepare for my admission examination.
This idea attracts me greatly. For, as I think
I have often said before, my intellectual habit,
now of long standing, and favoured as it has
been by the life I have led, makes study and
meditation quite indispensable to me. Man
does not live by bread alone, and I believe I
could do better without bodily than without
mental food. Public teaching would leave me
free to satisfy this need, not perhaps so fully
and completely as in the case of an indepen-
dent savant who can study and reflect in
2o6 BROTHER AND SISTER
absolute independence — such a condition, which
would be my dream, is almost unattainable in
France nowadays by anybody who has to barter
his brains to earn his bread. But at all events
it would give me the chance of laying out my
life after my own tastes, not to mention the fact
that the professorial body holds individual liberty
in considerable respect.
There are, as you know, three sections in the
Ecole Normale, Literature, Mathematical and
Physical Science, and Philosophy. I would take
up the third, which I know most about, and
which has more interest for me than the others.
Those who know me well assure me I should
rise high. The difficulties of the sudden change,
the impossibility of hiding behind any pretext
of its being temporary, the anathemas of the
clergy, who are certain to denounce me as a
heretical schismatic, would not give me pause,
except in so far as they would cause sorrow to
my mother. That is a consideration before which
I feel everything must bow. This seems to me
a duty, and even if it struck me as a weakness,
I do not know that I should be strong enough
to overcome it. But I hope I should find some
means of stilling her fears by giving her other
hopes. I will sound her on that delicate point
during the vacation.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 207
I have mentioned yet a third course, my
dearest Henriette, which might lead to some
opening for me. But it is not very clear before
me as yet ; it lies in the region of possibilities.
I have said nothing so far to M. Dupanloup
either of my present condition or my future plans,
and I can say nothing at present, for he is not
in Paris. Well, I believe him to be large-minded
enough to take some interest in both. I know
several young men, former fellow-students of my
own, who have been in the same position as
that I am in now, and whom he has helped
immensely, either by backing them up in what-
ever career they embraced, or by opening some
door or other before them. He is generous and
noble -hearted by nature, and he has a great
deal of influence even amongst those whom his
party position compels him to oppose. And, you
know, the help of the opposite party is often well
worth having.
I conclude, then, that I had better not settle
anything until I have spoken to him. Yet your
proposal, dearest Henriette, is certainly the one
that tempts me most. The advantage of keep-
ing everything quiet for the time, at least ; the
pleasure of visiting Germany, and of completing
my views of life by seeing it on a larger stage ;
the opportunity for knowing men and things,
2o8 BROTHER AND SISTER
would outweigh every other consideration, even
if I did not instinctively incline to follow the im-
petus given me by your hand, which has always
guided me so faithfully.
I have taken no official step as yet within
this Seminary. Only three of the chiefs are sup-
posed to be in my confidence, and they are under
the impression that I am coming back next year
— at the beginning of the academic year, at all
events. As for our mother and Alain, I have
not breathed a word to either of them.
This, then, is the state of things at the pre-
sent moment, dearest Henriette. Their natural
and practical outcome appears to me as follows :
I cannot decide anything before the beginning
of the next academic year, because I cannot have
a quantity of information indispensable to my
decision before that date. My idea would be
to return here towards the end of the vacation,
and then take some decisive action. I would
consult M. Quatremere and M. Dupanloup ; I
would make inquiries about the Ecole Normale ;
I would settle everything with the heads of this
Seminary, for my position obliges me to treat
them with great consideration, and thus I hope
to have come to some decision by the early days
of November. As you may imagine, I shall not
be sorry to leave all these plans rather undefined
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 209
while I am with my mother. I could not conceal
a positive resolution from her if I had made
one. And I can settle it all with her better from
a distance than when we are together.
But a great question, and one I feel very un-
certain about, is whether I should re-enter this
Seminary or not ? Seeing I have decided not
to remain in it, the idea of coming back to it
seems questionable. I should even feel it to be
a matter of conscience, if the heads of the estab-
lishment had not strongly pressed me to return,
in spite of my straightforward and clear expla-
nation of my ultimate intentions. I know there
would be certain advantages in coming back — I
should have more facilities for making arrange-
ments with M. Dupanloup and the authorities
here, and then it would calm our good mother's
feelings.
But truly, why I know not, I shrink from doing
it. To come back for a few weeks like that
seems to me rather insincere, and even under-
hand. My vacation experience will help to decide
the point. There is a good hotel close to St.
Sulpice, about which I have already inquired. I
could spend three weeks or a month there very
cheaply, and I am sure that time would quite
suffice to enable me to make a thoroughly well-
considered decision. It is the expense that
2IO BROTHER AND SISTER
frightens me, dearest Henriette, and if you are
not able to give me an answer about the tutorship
in the course of a few months, I could apply to
the authorities here, who would receive me with
open arms. For when I touched on the point
before, they did everything in their power to
overcome my scruples about it. Your letter will
have great influence as to what I decide.
In two days more, my dear Henriette, I start
to join our dear mother. This brings another
difficulty which I had to think over long before
the right line grew clear. Here is the one which
recommends itself to me. Almost as soon as I
arrive, I will mention our German plan to my
mother. I am certain she will be pleased with
it. I spoke of it vaguely once before, and she
seemed much inclined to it. When I told her
later that I was learning German, she herself re-
marked that it would be useful for me when I
carried out my plan, and above all, she added, it
would bring me nearer you. The poor dear soul
fancies that once I am in Germany we must be
close to each other. Would to God the idea
were something more than the dream of her
loving heart. Further, I will let her perceive
that many doubts are stirring within me, "that I
might, perhaps," &c., &c. In a word, I will set
the matter before her as I did some six months
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 211
since ; that is, as an excellent situation for me to
occupy while I look about me before settling
down for good. But I shall tell her nothing
whatever of our other plans, and indeed I think
it very probable the German one will gain the
day. In any case, even if it does break down,
it will have served her as a stepping-stone to
more decisive and disquieting resolutions, which
it might be imprudent to put forward at first.
The letter I expect to receive from you during
the vacation will do much to make her take
the view I hope for. I entreat you to con-
form to the idea I have suggested, and which I
believe the only practicable one. Write as you
would have written six months since. Describe
the post as offering a useful means of spending
the years during which I cannot come to any
irrevocable determination. Do not appear to
imagine the possibility, or at all events the ex-
istence, of any other hypothesis. Be sure I shall
understand all you say. If you think I should
not re-enter the Seminary, you will suggest that
course, only advising me to go back to Paris
towards the close of the vacation, so as to settle
it with the authorities. As to the tutorship, you
will describe it as it is, but as being very nearly
a dead certainty, provided I have patience enough
to wait for it.
212 BROTHER AND SISTER
As regards the 6cole Normale, if you approve
that plan, you will advise me to take my degrees.
I shall know that means to take steps about that
business. Thus arranged, the matter could not
possibly alarm my mother. O Heavens ! what
it costs me thus to deceive one from whom I have
never hidden anything before! How heavy my
subterfuge lies upon my heart ! But surely it is
my duty to neglect nothing which may soften the
heavy blow stern duty forces me to give this best
of mothers. Should I not keep silence as far as
that is possible ? Oh, how willingly I would bear
the sorest suffering, if by so doing I could save
her a moment's sorrow !
Here, dearest Henriette, you have the rule of
conduct I have laid down after much serious
thought. Go on as you have begun, on your
part. If you find me a really advantageous posi-
tion, which will give me some leisure and oppor-
tunity for carrying on my studies and the course
of my intellectual improvement, accept it without
any hesitation, sure that whatever you do will
have my full approval. If your efforts do not
result in anything answering to your wishes for
me, act as if you were not quite sure of my
consent. But your quick instinct will guide you
far better than any words of mine. It is enough
for me to make you aware of how I actually stand.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 213
All these matters vex my soul, dear Henriette,
and cast It into cruel perplexities. I am calmer,
perhaps, than when I was so full of doubt ; but
the future, which never seemed so close on me
before, fills me with anxious fear. Who am I,
weak and inexperienced as I am, isolated and
unaided, with no one to support me save you, my
Henriette, you who are 500 leagues away from
me, that I should tear such mighty bonds asunder
and break from the path in which superior force
has driven me until now.f^ I tremble at the
thought. But I will not go back! And then,
think you I can part without regret from the
beliefs and from the projects which have been
my life and happiness for so many years ? And
all this religious world to which I have grown
acclimatised, will it not disown me? And will
the outer world again have aught to do with me ?
In that other one I have been loved and tenderly
treated. I still have a kindly feeling for it.
Henriette, dear Henriette, help me to be
brave ! Oh, how the thought of you supports
me when life looks sad and hard, as it does
now! For, after all, I should be utterly alone
in the world if I had not you. If I were only
certain of realising my ideal and being what I
long to be! But sure as I may be of myself,
who can be sure of circumstances.'* How often
214 BROTHER AND SISTER
have I cursed the day I first began to think!
How I have envied the children and the simple-
minded folk I see about me, all so peaceful and
happy ! May God preserve them from my fate !
And yet I thank Him for it !
Farewell, my dear good sister. Teach me to
hope for happy days ! — Your brother and your
friend, E. Renan.
[Below.)
I think of returning to Paris towards the
loth of October, or even earlier. I hope for
another and more explicit letter from you then,
entering into all the questions I have touched
on here. And, if you will, you might send
it to Alain, and desire him not to give it me
till I pass through St. Malo on my way back.
This would obviate any uncertainty about the
direction.
{On the margin^
Your last letter, dearest Henriette, seemed
to express a fear that the privacy of our letters
had been violated. I can assure you that would
be physically impossible without my becoming
aware of it, as far at least as the interior of
this Seminary is concerned, and I have not
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 215
said one word to my mother. I fancy I know
what has made you imagine this — an unlucky
letter I wrote to Trecy, one of my college
friends, to whom I could say anything, for
he was in very much the same case as myself.
A sudden illness carried him off before my
letter reached him, and it remained in my
mother's possession. Even in that I did not
refer to any future plans.
XIX
August 5, 1845.
This very day, dearest friend, the letter for
which I have been sighing so wistfully has
reached my hands. I was at that moment
writing to dear Emma, and take advantage of
the fact to beg her to give you these few lines
privately. My full answer shall be sent as soon
as I can possibly write it. These lines are
for you alone; do not mention them. Your
letter, my Ernest, agitated me much, but it
gave me great delight, for I see your resolu-
tion is beginning to take shape. I note some
signs of the energy and power of will I have
so earnestly desired for you, and failing which,
we can be nothing but great children to our
2i6 BROTHER AND SISTER
life's end. Courage ! oh courage ! my best of
brothers! Yes, the law of duty is immutable,
and once that speaks, any neglect of its sug-
gestions becomes a crime. Though I am taking
precautions to ensure these lines falling under
no eyes but yours, I dare not speak quite freely.
I will only say your idea of taking your degrees
has more than my approbation ; it has all my
sympathies. It is the plan that attracts me
most ; it would make my mind easier about you
than any other, and there is nothing I am not
ready to do to second it. You are right. A
man who would give you such advice, holding
the position this one holds, must be an honour-
able man. If there is no insurmountable diffi-
culty in the way, listen to him and follow his
wise counsel. Your idea of going back to Paris
before the close of the vacation is perfectly
sensible and good. But I insist, my dear boy,
on your taking private lodgings, not only for
the time you mention, but for much longer
should it prove necessary. Let us have no
shilly-shallying or false reckoning about this.
I will go into the matter fully in my next
letter, but pray understand I consider the point
essential. You will find more detailed informa-
tion awaiting you at St. Malo, and you will
see I have provided for pressing needs. If
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 217
the hotel you mention should not suit you, I
can easily have board and lodging found you
in some respectable house. It might be the
better plan. I will have preliminary inquiry
made in any case. That will bind you to
nothing. But pray do not close with that
other proposal. If you should want to write
to M. Quatremere, I can find means of send-
ing him your letter. I am personally ac-
quainted with M. Stanislas Julien, who, as you
know, holds the Chinese professorship at the
College de France. I have heard him speak
of M. Quatremere as of a person with whom he
had frequent intercourse. If it served you in
any way, I should not the least mind asking
him to be good enough to deliver your letter.
. . . But when I think of it, you will be back
in Paris before I could get your answer and
address my request to him from this distant
place. Your own personal action will answer
much better, and be more prompt in its effect.
Don't neglect moving in this matter, and as
soon as you reach Paris, if possible. The
sooner the whole thing is cleared up the
better, for until then we shall not know what
our line should be, and certainty as to that is
most important. I only trust the people you
will have to do with may be in Paris early in
2i8 BROTHER AND SISTER
October. I have no news from Germany, but
I am sure something is being done. I will
let matters there take their course, and we can
always decide on what seems best according to
the settlement you make.
Do not worry about our mother. Wait till
you see the excellent arguments my next letter
will contain. If you should have to go further
later on, I will undertake to do still more in
the same direction. In the letter I shall send
you, the words ** taking your degrees" will ap-
pear to be employed in their ordinary sense,
but you will easily decipher the real meaning
under my vague expressions.
My St. Malo letter shall be there before the
end of September. Ernest, my whole soul longs
to be with you. Oh, why are we apart at such
a moment ? Courage, dear friend, once more I
say it. Bitter struggle is the indispensable con-
dition for attaining true manhood.
Brother ! Friend ! Beloved child ! lean ever
on my heart and on my arm, sure that neither
will ever fail you. . . . Listen patiently to all
that is said to you, but let nothing shake
your resolution. Above all, let nothing induce
you to swerve from the path your duty bids
you follow. Let me again repeat, that once
certain veils are raised, they never can be
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 219
dropped again. Farewell now, for a day or
two, my dearest one. I am yours unchang-
ingly. Emma will not know why I send you
this letter privately ; she believes it concerns
my own affairs.
This letter is addressed : '* For my Ernest.
For him only."
I once more confide these lines to my dear
Emma, earnestly begging her to remember the
request my letter to her contains.
XX
August 15, 1845.
Your last letter so fills my thoughts, be-
loved friend, that I cannot but reply to it at
once. The position in which you, or rather
we are placed — for anything concerning you
cannot fail to touch us all — requires our calmest
reflection, and every effort of our reason and
conscience must be turned to remedying it.
Let us not forget that these two voices repre-
sent the voice of God within us. In the first
place, I entreat our good mother to join you
in weighing the considerations I am about to
lay before you in all seriousness, and to forgive
me if I dare to speak of advice and experience
220 BROTHER AND SISTER
in her presence. I venture to do so, first of all,
because your peace and happiness are my first
earthly thought, and also because the vicissi-
tudes of life have doubled in my case that
knowledge of events and things, and of the
human heart, which generally comes with years.
Oh, may the fruit of my experience and my
suffering serve those for whom I would so gladly
sacrifice my all ! . . .
From the very outset, dear Ernest, I have
incessantly warned you of the danger awaiting
you on the termination of your studies. I mean
the danger of binding yourself blindly and pre-
cipitately. Your upright soul must, I felt, under-
stand this, and your last letters have proved
my hope was not unfounded. For that I thank
Heaven deeply. I have always thought, and
several years of reflection have only served to
strengthen my conviction, that a pause should
be made between the end of a man's education
and the beginning of his actual life, to give
him time to take a calm and unbiassed view of
what is to be his permanent undertaking.
Though the course of events, in some cases,
renders this wise maxim difficult in practice, to
neglect or overrule it appears to me a down-
right crime, when the career in question is as
exceptional as that towards which you have
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 221
been urged from your youth up. Oh, what
a terrible responsibility must lie on the con-
science of any family which would press a
sacred and indissoluble engagement on a youth
not yet capable of realising its nature ! This
then was my idea when I spoke to you, two
years ago, of a tutorship in Germany : to give
you time to collect yourself, and to spend that
period in a manner that might serve your in-
tellectual development. The idea of suggesting
the occupation as your ultimate career never
occurred to me. I always looked on it as a
temporary measure. You realised that, dear
Ernest. You felt your welfare to be ever my
first object and my most pressing need. Oh,
how I thank you ! The Viennese friends, who
only needed a word from me to secure their
fullest help, are as convinced as I am that
their efforts will end by finding what I have
suggested to you. It is a mere matter of
waiting, for a few months, it may be. The
German nobility spend all the summer at their
country places, and do not return to town till
towards the close of the year. So no inquiries
can bring much result till that season and
during the months following on it. But this
delay, dearest friend, far from being a draw-
back, will enable you to take certain steps and
222 BROTHER AND SISTER
acquire certain knowledge which appear to me
essential at this moment, whatever your ulterior
views may be.
I have always greatly desired, and I think I
have often told you so, to see you in a posi-
tion to take your University degrees. This is
generally regarded as the first step in any
career. Whether a man be a layman or an
ecclesiastic, an established reputation for know-
ledge always increases his value in the eyes
of those whose judgment is worth anything.
The Bachelor's degree is the first step in this
direction, and to it I hope you will turn your
endeavours as soon as you return to Paris.
I know the nature of the teaching you have
had is an obstacle in the way of your at once
attending the Sorbonne courses ; but I also
know, and so do you, that there are possible
means of arranging this difficulty, and as a
last resort, you can always enter your name
at some preparatory establishment. I do not
dwell on all this, knowing you to be fully in-
formed. I only desire to urge the necessity
of your having your Bachelor's degree, and I
beseech you, dear Ernest, to give this your full
and prompt attention. No matter if it takes you
six months, or even a year, I say again, the
matter is all-important. The German scheme
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 223
will always remain open to us. I possess the
most devoted and valuable friends and acquaint-
ances there, and you will realise what weight
your having passed an examination and obtained
a diploma would give any recommendation of
theirs.
It is indispensable, dear Ernest, in face of
these important steps, and on account of the
preparatory work and study for these examina-
tions, that you should be quite free, and in my
opinion you should not take up your board and
lodging in the Seminary on your return. Such
a course would fetter you, or, at the very least,
it would cause you inconvenience and injury at
a moment when you need all your freedom of
action. To my mind, the wisest, and indeed the
only feasible plan to ensure success in your exa-
mination, would be to take a student's lodging
and keep quite free of any other occupation.
Another reason, besides that connected with
your degree, makes me desire you should follow
my advice on this head. You have frequently
told me your historical studies are far from com-
plete. It is of the first importance that you
should apply yourself to them this year, and
follow the great public lectures given in Paris
on such subjects as closely as possible. This is
a matter of the utmost moment. History is a
224 BROTHER AND SISTER
thing every one must learn, and nowadays, when
historical research occupies such an important
position, full knowledge on that subject is im-
peratively demanded.
To this end, my dear Ernest, as well as for the
preparation for your degree, it is indispensable
that you should have full command of your own
time, and be able to go and seek any details
you may need in our rich public libraries and
other great centres of information. Therefore I
should like you to move to Paris before the end
of the vacation, to come to some understanding
with the heads of the Seminary, settle the matter
with them, and then turn your attention to the
plan I would press on you with all the strength
of my affection and all the weight of an experi-
ence ripened by events. You know as well as
I do that nothing is easier than for a young man
to settle in Paris in the manner I describe ; but
to save you all trouble, I have sent for informa-
tion as to various details, which I will pass on
to you as soon as it reaches me, and which, I
hope, will quite satisfy you. As I may not re-
ceive it in time for it to reach you at Treguier,
I will send it to Alain, who will give it you as
you pass through. Let no mistaken idea of
economy check you, my dear Ernest. That
would be to misunderstand our interests sadly,
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 225
even taking the word in its purely material sense.
Try and fit yourself for the highest functions,
whatever line you may choose to enter upon
ultimately, and rest assured that to be chary of
the seed you sow would not only be a very fatal
speculation, but a serious moral blunder. ** To
whom much is given, from him shall much be
required," says the Gospel, and the man who hid
his talent was punished as though he had been
a spendthrift. How wonderful are the teachings
of that book, Ernest ! and how many of us fall
away from them ! Friend, let us try at all events
— nay, let us strive our utmost, to develop the
gifts God has bestowed on you.
You may be sure I shall approve your final
resolution, whatever it may be. I will say more :
it will give me happiness, once it is the evident
outcome of an enlightened mind capable of true
discernment. But to see you, at your age, so
ignorant of the world, of life, of all books cannot
teach, cast into the clutches of the irrevocable —
that, my Ernest, would be an anguish that would
darken my whole existence! and ever, in the
depths of my soul, I should hear a voice crying,
'' Where is Abel, thy brother?"
Spare me that regret, my beloved ! Spare our
dear mother, too, by guiding these first steps of
yours wisely and prudently. It is impossible.
226 BROTHER AND SISTER
utterly impossible, short of abdicating your own
reason, for you to bind yourself, at two-and-
twenty, absolutely inexperienced as you are, to
a career from which there is no retiring, and
long experience in which scarcely suffices to im-
part the elevation of spirit and soul and thought
it so urgently calls for. This fact once admitted,
I am convinced the means I point out are the
best for turning your period of waiting and re-
flection to good account. So do not neglect my
advice, I entreat you. It is inspired by such
true regard, so utterly devoid of any personal
consideration, that I cannot think it will be mis-
understood, either by yourself, dear Ernest, or
by our dear good mother. Oh! would I could
be with you, though it were only for a day, or
even for one hour. I feel my own strong belief
would carry conviction to your minds as well.
As to financial arrangements, everything, dear
friend, shall be prepared. Alain will have my
first instructions, the rest will be sent you direct
to Paris. I have all the necessary information
on the subject, and the whole thing is much
less alarming than you would imagine. People
with orderly and regular habits can live econo-
mically anywhere, and in Paris thousands of
young men of your age lead the life I suggest
should be yours for some time forward with-
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 227
out any great expenditure. You know all the
courses, both in the Faculty of Literature and
in that of Science, are free to all comers. All
the great storehouses of human knowledge, all
the libraries in Paris, are open to the public
every day in the week. You can go there and
read and compare and take notes in the most
perfect peace and quiet. And here let me re-
mind you, by the way, that the Ste. Genevieve
Library is warmed and lighted until ten o'clock
at night. Seize all these precious opportunities
now you have the chance. The measure I pro-
pose to you is purely temporary, I repeat. You
alone can decide on your ultimate course. But let
us at least employ this transition period, often
and necessarily — when one does not desire to
compromise one's whole future — a prolonged one,
in a useful fashion. I could go on for ever,
dear brother, for my whole heart is full of what
I say ; may you take the same view as I do !
I have covered pages in telling you what is
easily summed up in these words : Take your
degrees. And to that end study privately, for
some months at all events. It will not be pos-
sible to attain it without such study, and on
any hypothesis it seems to me an indispensable
preliminary step. Dear Ernest, I trust you will
not misunderstand me, nor turn a deaf ear to
2 28 BROTHER AND SISTER
my arguments. I need this belief to soothe the
sharp and constant anxiety your position gives
me. God guide you ! and our beloved mother,
too! I hope everything from your uprightness
of heart and will.
I never mention our money matters, dear
friend, for I do not care to weary you with
endless figures. But I will say a few words
about them to-day, in the hope that my ex-
planation of our pecuniary position may induce
you to follow my advice — that being my first
and dominant desire. I assure you, my dear
Ernest, that, without any imprudence or incon-
venience, I can place a sufficient sum at your
disposal to carry out this useful and cherished
plan of mine. Our family business must be
well advanced. I have sent our brother a re-
mittance which should cover the greater part
of the expenses, and he promised to give the
matter his special attention during his visit to
our dear mother. On the other hand, I have
made an arrangement with my pupils' parents
which will ensure my not being quite without
means when I leave their children. So do not
fear to accept my offer, I entreat you. I beg
this favour of you with tearful eyes, and with all
the eagerness my tenderest affection prompts.
Some day, my dear, if God should see fit to
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 229
spare the life of which you are and ever have
been the first object, longer than He spares my
bodily strength, you shall repay it all, with
usury. I hope, yes, I do hope, dear Ernest, I
have made you understand the advice I give you
is thoroughly wise, prudent, and practical. May
your own good sense dictate the rest, and may
your love of truth lead you to put it into action.
I leave you to write to our good mother, or
rather, I carry this long paper talk — the first
pages of which I have addressed to you — still
further with her, for the two letters are as
much your common property as is my deep
affection.
Farewell, dear friend ! You will readily ima-
gine how anxiously I await news from you. —
Yours ever, and with all my heart, H. R.
XXI ^
September 12, 1845.
At last, my dearest Ernest, I can write to
you freely, and tell you fully all the thoughts
your last letter has stirred within me! There
was not one word of untruth assuredly in what
I wrote you last ; but it tried me sorely to have
to stop short so often, to lay stress on what was
230 BROTHER AND SISTER
not my dominant idea, to talk of irresolution
when what you had written me proved there
could be no such thing for you in future.
So now I hasten, dearest brother, to consider
the position as it really is, and to draw the
natural conclusions from it — all such as to
strengthen the opinion expressed in your last
letter.
Two chief points are now settled, I trust. The
first — that our mother is at least aware you
have many doubts; and this I feel sure of, for
she mentioned it to Alain, while he was staying
with her, and did not seem distressed at the
idea. The second — which I hope is clear, that
it is quite decided you will settle down indepen-
dently as soon as you get to Paris. Starting on
this twofold basis, we will now turn to your future
arrangements. As I wrote you word, I have
begged one of my friends to look out for a quiet
respectable house in which you might have a
room, and perhaps your board as well, for as long
as may be necessary. I did this the very day
I received your last letter ; but I am so terribly
out of the way here, that I have not been able
to get an answer yet. So take a room at the
hotel, my dear boy, as you propose, for a time.
As soon as I receive the answer I am expecting
I will send it on to Alain, who will know your
NRIETTE TO ERNEST 231
I do, and you will decide as you
think best, according to the information it supplies.
Your first act, when you get back to Paris,
should be to bring your relations with the semi-
nary to an end in the most dignified and amicable
manner, but utterly and completely. You should
then see M. Dupanloup, M. Quatremere, &c.,
and collect all the information you can get about
the ficole Norm ale. If M. Quatremere thinks
you could make a future by addressing yourself
entirely to the study of Oriental languages, I
should be inclined to agree with you that such
a career has the great advantage of saving you
from the crowded competition you will meet
everywhere else, and which is all the more try-
ing in proportion to one's own consciousness of
real merit. Your views on that point are very
correct, dear Ernest ; do not lose sight of them,
if you should see any opening in that direction
— and remember that, in this matter, as in every
other, you will always find me ready to do what
in me lies to smooth the difficulties of the first
few steps. Find out, at the same time, whether
you can get into the 6cole Normale. Here, too,
you must consider the future, think the whole
thing over, weigh it well, and then decide, my
dearest friend, since I cannot be there to help
you do so.
232 BROTHER AND SISTER
Oh! how this horrible separation weighs on
me now! I spend my nights thinking about
you. How slowly the days seem to drag on
towards that happy one, when at last I shall be
able to feel we have left the trying time, in which
I know you still to be, behind us. I can never
express, my Ernest, the relief it was to me to
learn by your last letter that our uncertainties are
coming to an end, that, after all your tossings
to and fro between your own reason and the will
of others, you have at last come to an absolute
and independent resolution. As to the German
tutorship, let me entreat you not to think of it
unless every other expedient fails you. I repeat,
I only suggested it as a means of gaining time
for further reflection, for I have always felt that
what has happened must come sooner or later.
But now you have reflected, and reflection has
borne fruit, you would not be gaining time ; you
would only be losing it, and with it, perhaps,
your chance of entering some other career. And
besides, my dearest, as my great object is to
spare you discomfort, I do not hesitate to tell
you that nothing is more trying and painful than
to live under a roof and with a family which is
not your own, and eat a stranger's bread. If
everything else fails us, we would go back to
that of course ; but leave no stone unturned to
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 233
prevent the necessity of doing so, and do not
compromise our future for the sake of saving a
trifle now. Yes, our future it is, dear Ernest,
for I cannot think anything can ever part us in
interests or in heart from this time forward.
And now I come to my usual entreaty as to
money matters. For pity's sake, have no doubt
or misunderstanding on that head. I have com-
missioned Alain to give you three hundred francs
for your travelling expenses, and for your first
month's board and lodging. Besides this, I am
expecting from day to day to get a bill for fifteen
hundred francs, for which I have sent to Warsaw.
As soon as it reaches me I shall send it to Paris
to a reliable person, who will be under the im-
pression the money belongs to you, and who
will pay you over whatever you may want every
two or three months, more or less often accord-
ing as you may desire. From the ist of October
out this fund will be entirely at your service,
and on it you may reckon, unless some unforeseen
circumstance occurs, to defray your budget for
the year. If God grants me life, I shall have
provided for the ensuing one before this comes
to an end. Be quite easy in your mind. I will
see you are not left in difficulties, whatever
happens. It has occurred to me, too, that you
will want different clothes. I think it would be
234 BROTHER AND SISTER
wiser to get them at St. Malo, and come back
to Paris dressed like other people. Don't you
agree with me ?
I have given a hint to Alain, from whom I
could not and did not like to conceal the present
state of matters completely. I have told him
you ought to have two suits of clothes when
you get to Paris, one to wear every day, and
the other to put on when you go to pay your
visits ; that your slight experience in that line
made me think it better everything should be
bought at St. Malo ; that I left the choice of the
things to your taste ; that if you agreed with me
(as to getting everything at St. Malo), I begged
he would see to it, and charge the expense to
me ; but that if you should prefer doing your
shopping in Paris, he was to add a hundred and
fifty or two hundred francs to the money he is
to give you from me. Wherever you may choose
to get your clothes, let me say, dear boy, that
a dark coat over a black vest and trousers strikes
me as being the best and most suitable dress you
could have. Well, dear Ernest, I think I have
foreseen everything. If any detail has escaped me,
you must lay it down to my absent-mindedness,
and you must use all I possess freely, for what
little I have is yours as much as mine. As far
as money matters go, be quite easy as to what
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 235
our brother gives you. It is all set down to my
account, and we shall never have but one common
purse, you and I. Yes, my poor dear brother,
happy days will come for us ! They are sure
to come, so long as our affection and perfect
union are unchanged ; and what is happening just
at present can only knit them closer. I feel and
understand and share all the feelings that oppress
your soul. It is a cruel moment, I know well,
which brings the final break with all that has
filled the dreams and made the happiness of the
past. The heart bleeds afterwards for many a
day. But it is a trial nobody can escape, once
one's eyes are opened and conscience begins to
speak. " Revealed truth is a law which human
intelligence cannot refuse to accept. It is not
my part to open or shut the door to it at will.
It enters the moment its coming is announced,
and commands me to submit to its behests." A
woman wrote the words I quote. They are not
the less true and wise for that. I thank God
fervently for having roused the thoughts which
have brought you to this decision before it was
too late. Ernest, console yourself in your present
position by considering what would be the con-
dition of an upright man, bound by irrevocable
vows to teach and impose on others things which
his reason, and perhaps his conscience even,
236 BROTHER AND SISTER
forbid him to accept. That might have been your
unhappy fate ! How can I thank Heaven enough
for having saved you from it ? Be of good cour-
age, then ; the path is full of thorns, I know, but
as at the outset, so at every step, you will find
support in the love and tenderness of your sister,
your earliest friend, she whose dearest wish, next
to that of seeing you happy, is to keep a foremost
place in your affections. Let this thought cheer
you too, that up to this you have never dis-
appointed me, and that I feel the future will
bring me many fresh hopes and compensations,
and help me to forget the tears the past has
wrung from me.
I need not beg you, dearest Ernest, to write to
me, nor entreat you to send me your address as
quickly as you can ! Knowing my love for you,
you will also understand how utterly you fill my
thoughts. Until I receive your Paris address, I
will communicate with you through our brother ;
so be sure you let him know without delay where
he is to direct to you. I hope you will write me
a few lines from St. Malo. Alas ! what a trial
this distance that divides us is. Supposing this
letter goes astray ? I wrote to you twice during
last month — once through Emma, who must
have given you the little note addressed to your-
self, and the other time through our mother.
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 237
Did you get those letters ? I am always uneasy
about my correspondence, and I have too good
reason to be so.
Reading over my letter, I perceive I have said
but little to-day about the ^cole Normale. Do
not let that make you think I have changed my
mind about it. I should always have a leaning
in that direction ; but not knowing whether you
can get admitted there or not, I do not enlarge
further on the subject. But do not lose sight
of it. Make up your mind and act accordingly,
my dear Ernest. I have every confidence in
your good sense and judgment. There will be
a great clamour over you, of course, but pray
do not let that alarm you. What is it, after all,
but empty talk, which will be utterly forgotten
before many weeks are out, and short-lived
anger, easily despised by one who feels his con-
science clear, and knows one faithful, loving
heart approves him. Let them rage, dear child,
and trust your own good sense and my affection.
I am yours ever, my beloved Ernest, yours
with all my heart.
Write to me to the Chateau de Clemensow,
near Zamosc, Poland. H. Renan.
Superscription. — For Ernest, not to be given
him till he arrives.
238 BROTHER AND SISTER
XXII
September 16, 1845.
Dearest Friend, — I was not far wrong in my
calculations, when I wrote, some four days ago,
that I was expecting the immediate arrival of
information from Paris as to your board and
lodging arrangements. The answer I reckoned
on came to-day, and I hasten to forward it,
although you may thus get two letters from me
by the same post. I applied once more to
Mdlle. Ulliac, for she is blessed with unfailing
kindness of heart, and her devotion to me knows
neither change nor limit. The Monsieur Gasselin
so constantly spoken of is the gentleman who has
been the bearer of all my letters to you for the
last two years. My friend writes me as follows : —
** I have just seen M. Gasselin. He knows a
chemist who lets furnished rooms to young men,
provided they are steady, for they have to go
in and out through his shop. He also knows
a quiet restaurant close by. If you wish it, he
would mention your brother's name at both these
establishments, and he would also call on hirp
personally. M. Gasselin would also undertake
to make your brother his quarterly payments, and
to render him any friendly office. He is a very
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 239
worthy man, of vulgar, or rather of neglected
education, but very good-hearted otherwise. It
has occurred to me your brother might care to
enter some school, such as M. Galleron's, for
instance (the successor of M. Hallays-Dabot),
as a private boarder. I could ensure his being
treated thoroughly well there, both as regards
intellectual advantages and creature comforts. A
great many young men follow this plan, so as to
attend their lectures and keep their terms. I
will inquire, in any case, whether M. Galleron
would take him as a parlour boarder. Besides
this, both you and I know M. and Madame
Pataud. You know what worthy people they
are, and he would be sure to be well taken care
of there. So you see it is easy to arrange for
his external comforts, a matter about which he
must be very ignorant after the manner in which
his youth has been spent. All I tell you should
set your mind at rest, dear friend. Pray beg
your brother, if his mind is quite made up, to
come and see us when he returns. We will go
upstairs together to M. Galleron, and everything
will soon be arranged. Before then we shall
have made all necessary inquiries, and your
brother will not have to go into a regular
furnished lodging."
So as you see, dear brother, we have a choice
240 BROTHER AND SISTER
of plans. Above all, we have the most absolute
kindness and friendliness to fall back on. I force
none of this on you. I don't make any obliga-
tion of your calling on Mdlle. U Iliac. I only
desire to say that in case of any difficulty you
have money of your own in her keeping, and
you will find friends in that house, not wise only,
but entirely devoted to your service, information
of the most valuable kind, and constant news of
your sister to boot. Perhaps the hotel you have
already mentioned may please you better for
the first few days. I leave that altogether to
you, only adding that if, as I do not doubt, your
private studies are to be of long duration, some
other manner of housing yourself would seem
wiser to me. Mdlle. Ulliac and M. Gasselin
live in the same house. Here is her address :
Mdlle. Ulliac Tremadeure, 40 Boulevard Mont
Parnasse. The house is between the Luxem-
bourg Gardens and the Observatory. If you
did not like to go and see her you might write
her a line, asking her in the most polite manner
to beg M. Gasselin to be good enough to call
on you. I am sure he would do so willingly.
And I am just as sure that Mdlle. Ulliac would
receive you with the utmost kindness. All I ask
is, that you should not go to her dressed differently
from other people.
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 241
I now come to another and not less Important
passage in her letter, dear Ernest, which proves
she is a true friend to me. I told you I was
personally acquainted with M. Stanislas Julien,
of the College de France. Mdlle. Ulliac knows
him even better than I do, and knowing he
was a great friend of M. Quatremere's, I was
anxious to smooth that part of your path by
his means. I therefore begged Mdlle. Ulliac to
go and see M. Julien, and to ask him, in my
name, to recommend you to M. Quatremere's
notice, assuring him you come of a respectable
family, with one member of which he is ac-
quainted, and that your present change of front,
far from being imputed to you as a crime, should
be written down the endeavour of an upright
and generous heart. M. Julien and his wife have
always expressed and apparently felt a friendly
regard for me. I am sure he will do us this
kindness, and in as delicate a manner as we
could desire. This is Mdlle. UUIac's answer on
the subject : ** Before your request as to your
brother reached me, I had already thought of
mentioning him to M. Julien ; so that matter
is now settled between us. Students of the
Oriental languages are, as you say, few and far
between. I may safely promise you M. Julien
will take the greatest interest in your brother.
Q
242 BROTHER AND SISTER
And once the great point is decided, I will
undertake to interest M. Victor Mauvais, assis-
tant astronomer at the observatory and a former
pupil at the seminary, M. Mathieu (M. Arago's
brother-in-law), and M. Regnauld, Professor of
Physics at the College de France, in him as
well. Your brother is really hard-working ; he
takes his studies seriously. The gentlemen I
mention will think a great deal of him, and he
will make his way in the world. Once his bonds
are broken I shall be very glad to see him, and
then many things will grow clearer."
So, dear Ernest, in this new world, where you
dreaded being so lonely, you will find some voices
raised to cheer you on. M. Julien is not only a
very learned person, he is a worthy and very kind-
hearted man. Let hope rise up in your heart,
then, my dear brother. You see that, far or near,
your sister strives to watch over you in all things.
Would I could give my letters wings, that they
might fly to strengthen you and tell you you
shall never be forsaken so long as the breath of
life is in me ! Ernest, do not break my heart !
Be guilty of no weakness, no imprudent con-
cession. To me, who know your inmost thought,
any such thing would seem a crime. And I
cannot think my opinion is utterly valueless in
your sight. Recollect this is a matter affecting
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 243
not only all your future life, but also the whole
peace of mine, and the only happiness this world
can bring me. I am worn-out with anxiety.
The only consolation I have is in the sense that
you are resolved at last, in the hope you will
follow my advice, in the thought that you are
about to take a modest student's lodging for six
months or a year at all events, and that you will
spend that time in taking your bachelor's degree,
attending the great courses of lectures on litera-
ture and science, and preparing, in fact, for the
examinations for admission to the Ecole Normale.
Mdlle. Ulliac, whose opinion on most points is so
healthy, is also in favour of this plan. She says,
" The idea of joining the Ecole Normale is a
very good one. That really constitutes a career."
But I tell you again that I should be just as well
pleased to see you apply your mind exclusively
to Oriental languages, provided the learned pro-
fessor we have so often referred to sees any out-
look for you in that direction. Forgive all this
repetition, dear Ernest! You fill my heart and
mind and thoughts and all my being. Would I
could add persuasion to my words — would that
this cry of my inmost soul could reach your
bodily ears !
Dear beloved friend, God grant your life may
ever know affection as sincere and disinterested
244 BROTHER AND SISTER
as mine ! Farewell ! I have spent a great part
of the night writing all this, and even now I lay-
down my pen regretfully. I am sending Mdlle.
U Iliac, by this same post, the bill for fifteen
hundred francs I have already mentioned. I
received it yesterday. It is payable at Messrs.
Rothschild's on November loth. If you need
the whole sum at once you have only to say so.
I am sending it to my friend, because in Paris
you can never trust servants, especially in young
men's lodgings, their rooms always being left
more open and unprotected than those in ordi-
nary houses. Farewell once more, dear Ernest !
I hope and believe I have overlooked nothing on
my part. May your own good sense and upright
conscience do the rest ! A thousand fond remem-
brances, my dear one. H. R.
Do not give Mdlle. Ulliac's address to anybody
whatever. It is for your own use only.
You doubtless know Messrs. H allay s-Dabot and
Galleron's establishment by name. It is one of
the best known in Paris, in the Place de I'Estra-
pade. M. Pataud, an acquaintance of mine, also
has a school for youths in the Rue Neuve Ste.
Genevieve, near the Rue des Portes. But there
are fewer pupils, and its reputation does not stand
so high. This would not matter much to you, as
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 245
you would not follow the school curriculum. The
boarders at both these schools attend the College
Henri IV.
(For Ernest, specially recommended to our
brother's best care.)
XXIII
Tr^guier, September 22^ 1845.
My dearest Sister, — Never did man receive
a let^r breathing deeper tenderness and more
generous devotion than that last one of yours.
It reached my hands at a moment at once solemn
and infinitely touching. At the decisive crisis of
my life, in the very arms of my beloved mother,
it recalled the existence of the stay God grants
me in the person of the sister who so gladly
heaps sacrifice on sacrifice to ensure the well-
being of those she loves ! Even if she had
taught me nothing for my future guidance save
the immensity of her pure unselfish affection,
that surely should largely suffice me, dearest
Henriette ! Must everything be appraised, in
this cold world of ours, by the measure of indi-
vidual interest ; and shall the holiest affections
of man's nature be given no higher value than
246 BROTHER AND SISTER
that based on selfish calculation ? No, my dear
one, the assurance of your love will always be
more precious in my eyes, a thousandfold, than
all the practical benefits it may confer on me.
And even should circumstances forbid my ever
profiting by them, shall I not still enjoy the
sweetest fruit of your affection in knowing how
you love me ? I have been spending two months
of happiness, intense and unalloyed, with our dear
mother. To my delight, I find her quite un-
changed. Her health seems fairly good, and
she bears the trying loneliness of her life with
the greatest courage. She lives on her thoughts
of her children. Would you could have shared
some of our happy talks ! If the thought of the
future sometimes instils a bitter drop into our pre-
sent joy, the same affection always reigns, alike
in sorrow and in joy, and sweetens both to us.
May we ever hold such pleasures, which are
always in our grasp, even when we seem to
sacrifice them, more dear than many other and
less pure delights, which cannot be the common
lot in any case, and which, mayhap, will never
be bestowed ! God knows I never shall desire
them, unless the others are assured to us.
And now, dear Henriette, I turn to the discus-
sion of the plans suggested in your last letter.
A very serious one it is, and indeed nothing but
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 247
arguments founded on the most serious reasoning
would have any present weight with me. As
regards the German situation, I am still in the
same mind as that expressed in my last few
letters, the sense of which you have caught so
perfectly. There can be no question of any per-
manent career there ; but simply one of tempo-
rary employment, which would leave me free to
complete my own studies during my residence
abroad. It follows, therefore, that any situation
which would so absorb my time as to leave but
little leisure for comparatively independent study,
which would give me no chance of grasping the
intellectual movement of the country I might be
living in — any merely elementary tutorship, in short
— would appear very unlikely to suit, unless, indeed,
it carried with it those compensating advantages,
as to which I have invested you with the fullest
powers. But for my part I can hardly conceive
the existence of such compensations. Further,
it would appear to me, according to the ideas
about Germany I have been able to form so far,
that Austria is far from being the country most
likely to answer my purpose. I do nothing, dear
Henriette, but repeat what I have so often said
before, and you will perhaps think me terribly
hard to please. But the principles expressed in
your last letter, which I completely share, con-
248 BROTHER AND SISTER
vince me we shall agree in our ultimate deduc-
tions. Even from the lowest point of view, would
it not be mistaken economy to sacrifice years
which may be the most fruitful of my life to mere
pecuniary advantage ? Besides, my intellectual
conscience shudders at the thought ; I should feel
such an act to be a crime. Wherefore, dearest
sister, if you can pitch upon a situation offering
all the conditions already named you may accept
it for me, sure of our mother's approval and my
own. But I confess I feel it unlikely such a
concatenation will be found, and that makes me
look on my journey as still problematical in the
extreme.
The case is different as to the idea of my
employing the year now coming on in taking
my degrees at the university. I have been
thinking it over for some time, and our mother
spoke of it herself, before you mentioned it in
your letters. The matter is quite settled; the
only difficulty likely to arise is as to the manner
of its execution. The one you suggest, dear
Henriette, that of my settling in Paris as a
private student, while it proves the greatness of
your generosity to me, offers certain drawbacks,
at which our mother immediately took fright,
and which, I must admit, are somewhat serious.
I shall, therefore, not attempt it, except as a.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 249
last resource, and after every other plan has
failed. What are these other plans of yours?
I hear you ask. I cannot positively say, my
dearest sister — I shall have no precise infor-
mation till I have been a while in Paris and
talked the matter over with all my friends. But
the following ideas strike me as feasible. To
stop on at St. Sulpice — the simplest of all, but
much the least profitable. I should not find it
easy, there, to get through all the work and
attend all the lectures necessary for the attain-
ment of our end. Even if the heads of the
house were to excuse me from all theological
study, which is very unlikely, the general system
of the life there is far from being favourable to
the carrying out of such a scheme.
M. Dupanloup is more likely to help me to
a position compatible with my object. He is
certain to offer me something in his institution
as soon as I broach the subject, for his staff is
far short of its full number this year. But I
should be loath to accept any such position, for,
as you will doubtless feel, it would make the
ultimate execution of our plan well-nigh impos-
sible. The utmost I should care to do would
be to undertake to teach history or mathematics
three or four times a week. In the first case,
the time actually given to instructing my class
250 BROTHER AND SISTER
would be all I should lose ; and in the second,
the necessary study would be profitable to my-
self. As to the other duties — such as keeping
order, &c. — generally expected of the teaching
staff, I should bargain to be completely relieved
of them. I would rather, in fact, take rank
as a pMpil who helped the teaching staff, than
as an actual instructor. I know several cases
which make me believe this ambiguous position
possible.
Only last year several youths, both Paris and
country-bred, resided in M. Dupanloup's college
under similar conditions, and with an object
absolutely identical to mine. They formed the
nucleus of the institution Monseigneur Affre was
to have founded for this special purpose, and pro-
posals with regard to which were repeatedly
made to me. But that plan is nothing but a
plan as yet — and Monseigneur Affre makes
more than he can carry out. Nevertheless,
taking everything together, I do see a possi-
bility of realising our desire, though at this mo-
ment I cannot specifically indicate how. I have
other plans as well, but I want to have some
certainty of their feasibility before I detail them
to you. This I hope to possess within a few
weeks, and then I shall lose no time in laying
them before you. Rest assured, dear sister,
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 251
that none but the most serious and conscientious
feeling will direct my steps, for which your
guidance would be so invaluable. I shall guess
what you would say instinctively, and act ac-
cordingly.
Though even now I am preparing, as far as
local circumstance permits, to take my university
degrees, the object of my special holiday study
is to increase my knowledge of German litera-
ture. As its actual literal interpretation grows
less difficult to me, I am beginning to appreciate
its spirit, and this initiation marks an epoch
in my mental being. I felt as if I had entered
some temple when first I gained the power of
realising its purity, its nobility, its morality, its
religiousness, if I may take that word and use
it in its very highest sense. How noble is the
German conception of man, and of man's life !
How far removed from the paltry standpoint
which reduces human aims to the mean pro-
portions of mere pleasure or personal benefit !
To me it typifies the inevitable reaction of the
human mind against the spirit of the eighteenth
century, replacing the too realistic thought and
material positivism of that period by the purest
and most ideal morality.
That same reaction, as it has taken place
here in the person of M. Cousin, and under
252 BROTHER AND SISTER
the form of eclecticism, is as colourless as imi-
tations are generally apt to be. And what a
difference, too, in the purity of the moral concept.
It reminds one of the difference between Jesus
Christ and Socrates ! The French school, scared
no doubt by the dryness and severity of French
Catholic orthodoxy, has kept itself too much
apart from Christianity. Every philosopher
desires latitude ; and Christianity, as it exists in
Northern Germany, gives all any one can
demand in that respect. German philosophy
is impregnated with Christian morality, with its
general spirit of love, of gentleness, of chaste
and unselfish contemplation, at all events. Ah !
who would not be a Christian, of that kind !
Especially do I rejoice to find the Germans
condemn those systems of philosophy which
would fain forbid man to accept the idea of
the infinite, and would have the coarsest realism
rule in literature, art, and even morals.
Truly life would not be worth living if man s
sole faculties were his external ones ! Another
thing which delights me about these Germans
is their happy way of combining poetry, learn-
ing, and philosophy. Such a union constitutes,
to my mind, the ideal thinker. I find the high-
est realisation of this diverse mode of thought
in Herder and Goethe, and they consequently
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 253
attract me most of all. Yet Goethe somewhat
lacks morality. Faust is admirable, as far as
the philosophy goes, but its scepticism is heart-
breaking. The world is not like that in reality.
Absolute truth and goodness do exist. We
must believe the first, and practise the second.
The thought of any different world is a perfect
nightmare, and truly Faust is nothing but a
nightmare! But what a picture of the anguish
of the doubter ! As I read some passages, I
think I hear him telling my own private his-
tory ! Never do I peruse the splendid soliloquy,
"Wherefore, celestial sounds," &c., especially that
fine line, ''Das Wunder ist des Glaubens liebstes
Kind,'' without profound emotion. This indoc-
trination into a new process of thought has
helped me greatly in the trying times I have
lately gone through. What would become of
one, at certain periods in one's life, if study
and intellectual culture did not carry one out
of the external difficulties with which one's
wearied soul is struggling ! Though indeed,
my dearest sister, all I need to help me bear
mine, is the certainty that your heart under-
stands and shares them. God grant me to
prove, some of these days, you have not wasted
your affection on ungrateful soil. — Your brother
and your friend, E. Ren an.
254 BROTHER AND SISTER
(Separate enclosure!)
These lines are for your eye only, dearest
sister.
Our mother has doubtless seen the rest of
my letter. You will know what modification
it may require. She was very much averse to
the German plan at first, now she is beginning
to get reconciled to it. The idea of my study-
ing in Paris alarmed her even more, but I
have contrived to reassure her a little. Any-
how, I let her think it unlikely at present, and
only a possible and last resource. I have
purposely exaggerated all its difficulties, and
painted the other plans in rather gay colours.
O heavens, my sister, what I suffer ! I write
this in secret, and almost in the dark. I hoped
to snatch an easier chance of doing it, but
none has offered. Shall I even be able to
slip it into the envelope? I shall have to go
to St. Sulpice. Once there I shall follow the
course indicated in my last Paris letter. Diffi-
culties bristle all round me, and even worse
than I foresaw — I mean as regards our mother.
The idea of any sudden secularisation is not
to be dreamt of I have hit on a means of
getting the private study plan accepted. I
will get my director, in whom she has great
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 255
confidence, instilled by me, to write to her on
the subject. I did the same at Issy when I
was in a difficulty there.
I hope much from the details you will get
from St. Malo. Inquire, too, as in your last
you said you would, about an hotel or board-
ing-house. The information will be of great
service to me. O my God, into what a net
hast Thou led me ! The only issue I can see
is through my poor mothers heart! I try to
cheer her ; I have had to soften matters so
as to save her pain. And then the struggle
in my own mind! Cannot you fancy I have
often been on the point of turning back.'* I
can add no more. She is sitting close beside
me. God knows I love and respect her from
the bottom of my soul. Never was filial affec-
tion deeper, and it brings me nothing but pain!
Farewell, dear one. E. Renan.
XXIV
October 10, 1845.
Our mother's letter and yours both came by
the last post, dear Ernest. Your little enclosure
claimed all my attention, as you may fancy, for
I felt the rest of the letter did not fully express
256 BROTHER AND SISTER
your thoughts. How I have suffered, too, from
the signs of failing resolution it bore, compared
with your previous ones — from the idea that
your strength was giving way in face of the
first difficulties confronting you! I pray, with
all the strength of my affection, the two letters
I have sent you to St. Malo have reached
your hands. May they restore your courage !
Above all, may they help you to avoid fresh
mistakes ! I do not reproach you, my poor
child, for I see how pitiable your condition is ;
but let me entreat you not to give way to
suffering, and to try and gather strength to put
an end to a state of matters which must be
perfect torture to you.
You seem to me on the brink of taking up
one of those hybrid positions which are no-
thing in themselves, which lead to nothing, and
which, after absorbing one or two of the most
precious years of your life, will leave us in the
same difficulty as that with which we are now
struggling. What, dear boy, must the result
be? True, you will have acquired a still
greater conviction of the utter impossibility of
continuing in the path into which you have
been forced. But you will also have made
every other line more difficult, by wasting time,
or even by employing it, without any settled
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 257
object. And besides, who knows whether Fate
may not have some fresh trial in store for me ?
Will it permit me, then, to do that which I shall
so gladly do for you at present ?
Well, my Ernest, far be it from me to try
to force either my view of things, or my
opinion as to your proper course, upon you.
My sole desire is to beseech you to beware
of weakness, which frequently is fatal even to
the very persons for whose sake one has been
guilty of it.
In the endeavour to spare them unreason-
able, and therefore short-lived pain, one may be
laying up real and bitter sorrow for them. I
cannot understand what could be so exceed-
ingly distressing to our mother in the very
idea of your striking out a new line, when it
is so evidently demonstrated that your former
one cannot suit you in future. Rest assured,
my dear boy, that though my love and respect
for our mother are as deep as they can be, I
should not have hesitated, in my own case, to
write to her directly, without any intermediary
whatever — *' I can go no further, because I
lack something which nobody can give me.
No human being can make himself believe''
That sums up all you have said to me, and
it required no effort on my part to understand
R
258 BROTHER AND SISTER
that henceforth the fetters proffered you could
only bring you misery. But I still hope my
two last letters may have raised your courage,
and stopped you on the dangerous brink of
compromise.
In my second I enclosed the information sent
me by my good friend Mdlle. U Iliac with regard
to schools and lodgings. My one fear is, that
this letter may have missed you at St. Malo,
and in any case, I am asking Mdlle. Ulliac to
get M. Gasselin to repeat what she had charged
me to tell you. From her you will gather
that you need fear no difficulty in that respect.
Mademoiselle Ulliac's kind - hearted emissary
has, I fancy, found just what you want, and
whenever you need his presence, a line to my
friend will always bring her neighbour to your
side. I gave you Mdlle. Ulliac's address in my
last letter. I only trust it may have reached
you! . . .
I am constantly with you in heart and thought.
I am in a state of the most cruel uncertainty, and
by a curious combination of circumstances this
condition must last for a very long time. The
journey to Italy, of which I dropped a hint to our
mother, is now a settled affair. We are to start
in about ten days or a fortnight ; and in spite of
the anxiety with which I expect news of you,
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 259
I shall have to do without that consolation for
many a day. Do not write here, dear Ernest,
after this reaches you. But if you have done
so already, make your mind easy. The letter will
be sent on to me at Vienna, where we are to
stay two or three weeks.
If anything is settled early in November write
to Vienna, enclosing your letter in an envelope
directed —
Madame Catry^
Princess Lichtenstein^
Hotel Razumowsky^
Landstrasse,
Vienna f Austria.
This friend of mine, who is duly warned, will
safely make over anything she receives to me.
The inside envelope should merely bear the
words, Mdlle. Renan. Let me remind you that
Austrian letters must be prepaid right up to the
frontier, otherwise they are not delivered. You
can direct thus up till the 15th of November,
reckoning a week for the transit of a letter. If
I get news of you, or if I have anything to tell
you, I will write from Vienna.
Not, my dear Ernest, that I desire just now to
stimulate the zeal of the persons I have begged
to act for you. A tutorship of any kind can only
26o BROTHER AND SISTER
be a transitory thing, and a definite position is
now the essential matter in my eyes. I under-
stood at once, my poor dear boy, that Austria
would not suit you, and I had requested my
friends to make inquiries at Munich, not having
any hope of getting it done in North Germany,
where, unluckily, I have no acquaintances. I
say unluckily, and yet I do not greatly regret it,
for I can see no advantage, situated as you are
at present, in your accepting a position which
gives you no future outlook.
Dearest friend, let me say it again, think, pray
think of making a career, a future for yourself,
and shrink from no sacrifice to attain that end.
It was with that view that the Ecole Normal e, or
the private study of Oriental languages, tempted
me for you, and it would cost me much to relin-
quish the idea. My mind is so taken up with
you, dear Ernest, that I can hardly give a thought
to the immense journey on which I am about to
start. Oh, what a consolation it would be to my
poor heart if I could hear from you before I go,
and if your letter told me you had decided at
last according to my hope and my desire. You
may be quite sure you will never be able to go
back to your past life, therefore you must
apply your mind rationally to making the best
of your present position. Your last letter dis-
HENRIETTE TO ERNEST 261
tressed me greatly, but I still hope much from
your common-sense, your reason, and your up-
rightness. You will realise from these incoherent
lines that a thousand duties and preoccupations
are on me as I write. But through them all I
carry one fixed idea — you, my Ernest, always
you.
I fancy you will not have been to Mdlle. Ulliac,
as I begged you not to go unless you had broken
your bonds ; and your last letter tells me that is
not yet the case. You have never mentioned,
dearest Ernest, a few confidential lines which I
sent you through Emma. I wonder whether
they reached you or not ? Pray tell me always
what letters of mine you have received in the
intervals between your answers. What a tor-
ment it is to be in a constant state of anxiety
about one's correspondence !
Farewell, dear friend, I have no time to finish
this, and it must go to-morrow. — I am yours, my
Ernest, yours always, with my whole soul,
H. R.
Please send enclosed note to our mother. I
scarce know what I write. I have not even time
to read my letter over.
262 BROTHER AND SISTER
XXV
Mlle. Renan, Chdteatt de CUmensow, near
Zamosc, Poland.
Rue du Pot-de-Fer, Paris,
October 13, 1845.
At last, my dear, kind sister, I can speak un-
reservedly, and pour out all the anguish of my
soul to you. The last few days are marked ones
in my life. They may or may not have been the
most decisive of my existence ; they have cer-
tainly been the most agonising I can ever know.
So many serious events have been crowded into
their short space, that I can do no more on this
occasion than relate them. Even that will be a
great relief to me, for I am terribly desolate now,
and it is inexpressibly sweet to this tired lonely
heart of mine to lean on yours.
One word more, beloved friend, about the
vacation, which brought me so much happiness
and so much pain at once. My position during
it was of the strangest. It is such a joy to me
to be with my dear mother, to take care of her,
to kiss her, to cheer her with my fancies, that
I believe she would make me forget the most
galling present suffering and anxiety. And
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 263
then the fact of being in the country of my birth
always gives me an indefinable sense of happi-
ness. All my childhood comes back to me, so
simple, so pure, so free from care, and the
thought of the old days is full of charm and
tenderness to me. Life in that country is com-
monplace in a sense, but it has a certain repose
and comfort about it, especially and most plea-
santly favourable to thought and sentiment. Ah!
how deeply I feel its sweetness now ! I am
weak, dearest Henriette. Sometimes I am half
tempted to be satisfied with a simple, even
common life ; I would make it noble by the dig-
nity of its private qualities. But then I think
of you, and I take courage !
Yet even in the midst of so peaceful and plea-
sant an existence you will easily realise how
painfully my position as regarded our mother
must have been. She had a dim suspicion of
my state of mind, and she kept trying to read
the meaning of every word I spoke and every-
thing I did. I dreaded her learning the truth,
and yet I felt she ought to know it. Conceive
my anguish ! The absolute necessity of making
her understand the actual state of the case, com-
bined with the fear of causing her pain, misled
me into doing the most contradictory things,
and that faculty our good mother has of inter-
264 BROTHER AND SISTER
preting everything in the sense she most desires
drove me well-nigh distracted. She would take
no hint of any kind. At last one day the hour
came (I shall never forget it !) when I was forced
to speak more clearly. I said outright that I
was in a state of doubt, and that I must wait.
Well, she has been quieter ever since. The
journey to Germany, which has been our chief
topic, even the idea of my following a course
of private study, no longer cause her the same
terrors. I have contrived to connect them in
her mind with her most cherished plans, with the
idea of our ultimate reunion, with the advance-
ment of my studies, &c.
In fact, my dearest Henriette, I am very well
pleased with the alteration in her way of look-
ing at things, and I believe that by dint of im-
mense precaution we may be able to save her
unendurable suffering. When you write to her,
keep two things before your mind. First, that
she still believes me to be undecided; second, that
the course of private study is to lead up to the
journey to Germany, which in itself is a method
of passing a certain amount of time — a temporary
measure, in fact. Do not even let her know,
till further orders, that I am at an hotel. Ah,
dearest sister, how dear our mother is to me!
There lies my greatest happiness and my sorest
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 265
pain. I should be disgusted to notice signs of
triviality in any department of my innermost
feelings. I can discover none, at all events, in
this particular.
The journey to St. Malo was my first break
with the past, dear Henriette. I found your
letters there, and they were a great support to
me, as you may think, dear sister ; for I had
faltered very often, and I do not blush to own
it — I believe I faltered for reasons which de-
serve respect. I told Alain everything, and with
his usual admirable good sense he realised and
grasped it all at once. He quite agrees with
you and me as to the nature of our plans, and
the method to employ for carrying them through.
His deep and true affection, his acuteness and
his upright feeling, have been the greatest help
to me. Fanny, too, has been very kind. But
I have fought shy of the offers of pecuniary
assistance our good brother has not failed to
make me, so as to relieve you of some of the
burden. Can you forgive this, Henriette.'^ I
remembered you had told me you and I were
one. Yes, dearest, and one day I hope to have
the joy of telling you the same.
I got to Paris on October 9th, in the evening.
Since that time, dearest Henriette, event has fol-
lowed on event with startling swiftness. Though
266 BROTHER AND SISTER
firm in my resolve, and well aware that this
rapidity served but to hasten its execution, I
would sometimes have gladly checked its hurry-
ing speed. As my last letter will have explained,
I was obliged, in pursuance of the cautious line
I had marked out, to go to St. Sulpice when I
first arrived in Paris. I will frankly own that
I believed myself committed to half measures
for a considerable time, and I little thought an
unforeseen event would hasten my somewhat
lagging feet in spite of me. On my arrival at
St. Sulpice, then, I was informed I no longer
belonged to that seminary, having been selected
by Monseigneur Affre, with several others, to
form the institution mentioned in my last letter,
and which, so it appears, is to open its doors
forthwith. At the same time, I was ordered to
call on him in the course of the day and give
my answer. You may imagine my state of
mind. It grew worse a few hours later when
I was told the Archbishop was in the seminary
and wished to see me. My conscience im-
periously commanded me to refuse to join him,
yet it was impossible to give my real reasons,
which would have been but ill received coming
from a person of whose character he possessed
no previous knowledge.
Such, at least, was the opinion of the persons
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 267
I consulted, and who were good enough to under-
take to mediate for me with the Archbishop.
The storm blew over, and His Grace was even
kind enough to send me a few words of en-
couragement and hope.
After taking a public step of so clear and
downright a nature, I thought it better to lose
no time in straightforwardly pursuing the course
circumstances had so successfully opened to me,
and that very day I informed the directors I
did not intend to spend this year at the seminary.
That evening I was in my hotel. All those
bonds broken in a few hours, dear sister. Think
of it! I have no regrets. I revel, on the con-
trary, in the supreme calm that comes after the
sacrifice, for a sacrifice it was to me. Every-
thing looked so smooth before me, our mother
would have been so pleased, and I so peaceful —
and then at certain moments my past life would
take hold of me again, my doubts seemed to fly
away, and my act was evil in my eyes. Yet I
felt that was only the momentary result of my
normal and intellectual weariness, and I knew
whenever I was quietly settled in my own room
all my critical faculties would be sure to re-
awaken. In the course of the next few days I
closed my relations with the authorities of St.
Sulpice in all dignity and seriousness. The
268 BROTHER AND SISTER
esteem and affection they showed me gave me
real delight. I could not have believed such
breadth of mind existed here in the very centre,
so to speak, of the strictest orthodoxy. They
are quite persuaded I shall go back to them.
My Henriette, will you credit it.^ I too like
to fancy it, and it was a pleasure to me to hear
them say it. Tax me with weakness if you will.
I am not a man to espouse a prejudice and re-
solve never to relinquish it, whatever the scien-
tific conclusions I may ultimately reach ; and
after all, Christianity is so constituted that I
can very well admit a man might judge it diffe-
rently according to the various phases of his in-
tellectual progress. But at this present moment
I see no prospect of any change in my opinions,
none, at all events, complete enough to drive me
back into Catholic and ecclesiastical orthodoxy.
Once free of my fetters, I had to turn my
thoughts and efforts in the direction of some
other career. That, in fact, is my constant occu-
pation now, both physical and mental. Things
go on steadily, every hour bringing some fresh
event, which tends towards the ultimate solution,
but nothing is yet absolutely settled. Yet I can
perceive near possibilities of the most cheering
nature. To continue my journal : —
The morning after my departure from the
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 269
seminary I wrote to M. Dupanloup and to Mdlle.
U Iliac. As I had no lay garments to put on,
I could not wait on her in person. I begged
her to ask M. Gasselin to call on me. She
replied the very next day with the kindest
and most obliging letter. It might have been
from your own self. Oh, how she speaks of
you, my Henriette ! How she does love you!
M. Gasselin spoke in the same strain. What
a delight it is to me to feel we are not the
only people who appreciate you ! The simple,
pure, and elevated tone of all your little notes
touches me and gives me strength. On Monday,
the 13th, M. Gasselin came to see me. He is
acting as my intermediary in the matter of
buying my layman's outfit.
I have no answer, so far, from M. Dupanloup.
He is such a busy man, it is well-nigh impos-
sible to get speech of him. I called on him,
but with no better success. A proposal which
I mean to follow up has reached me from the
Superior of the seminary. He desires to get
me into the College Stanislas in some capacity
or other, and promises me every sort of recom-
mendation to the Principal, M. Gratry, who is his
intimate personal friend. You will understand
I cannot well accept anything which would in-
volve too heavy duties, or which did not leave
270 BROTHER AND SISTER
me very many hours for my own work. But
I will do my best. The Professor of Hebrew
and Scripture at the seminary has also promised
to recommend me at once and very strongly to
M. Quatremere, whom he often sees. He has
a great feeling about me, as I am his favourite
pupil. I have often acted in scientific matters
between him and the learned Professor of the
College de France. To wind up, dear Henriette,
unless I am mistaken, we have two questions
before us, each quite distinct from the other.
Firstly, '* Where am I to settle down. In the
College Stanislas the Pension Galleron, &c. ? "
And secondly, ** To what branch of study shall
I ultimately devote myself Shall it be the
Ecole Normale or Oriental languages?" The
solution of the second question must clearly
wait till after the first is settled, for it demands
a world of information not to be collected in a
day. I cannot go to Mdlle. Ulliac and talk it
all over with her personally until I have proper
clothes to wear. That must surely be in the course
of two or three days, and I am confident I shall
not have to spend more than a week in all at an
hotel. The one I am in now is really not dear,
and very decently comfortable.^
^ The hotel kept by Mdlle. Celeste, and mentioned in the
" Souvenirs de I'Enfance et de Jeunesse."
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 271
I must tell you, dear sister, that I am abso-
lutely resolved not to live the whole of this
year at your sole expense, and I have quite
made up my mind to accept some temporary
post which will not take up much of my time,
and which will, to a certain extent, be useful
to me. Something Mdlle. Ulliac dropped has
made me think this possible. On the whole,
dear friend, I am fairly satisfied with the way
in which things are working out, and I have
little anxiety on that score. But what external
benefits can ever compensate for the suffering
I am obliged to inflict on our beloved mother,
and the heartache the severance from my happy
past has cost me ? Ah, how many springs of
happiness must be dry to me henceforward!
And never, never can I drink of any that yield
coarse or vulgar pleasures ! Here ends my
journal, dearest, up to this 13th of October.
If I were to send it off at once I might per-
haps have to write again to-morrow, for to-
morrow may decide my fate. But then, again, I
might be tempted, by this consideration, to put
off sending it from day to day until it is too late.
It is long, too, since you can have heard from
me, and my last letter was not over satisfactory,
as I remember. Till to-morrow then I keep this
back, but to-morrow without fail it goes.
272 BROTHER AND SISTER
Wednesday, i^th October.
All this business makes my head swim. I
am perpetually thinking I see the end of it,
and then it all begins again. Yesterday I was
convinced everything would be settled to-day,
and I put off sending you this letter. To-day
I believe all will be arranged to-morrow, but I
am resolved you shall not suffer any longer by
my silence. We are really getting on. I have
seen M. Dupanloup, and was delighted with
him. He granted me an interview which lasted
an hour and a half, a perfect miracle for him.
Oh, how he understood me ! Oh, how he helped
me ! He brought me back to that higher sphere
of thought from which my sharp anxieties and
the conventionality of the people with whom I
have had to deal had somewhat dragged me
down. I was quite frank and explicit, and he
was very much pleased with me for being so.
I recognised the man's superior qualities by
the clear and straightforward line of action he
recommended. He has promised to do all he
can for me, I have also seen M. Galleron.
He does not take private boarders, but he has
recommended me to a friend of his who keeps
a school (M. Crouzet, Rue des Deux J^glises,
you must know the school), who has offered
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 273
me a position in his establishment which would
ensure me board, lodging, and laundry expenses,
while the duties to be fulfilled in return are
very fair and reasonable/
Then I have seen the Principal of the Col-
lege Stanislas and several of the directors. I
brought recommendations with me, and found
several old acquaintances as well who spoke
for me. I must confess the college tempts me ;
I feel, dear sister, I should be fairly and honour-
ably treated there. You indeed may have some
fears, for a certain proportion of the staff are
churchmen, but the constitution of the house
is purely academic. And I have been exceed-
ingly plain-spoken with the Principal as to the
reason of my leaving the seminary. See what
a capital mode of transition thus offers ! Nobody
will wonder at my going from St. Sulpice to
the College Stanislas, and not a soul will be
surprised at my moving on from the College
Stanislas to some other house connected with
the university. And my mother will be de-
lighted. She has mentioned the college her-
self, and pressed me strongly to enter it. I
go no further into the subject just at present.
I await the communications promised me by
Mdlle. Ulliac and M. Dupanloup. I can do
1 The present Rue de I'Abbd de I'Epee.
274 BROTHER AND SISTER
nothing till I get them. But I must confess
I desire and hope for a successful conclusion.
Forgive the horrible confusion you must per-
ceive in my ideas, dear sister. All these prac-
tical matters weigh me down and harass me. I
have sworn allegiance to an order of things
far superior to such petty questions, and I will
cling to it in spite of every hindrance. What
would life be if it were all made up of such
trivialities !
Farewell, my dear, good Henriette! When
I think of you, and read your letters over, and
recollect that you, a woman, have suffered so
much more than I, I take fresh courage. Write
to me soon, through Alain, through Mdlle.
Ulliac, I care not how ! I hope you will have
another letter within a day or two — by this
very post, perhaps — announcing some definite
conclusion. Till then farewell, my sister. You
know how tenderly I love you. E. Renan.
Do not write to our mother till you have my
next letter ; or if you do write, let her think I
am still at St. Sulpice. Leave the next few
moves as regards that delicate point to me. I
will let you know when it is time for you to take
the initiative in my place.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 275
XXVI
Paris, October 17, 1845.
At last, my dear sister, I can give you a de-
finite reply. All that called for decision, and was
capable of it, just at present, has been settled.
Those ulterior questions only remain which need
leisurely discussion after closer examination of our
circumstances. Let me hasten to tell you, any-
how, I am not bound by any engagement, and
by to-morrow morning what is done can easily
be undone.
It is at the College Stanislas, dear sister, that
I propose to sojourn for the next year. Let me
pray you, in Heaven's name, not to start back at
a name which, so I am told, may be displeasing
to you ! Hear me out ! I have accepted a post
as usher. I know how ill that sounds, and all
the discomforts the position involves ; but I must
put a good face on it, and not expect to find my
path bestrewn with flowers at the very outset.
Well-informed people assure me that, in spite of
my duties, I shall have all the spare time I could
desire. I shall have six hours of perfect freedom
every day. As the classes are small, too, and the
one I shall have to look after consists of the most
advanced pupils, I shall be able to go on with my
276 BROTHER AND SISTER
work even during school-time. And I have ac-
quired a certain amount of habit of working in
surrounding disturbance and even downright noise.
I am to receive six hundred francs a year, food,
firing, &c. This, dear Henriette, is the post I
have accepted. Now let me enumerate the
reasons which inclined me to doing so. Then
I will add those which made it both a duty and
a necessity.
In the first place, dear sister, I shall find within
the college all the necessary facilities for taking
my degree — special courses for preparation, given
for the benefit of the teaching staff, who are still
students, and a special library for the same pur-
pose. One of these courses is delivered by the
Principal, another by M. Lenormand, another by
M. Ozanau. The two last named are professors
at the Sorbonne. I shall be thus in contact
with distinguished and influential men, whose ad-
vice may guide me through this university career,
which is more complicated than you would think ;
and I shall be fairly and honourably treated.
The religious and semi-ecclesiastical character of
the institution is a sure pledge of this, and my
first relations with its chiefs have proved it. You
must admit that amongst Christians and eccle-
siastics worthy of any respect one meets with
an amount of kindness, of charity, as they them-
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 277
selves call it, not to be found elsewhere. This
contrast has struck me sharply of late, since I
have had to do with the two different classes of
people. Your schoolmasters, for instance, have
struck me as being disgustingly hard and fast in
their ideas. I believe they simply desired to use
me as a tool for successful speculations. Never!
my dear Henriette, never ! I must be conscious
of a sense of morality within me and around me
too. And further, dear sister, a college is a
centre where favourable opportunities occur more
frequently than elsewhere, because life there is
more full and active. I am supposed to begin
my teaching duties at once, and, as you know,
the length of time one has been in a career
counts for a great deal. All these reasons seem
to me serious, and in themselves sufficient to
decide me.- But here are others in face of which
I could not hesitate. The bachelor's degree is
by no means the simple affair you take it to be,
as far, at all events, as concerns obtaining the
requisite certificates. I was misinformed as to
those preparatory establishments I mentioned to
you. They do indeed undertake to give you
within a period of five or six months the neces-
sary scientific knowledge to enable you to pass
the examinations, provided you have got your cer-
tificates elsewhere. But they do not give certi-
278 BROTHER AND SISTER
ficates on their own account. This has been
thoroughly explained to me by Messrs. Galleron
and Crouzet, to whom I have spoken on the sub-
ject, and who must be better informed thereon
than any one else. The only possible means they
see would be a certificate of home study, whereby
my brother would attest my having gone through
two distinct twelve months' courses of rhetoric
and philosophy under his eyes, and which docu-
ment he would have legalised by the Mayor.
But as a matter of fact, I shall never have re-
course to this plan. As Mdlle. U Iliac was saying
to me yesterday, ** Should I, who have sacrificed
so much for the sake of uprightness in great
matters, do any less for it in small ones '^ "
Here, then, arises a very great difficulty.
Well, dearest Henriette, it all fades away on
my entrance here. The Principal has promised
that if I enter his service he will get me a special
exemption from the Royal Council of Public In-
struction, by virtue of which 1 shall be able to
take my bachelor's degree whenever I choose.
And for the higher degrees, the only document
I have to be prepared with is my bachelor's
diploma ; so once that is obtained I shall be free,
and able to take my own time. Lastly, dear
Henriette, there is one final reason which appears
to me almost in the light of a duty. It is that
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 279
the arrangement will be eminently pleasing to
our mother. We talked of the plan, and she
seemed delighted with it. I do not doubt its
still giving her great pleasure. Does it not seem
a sort of transition expressly arranged so that
nobody's feelings shall be hurt? Nobody can
think my removal from St. Sulpice to Stanislas a
strange thing. On the contrary, all those I have
formerly been associated with have advised it.
Nor can any one think it odd that I should move
on from Stanislas to some other teaching centre.
So everything will pass off quietly. But I am
especially delighted on account of my poor dear
mother. It is an immense weight off my mind
to feel the shock is delayed, and by that means
greatly softened. And then she will feel it less
when she sees a worldly career opening up before
me. What terrified her was the idea of my being
" stranded," as she called it, and unable to get any
situation ; and she used to quote cases analagous
to mine which really did make me shiver. This
is the foundation of my whole line of conduct as
regards her, my dear sister. She must have no
more idea of anything unusual in my condition
than she had before. I am in a state of -hesita-
tion ; I have made a pause, and I have found a
post which permits me to do so with ease and
safety, because, in any case, I see an opening
28o BROTHER AND SISTER
before me. This, as it appears to me, is the
position we ought to take up before her. And
I repeat my conviction that by so doing every-
thing can be arranged without too much suffering
for her. I do not know, dear Henriette, if I
have succeeded in proving my case for entering
the College Stanislas ; for I must confess I have
learnt from Mdlle. U Iliac with great pain that it
might displease you. Indeed, my dear, I assure
you most truthfully, I never would have agreed
to do it had I thought this. But, obliged as I
was to interpret your supposed wishes, I was con-
vinced the motives I have summed up were more
than sufficient to outweigh a trifling dislike, in-
stinctive rather than seriously reasoned. This,
too, was Mdlle. Ulliac's decided opinion. She
said, *' Agree, but make no permanent engage-
ment, and write to Henriette on the subject."
This I have done most scrupulously. The
great objection is that the college belongs to the
Jes . Oh, dearest sister, it cannot really be
possible in this nineteenth century that a clever
woman like you should trouble her head about
such childishness. As a matter of fact, I have
less liking than any one in the world for the
Jesuits ; I downright dislike them indeed. But
I cannot help laughing heartily at the wild fancy
that turns them into a sort of bogey to frighten
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 281
children with. That, in my eyes, is a very
curious psychological fact, which I class with the
faculty that invented Bluebeard and a host of
other wonderful tales — love of mystery, and an
urgent inclination to see it in everything. Some
people, I believe, take Eugene Sue's novels for
true stories. Oh, my dear, let us not imitate
that folly ! The College Stanislas is just like
any other college. If you read the French news-
papers, you must have seen how successful it
was in the last great competitions. It contains a
certain number of priests, especially among the
managing staff, but all the masters are ordinary
laymen. Enough, dear sister, on this head —
though I must say one word more about my
relations with the Principal of the college (the
Abbe Gratry).
They have been very peculiar, and I am asto-
nished at them my own self. During my first
interview I dropped a few words which struck
him. Some hours afterwards he sent for me,
and a long conversation ensued, during which
we came to a perfect understanding. He is a
very learned and very remarkable man. He
has taken a strong liking to me, and treats me
in a way that quite surprises me — all the more
because I never really knew any complete con-
fidence arise between myself and another person
282 BROTHER AND SISTER
except after a long period of intercourse during
which we were mentally taking stock of each
other. I have been perfectly frank and plain-
spoken ; and note, for it is of capital importance,
that it is not as an ecclesiastic that I enter the
establishment — no special favour is shown me
as such. I should have fought shy of again ac-
cepting any on that score. I shall wear ordinary
lay dress, and only those I choose to inform on
the subject will know what I have been. And
now let me say a word of the delightful visit I
paid last evening to Mdlle. U Iliac. Oh, my dear
sister, how she did enchant me ! The life that
noble -natured woman leads with her mother,
modest as it is in all external matters, is exqui-
sitely and ideally beautiful and pure to me. It
made me think of my own mother till I could
have wept. Yes ! that visit marks an epoch in
my life ! It revealed a whole new sphere of
morality and virtue to me. It taught me there
is something about womanly virtue which does
not exist in man's — something sweet and pure
above all other things. She was exceedingly
kind to me, and so was her aged mother, who
seemed never to tire of talking about you. They
have begged me to visit them frequently, and to
look on their house as a kind of home. How I
thank you, dear sister, for having introduced me
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 283
to such unpretentious, pure-minded people. It
has done me good already. I was so weary of
my late insipid intercourse with men whose real
character is commonplace in the extreme, in spite
of their external appearance of distinction. Here
I find every quality at once. I shall call again
to-day or to-morrow to take my letter.
To Mdlle. Ulliac, too, I owe a visit I have
had to-day from M. Stanislas Julien. He is an
excellent fellow, with a very attractive ease and
briskness of manner. Unluckily, the presence
of a third person inconvenienced us very much.
We had to keep to generalities, to promises of
special privileges at the Royal Library and that
belonging to the institute. But we could not
approach the delicate question as to how a young
man who must live by his brains should set about
entering on the career of a teacher of Oriental
languages. M. Julien, it seems, can speak with
authority on the subject, for he is said to have
been in that very position himself. I am to go
and see him shortly, to fetch the letters which will
secure me the promised library privileges, and
then I will touch on the delicate subject. I suffer
less now, in my own mind, than I did. The
thought of my mother is sad to me, and tender,
but it does not agonise me. The kindness so
many people have shown me cheers and supports
284 BROTHER AND SISTER
me. I need to be spoken to gently and sensibly.
It is the people without any higher aims who
drive me wild. Oh ! happy is the man who can
think in peace, without worrying himself about
his daily bread. Every philosopher ought to
come into the world with three thousand francs
a year of his own if he lives in Paris, and two
thousand in the provinces — not a sou more or
less. . . .
Farewell, my dear, kind sister. Write to me
very soon, if you have not done it already. Tell
me your frank opinion of my new post, and I
will follow your advice. Yes, indeed, my sister,
on that I am resolved ! You know the strength
and purity of my love for you ! — Your brother
and your friend, E. R.
The fifteen hundred francs will lie untouched.
The money our brother has given me is more
than enough to defray my preliminary expenses,
and I shall have my own quarterly payments.
I shall ask your help later on, dear sister ; for
you will understand the plan of private study is
only deferred, and I shall have to come back to
it some day if I want to do anything remarkable.
But it will be better later.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 285
XXVII
College Stanislas, October 31, 1845.
My Dearest Henriette, — Your letter of nth
October reached me only a few hours ago.
The idea it gives me, that you may yet be
long deprived of news of me, and at a moment
of such critical importance to us both, has
deeply pained me. I shudder at the thought
that you are still under the shadow of the
letter I wrote you while I was with our mother,
which drew a picture of my then condition as
sad as it was faithful. Who can tell whether
these lines may not reach your hands before
the few I sent immediately on my arrival
here, which may indeed have somewhat re-
assured you. At all events, dear sister, they
will have told you how, by the strangest coin-
cidence of circumstances, all my bonds fell
from me with a swiftness that fairly astounded
me ; how I was able at once to take the neces-
sary measures for finding some position suited
to our changed plans ; and how by the help of
kindly disposed persons, and especially through
Mdlle. U Iliac, several feasible courses were simul-
taneously offered me. And my second letter,
dearest sister, will have explained that, amongst
286 BROTHER AND SISTER
all these various schemes, the one of settling
at the College Stanislas was that I most in-
clined to. I here take up the story of subse-
quent events, which have reopened a question
I had thought completely closed.
This, to begin with, is the exact view I took
of my position at the College Stanislas. It was,
I held, that of a layman, yet one which might
take on an ecclesiastical shade at will, and I
flattered myself I had thus discovered the long-
sought solution of my weary problem, viz., to
reconcile the imperious rulings of my conscience
with the considerations raised by my tenderest
affections. Alas! my sister, I was quite mis-
taken, and I see now I have been trying all
along to discover an impossibility. I have only
barely escaped finding myself as heavily fettered
as before. But have no fear ; my story will
show you that if you have had reason, up till
now, to accuse me of some weakness, I have
been firm and resolute this time, even beyond
the strictest demands of duty. I was much
surprised on reaching the college, to learn
from the Superior that I was expected to wear
my ecclesiastical habit while performing my
duties within its walls. I had no reason to
suspect any regulation of the kind, and in-
deed I had certain precedents before me which
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 287
warranted my not having any anxiety on the
subject. I made a great fight against this
extraordinary order ; I recalled the frank and
straightforward explanation of my sentiments
I had given when we were discussing our
preliminary arrangements ; I instanced certain
names even. The answer was couched in such
a form as to leave no possibility of immediate
answer to a person in my subordinate position.
What was I to do? To break matters off
then and there, or to enter the college pro-
visionally, and thus to a certain extent to save
appearances. I took the latter course. Was
I right or wrong? It would puzzle me to
answer, even now. But if I did do wrong, it
was by stupidity rather than from want of moral
sense. For I was firmly resolved to beat a
retreat in a very few days if I could not get
satisfaction concerning what I felt to be so
difficult a matter, and even if I did make a
blunder, it will not have done much harm.
A very few days' experience, in fact, con-
vinced me no middle course existed between
leaving the college and keeping up every ap-
pearance of being an ecclesiastic, whence I
concluded, clearly and inexorably, that I must
not stay on. A day or two later I told the
Principal so flatly, and thereupon ensued the
288 BROTHER AND SISTER
Strangest intercourse between us two, which
gave me the opportunity of making a variety
of important psychological observations. I feel
my reasoning will have no effect on him,
for he is persuaded, and he protests to me,
that a few months of intellectual communion
with him will change my views completely.
And knowing the real state of my mind, I
cannot press those same reasons of mine too
closely on him. So we are both of us very
singularly placed. It is as hopeless for us to
understand each other as if we were speaking
two different languages. Yet he is a very dis-
tinguished man : he has his degree of " Docteur-
es-lettres ; " he has passed through the Ecole
Poly technique, &c. He strongly urged me to
give the matter a practical trial by remaining
on temporarily, say, for a few months. But I
have barely promised him a few days even.
Anyhow, whether I stay on here or not, he
has undertaken the necessary steps preliminary
to my getting my bachelors degree, and he
has done me a real service by introducing
me to M. Lenormand and M. Ozanau. I shall
go up to be examined for my bachelor's
degree by this latter gentleman within a very
few days.
Really, my dear Henriette, I pause and
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 289
wonder, when I cast my mind back over the
whole of this strange episode! The queerest
adventures in the world always come my way,
just as if I was born to be worried. But I
can assure you the reason I have given is the
only one that forces me to leave the college.
I am perfectly comfortable here otherwise, and
I give up a great deal in thus relinquishing
what suits me so perfectly under present cir-
cumstances and plunging once more into all
the difficulties that tried me so much before,
and a successful conclusion to which had ap-
peared so very doubtful. But duty is duty,
and I must not shrink from a small sacrifice
after having cheerfully made so great a one.
Of course I have had to recommence the efforts
I had just ceased making to find something in
Paris which may enable us to carry out our
present programme. I cannot tell you any-
thing definite on that point as yet. But I do
not feel the least anxious, because I have the
choice of two equally advantageous posts, which
cannot both fall through.
The first of these would be under M.
Crouzet, Rue des Deux Eglises, whom I have
already mentioned to you, and with whom I
have reopened the negotiations which were
broken off when I entered the College Stanislas.
290 BROTHER AND SISTER
He now makes me a different offer, and a
preferable one, to my mind, though it is less ad-
vantageous, financially speaking. He would re-
ceive me as an absolutely independent student,
stipulating that I should devote an hour and a
half every evening to the very small number
of students of rhetoric and high mathematics
he has in his school, in consideration of which
assistance he would only charge me thirty francs
a month for my board, and he would even give
me a certain amount of private mathematical
teaching, which would further equalise the
matter. You see I should hold no ofifice in
the school ; I should be a pupil, and as such
no school duties, not even those expected of
the teaching staff — such as keeping order, sleep-
ing in the dormitories, &c. — can be required
of me. I shall be as free as if I was in fur-
nished lodgings, able to attend any lectures I
choose, &c. ; only I shall have to give up an
hour and a half every day to the school
students.
The work I should do with them would be
far from being absolutely useless to myself,
and even if there was no pecuniary advantage
to be gained, I think I should like it for the
sake of the service it might be to me, scien-
tifically speaking. A life of thought and deep
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 291
study, if it is to be really enjoyable and pro-
fitable, must have intervals given to some in-
tellectual occupation not too fatiguing nor
troublesome in itself I do not much care
about the man himself, that is true enough ;
but after all, I shall not have much to do with
him, so what does it matter? And it strikes
me that he is prepared to treat me more as
schoolmasters treat their boarders than as they
are apt to treat their staff. You know which
way the balance turns ! I believe he thinks
he will gain some pecuniary advantage. All
the better for him, and for me too!
The second opening, which would hardly fail
me, even if the first were to come to nothing,
is a similar arrangement with M. and Mde.
Pataud, to whom Mdlle. Ulliac has kindly in-
troduced me. There I should have to give
up four hours a day, and even six hours, twice
in the week, and I should have the supervision
(not a very heavy matter it may be) of ten
youths, all of them studying rhetoric or philo-
sophy. As to pecuniary arrangements, I should
simply have my board and lodging free. But
if you will consider the difference as to hours,
and the nature of the duties, you will agree,
I am sure, that the other post presents the
most advantages. At M. Pataud's I should
292 BROTHER AND SISTER
be an official, obliged to sleep in the dormitory,
&c., and barely able to say I have a room of
my own.
M. and Mde. Pataud do indeed seem very
worthy people. They have been most friendly
to me ever since they knew I was your brother,
and have spoken of you in the highest terms
of regard. I am certain I should be very
comfortable with them, and so is Mdlle. U Iliac,
who in that refined and witty, but simple way
of hers, has made the most indescribable re-
marks to me on the subject. She vows it is
absolutely necessary I should have some such
good and kind-hearted woman for my friend.
The idea makes me laugh, though not in any
scorn. I feel my virtue and good behaviour
are safest in my mother's company. And then
you must remember the day is coming when
your presence will be essential to my being,
both moral and intellectual. No man should
live alone — but is a man alone who has a
sister? Do you know, my dearest, we shall
hardly recognise each other — intellectually, I
mean — when we do meet again! It is through
our letters we have grown to know each other
so well. Keep your eyes wide open, bodily
and mentally too ; then you shall tell me all
you have seen and felt, and I will tell you
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 293
all my thoughts, and so shall our life be full
of quiet interest and delight.
But to come back to the present time. You
see things promise fairly well. The advan-
tages of the two posts I have mentioned are
so equal that I shall have no regrets which-
ever fails me. But I confess the first one
tempts me most. Perhaps everything may be
decided by to-morrow. A very few days may
see me settled in my new surroundings. I am
beginning to loathe this provisional state of
things.
I am very busy preparing to take my bache-
lor's degree at once. I am astonished to find
the work so easy ; I really am ready to pass
now. But I have not got my papers yet. I
hope not to have to wait for them beyond
the middle of November. In my next letter I
will explain the plan of study I propose to
follow for taking my higher degrees. This
time, dear Henriette, I have confined myself
to discussing the solution of our first ques-
tion — **What temporary position should I take
up here to ensure the ultimate realisation of
our plans ? "
Now to what special line (the general direc-
tion of my career seems pretty clear) should
I devote myself.'^ Here is another question,
294 BROTHER AND SISTER
a still more serious one, no answer to which
is possible as yet, and indeed it is not abso-
lutely pressing, for I should have to do what
I am doing now under any circumstances. But
I already possess some very important data
relative to the subject, obtained from Messrs.
Stanislas Julien, Quatremere, and several mem-
bers of the university whom I have consulted.
But as I said, I keep all that for my next
letter, in which I shall go into the question
fully.
And our poor dear mother? Ah, dear sister,
there's the rub! And I can see no help for
it. It was on her account especially that I
had plumed myself on getting into the College
Stanislas. What will she say when she hears
I have left it ! But even my short stay here
will have softened matters. This is what I
propose doing with regard to her. I will not
mention the subject at all till I get my bache-
lor's degree. Then I will make her under-
stand the knowledge which suffices for that
will not make me a Master of Arts, that
special study is requisite, and that one is even
expected to attend certain lectures at the Sor-
bonne, &c., that this cannot be conveniently
done from this college — all of it true, to a
certain extent. I will manage somehow to
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 295
put the best appearance on the present state
of things ; but for Heaven's sake leave it to me,
and do not venture to say anything beyond
what the gradual course I have marked out
admits of. I know, dear sister, you may think
my conduct, in several particulars, and especially
in this one, betrays some weakness. But you
will allow if weakness was ever pardonable,
it has been so in my case ; not that I apolo-
gise for it — I love it, and I glory in it. If
ever there lived a bold-hearted man, St. Paul
was one, and he said, *' I glory in my infir-
mities." Oh yes! there is a certain holy vir-
tuous weakness, without which something would
be lacking to the perfect harmony of man's
nature. The perfect man must have some
momentary flinching. Do we not see it even
in Christ Himself? It is only iron bars that
never yield !
As for my mental condition, dear Henriette,
it is infinitely calmer than I could have hoped,
and there has been no internal revolution to
correspond with my exterior ones. I have
learnt various things, but the general system
of my moral and intellectual life has under-
gone no change. My tent is larger, but my
camping ground is still the same. That de-
parture from ''orthodoxy," which has had such a
296 BROTHER AND SISTER
decisive influence on my exterior mode of life,
has had but little on my inner one. To me it
is a mere change of opinion concerning an im-
portant historical point, which does not alter the
actual basis of my mental existence in the least.
I accept and faithfully hold all my former tradi-
tions, practical and speculative, only reserving
the right of verifying them by the future results
of my own study and meditation. But still I
trust those same results will not in future have
to be announced to the outer world by means
of such a painful rupture as that which has been
lately forced upon me !
Farewell, my dear, kind sister. Write to me
from Vienna, and give me the necessary instruc-
tions for directing my letters to you. I have not
yet told you how rejoiced I am to think you are
really going to Italy after all. May the journey
make your exile seem less hard ! And what
about France, dear sister.-* Who knows what
the future may have in store ! We will cling to
each other, and hope still, and let the river of
life flow on! It will lead us somewhere I
You know how tenderly I love you !
E. Renan.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 297
XXVIII
To Mademoiselle Renan.
Paris, November 5, 1845.
Although it is only a very few days since I
last wrote, I feel I must do so again, my dearest
sister, to relate the fresh events which have
definitely settled my position here, and to con-
fide all the thoughts that crowd upon me to
your sympathetic ear. Never did any situation
seem to call for more serious consideration !
Well, dear Henriette, I have formally accepted
one of the two posts mentioned in my last, and
the very one, too, for which I then avowed my
preference. Certain modifications in the original
arrangements made it appear still more advan-
tageous. So I have entered M. Crouzet's school
in the double capacity of private student and
assistant master. But at his request, instead of
taking the upper classes only, I have undertaken
the lower ones, as far as their Greek work
is concerned, the under master not having had
much practice in that branch of study. To this
has been added a private mathematical lesson,
to one pupil only, three times a week, and in
consideration of these extra duties I have my
298 BROTHER AND SISTER
board and lodging free. The whole of the work
put together can never absorb more than two
and a half to three hours in each day. And
indeed no special time is imposed on me. If
I can get through my task any quicker, so much
the better for me. Well, having taken up my
duties yesterday, I have convinced myself they
will never involve my spending the maximum
length of time, and I am sure an hour and a
half will amply suffice for the evening teaching,
without reckoning the mathematical lesson, of
course.
I have but seven pupils altogether, so I have
no fear, dear sister, that the performance of my
functions will unduly rob me of the time so
indispensably necessary for my own purposes
just at this juncture. Further, I have no duties
as to keeping order in the house, nothing to do
with anything that goes on in it ; and I am glad
of this, for I must admit the school is a very
indifferent one. The pupils are miserably back-
ward, and the headmaster himself is far from
being a first-rate man. But all that matters
little ; it is no business of mine to supply them
with brains. Material life here, almost the only
thing I have to consider, as it is my only object
in belonging to the establishment, is very com-
fortable indeed. I must say, when I consider
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 299
that M. Pataud asked me to give four and some-
times six hours' teaching a day in return for the
same advantages, and with that expected me to
sleep in a dormitory, and do without a room of
my own, I cannot help thinking the situation I
have accepted offers far greater advantages — and
that is Mdlle. Ulliac's opinion too. But time will
decide the question, anyhow.
As soon as matters get a little clearer for
us in one direction they seem to grow compli-
cated in another. The question of my bachelor's
degree is now becoming very serious. Before
attempting any steps with regard to the Minister,
M. Gratry thought it best to mention the sub-
ject to M. Rendu, who is a member of the
Royal Council, and the special protector of this
establishment. M. Rendu has strongly dis-
suaded him from taking this course. It would
be very difficult, in his view, to get any positive
exception made, whatever the motives of such
a request might be. The authorities are willing
enough not to make too many difficulties, but
some appearance of legality there must be,
otherwise, as he points out, laws would become
a dead letter. No such step could be taken,
besides, unless we were perfectly certain of its
success ; for supposing it failed in its object,
every other opening would be closed in future.
300 BROTHER AND SISTER
What would the Minister think, for instance,
if a certificate of private study was presented
by a M. Renan who, only a few weeks before,
had asked to be dispensed from giving any
certificate whatever, which fact naturally pre-
supposed he had no special study, either pri-
vate or university, to show. Several alarming
examples of this kind have been quoted to
me. M. Rendu held that if I neither could
nor would obtain a certificate of private study,
the shortest thing for me would be to enter
myself at some college for two years, and to
do it as soon as possible, so that this present
year might count. How shameful it all is, dear
Henriette. How absurd to hold a young man
responsible for the place where his fate has
set him, without ever considering how much
he may have struggled against it. But this
is no time for argument, dear sister ; we are
face to face with facts, and sadly real ones,
alas! What is to be done? The idea of a
certificate of private study was excessively dis-
tasteful to me, in the first instance, especially
on account of the difficulty in which it would
place Alain. You know, of course, he would
have to get it legalised by the Mayor of the
district. And then the straightforwardness of
the plan itself struck me as doubtful. Certain
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 301
very strictly upright people have endeavoured
to remove these scruples. It is an undoubted
fact that the real value of these certificates is
very well known, and that the untruth, if such
there is, lies in the form only. Nobody is
really taken in, and the persons who accept
the certificates are perfectly aware that three
parts of them are false as far as their form
goes. The law has allowed of this loophole
to lessen the odium such brutal exclusiveness
would bring with it, and so true is this, that
the regulations are worded so as evidently to
denote the intention of permitting the equivoca-
tion whenever reason and good sense demand
it. Thus, whenever I mention my scruples,
everybody laughs at me. For deceit ceases
to be deceit as soon as the formula used is
one which, though false in itself, is universally
accepted at its real value. Now this ''private
study" has grown to be synonymous with any
study prosecuted elsewhere than at the univer-
sity, with the consent of the student's relatives.
What does it matter, after all, whether my
father or brother has had me taught philosophy
under his own eye by this tutor or that, or
sent me to receive instruction in some estab-
lishment selected by him? And my case is
really so pressing and the injustice of it so
302 BROTHER AND SISTER
crying, that I do not feel justified in denying
myself a freedom all other people take, and
which really seems tacitly and intentionally
granted by the originator of the law. I have
therefore written to Alain. But you may ima-
gine, dear sister, how uncomfortable it makes
me to ask the poor fellow to do such a thing.
I have besought him, if he thinks anything
disagreeable is likely to ensue for him, to tell
me so frankly, and do nothing more in the
matter. There is no doubt that when the
authorities are sensible people, they never do
make the slightest difficulty. And the Mayor's
signature is quite unquestioned. No inquiries
are ever made as to the truth of his assertion,
especially when the examination takes place in
a different academy from that in which the
private study is supposed to have taken place.
For some time, indeed, I was afraid I might
have to apply at Rennes, in virtue of my hav-
ing studied at St. Malo. But careful inquiries
from the Secretary to the Faculty of Letters
have shown this to be unnecessary, and that
the whole thing can be settled between the
Sorbonne and the Minister on the presenta-
tion of a petition to this last by the Dean of
the Faculty. This is a mere formality, in the
way of which no difficulty ever crops up. But
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 303
unfortunately it always takes a long time. I
shall think myself most fortunate if I contrive
to pass my examination within a month. This
tries my patience terribly. All these tiresome
preliminaries will have cost me ten times the
trouble and anxiety the actual preparation for
the examination has given me. If I could only
be sure of seeing the reward of my pains ! I
await our brothers letter with the greatest
anxiety,
A fresh anxiety is on me now, dear Henriette,
and a far worse one, for it goes straight to my
heart instead of to my brain, and you are its
object. In her little note, Mdlle. U Iliac spoke
of your health as being very much shaken. I
hurried off at once to ask for an explanation of
this terrible reticence on her part, and the most
dreadful secrets were confided to me. What,
Henriette, my dearest, you have been in suffer-
ing, and we knew nothing of it ! Ought you to
have hidden it from me, at all events ? I can
understand your concealing it from our mother —
but me ! Listen, dearest sister ; I am going to
tell you something serious, my firm resolve, the
outcome of my long talk with Mdlle. Ulliac, of
the league, as she calls it, we have entered into,
she and I. You are to choose between two
things. Either your travels in Italy will lead
304 BROTHER AND SISTER
you back to France, and thus be part of your
return journey — for you shall never leave us
again, be sure of that — or else you will go no
further ; you will leave the Zamoyskis in that
lovely country, and come home to us in the
spring. Do you hear, my dear one? This is
a settled matter, immutable, irrevocable. So bid
an eternal farewell to the scenes you are passing
through, and yield yourself up to the exquisite
joy the certainty your exile is nearly over must
inspire.
I can fancy all the objections your unselfish
devotion will raise against our fiat. Oh ! why
cannot I convince you, as I am convinced my-
self, that it is the very depth of your devotion
which should drive you back and keep you
with us. Your health cannot stand the strain,
that much is clear ; and without you, my poor
dear sister, what would become of me.-* My
God, I shudder at the thought! It took hold
of me the moment I read that fatal note from
Mdlle. Ulliac, and never shall I forget the fear-
ful nightmare it has been to me ! Henriette,
what would my present — above all, what would
my future be without you ? I hereby assure
you that the instant I lose you I bid farewell
to every interest in my life, which will thence-
forth be colourless, strengthless, springless utterly.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 305
In a word, I shall be driven to moral suicide.
How often, great Heaven, have I been tempted
to it already, and the thought of you has saved
me, and made me feel life was good, and bade me
cling to it ! I should grow selfish, oh my sister,
with the most horrible kind of selfishness ! Ah,
save me from that miserable fate ! Think of it,
dearest Henriette. Remember my life is bound
up with yours, and then you must surely realise
the tenderest mark of affection you can give me
is to live on for my sake !
You will say there are pecuniary difficulties to
be feared. Dear one, let me reason with you
on that point too. To begin with, I cannot
think such great people would let you depart
empty-handed and without any provision for
your future ; that would be unheard of. And
further, seeing I earn my board and lodging
now, I am not likely to lose ground next year,
especially as I shall have taken my degrees by
then. A man with a master's degree cannot fail
to find a good post, or, at all events, what will
lead to one. I have many acquaintances in the
professorial circle who will be very useful to
me. Messrs. Julien, Quatremere, Galleron, and
Guihal all take the greatest interest in me. I
owe my present situation to M. Galleron. M.
Guihal has promised to provide for me when
u
3o6 BROTHER AND SISTER
once I have taken my degrees ; and besides,
dear sister, I have plans of my own, which I
will enter into later on. At all events, I have
confident hope of being able to support myself
in future, and of being in a position to add my
quota to our common fund before two years are
out, and that without prejudicing my future or
deadening my best intellectual powers in any
way.
And again, my dearest Henriette, I am sure
you have no idea of living in utter idleness
when you return, nor would your personal
tastes permit it. Mdlle. U Iliac has mentioned
several schemes, one more excellent than the
other. There was only one I did not greatly care
about, that of teaching in a school, and I must
admit she told me it appeared highly improbable
to her. Let us keep clear of all that sort of
thing, in Heaven's name ! but she spoke of your
giving public lectures for young girls. — A splendid
notion that ! and of a newspaper for young people,
too — that would be better still. Mdlle. Ulliac has
reputation, friends, every qualification, I may say,
that such an undertaking would demand. She
talks of it all with the most eager and infectious
enthusiasm, but she wants you, Henriette ; she
can do nothing, she declares, without your help.
Come back to us, then, my dearest. I will
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 307
supply you with any amount of material — Greek,
Latin, Hebrew, philosophical, philological, theo-
logical even, if you so desire. I make over all
my work to you in fee simple. Only come back
to us ; that is my delenda Carthago. It shall be
the burden of every letter of mine until I have
convinced you utterly.
Ah ! never shall I forget that evening on the
2nd of November, when Mdlle. Ulliac opened
my eyes. Alas ! my Henriette, how you have
suffered. And she sat and told me all about it
here in Paris, and I — I stood staring with sur-
prise. Nothing but our tender care can ever
make amends for all you have endured for us,
dear love. We will "nurse you up," as our
good friend puts it. Yes, yes, indeed, dear
Henriette, it is high time your loving heart
should be surrounded by hearts which throb
responsive to it. It is high time, indeed, your
wearied, worn-out frame should rest a while
amidst the beings for whose sake you have
undergone so much ; and yet another reason
which has long pressed upon my mind, and
which Mdlle. Ulliac also insists on greatly — the
politico-religious condition of Poland. I could
not speak of it while you were there, but often,
when I read the papers, I shivered at the thought
that my Henriette lived in such surroundings.
3o8 BROTHER AND SISTER
You will apprehend my meaning without another
word from me. Whoever else goes there, no
Frenchwoman ever can return.
I come back to the financial side of the ques-
tion, for there, I fear, you will make the hardest
fight ; but even supposing we had to begin by
struggling hard for our living, the future would
make up for that. Mdlle. Ulliac seems to com-
mand everything except funds. Well, what is
there to prevent our selling our little patrimonial
inheritance should that prove necessary ? Our
two shares put together would bring in a cer-
tain amount, and our mother would be quite
content if she saw it would lead to your settling
down amongst us. That thought always over-
rules every other in her mind, and my next
letter shall tell you of all the plans she has
woven to bring it to pass. And then, dear
Henriette, Alain really loves us ; he would help
us now and then, at all events. Come then,
my dearest, try and take a brighter view of
things. Should we not put some faith, too, in
the Ruler of the Universe, He whom we have
been taught to call our Father ? " Behold the
fowls of the air : they sow not, neither do they
reap; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.
Are ye not much better than they ? Consider
the lilies of the field : they toil not, neither do
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 309
they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even
Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like
one of these. If God so clothe the grass of
the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast
into the oven, shall He not much more clothe
you, oh ye of little faith ? " And I say it again,
my sister ; here is the most solid and truthful of
all my reasons — remember this is a question of
life and death to you, and so to me.
I will not speak just yet, dear sister, either of
my schemes for the less immediate future, or of
the plan of study I have laid out. I must have
more information before either can be absolutely
decided upon. I am regularly attending the
examinations now going on at the Sorbonne for
bachelor's degrees, both in arts and science
(merely as a spectator, of course), so as to calcu-
late my own chances of success. Yesterday I
took possession of my little room. It is a very
pleasant one. It gets all the fresh air from the
Luxembourg quarter of the town. There is a
delightful view over the Luxembourg itself, the
observatory, parks, gardens, and Mdlle. Ulliac's
little square house away in one corner. The
grounds of the Deaf and Dumb Institute are
under my windows. My chief recreation is to
watch the poor little inmates at their play.
So at last, dear Henriette, I am placed just
3IO BROTHER AND SISTER
as you would have me. You know how per-
fectly my own tastes are suited here. My loneli-
ness is my only trial. But then I shall soon
have you back. A few months will fly by very
swiftly — that is all I reckon for, dear sister !
Sometimes, in the evening especially, I have
moments of unutterable sadness, when I think
of my mother — of you, my Henriette — of my
simple, happy past — and when I look out on the
cold world around me, so indifferent to Divine
truth, and so incapable of understanding it. And
then it is so dreary to feel one is only perched
upon a bough, and soon to take flight again.
How well I now understand the truth of what
you once said to me about a roving life ! Man's
instinct is to settle down, to take root wherever
he may go, and when the rapidity of travelling
forbids his doing so, he suffers in the end. Habit
is such a pleasant thing, and habit can only be
formed where one has time to settle and pitch
one's tent. Now I really begin to realise how
trying your life must have been these past ten
years. And how different it is from mine ! My
situation is exceedingly easy and pleasant in itself,
while yours . . . Heavens I when I think of it !
How joyful that day will be which brings you
back to home and all its sweetness ! We shall
be so happy together, my dear I I really am
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 311
naturally very gentle and good-tempered. You
will let me lead my own simple, thoughtful life,
and I will pour out all my ideas and feelings to
you. And we will have friends too, noble in
mind and pure in life, to brighten ours. You
see, dear sister, I paint my dream of happiness
in the fairest colours. Remember if you fail me,
it must crumble into dust !
Farewell, my dear, good sister. The fruition
of the hope I live on lies in the hollow of
your hand. You know what it all hangs on !
I like to think of your Italian journey — it
should be both pleasant and profitable for your
health, it seems to me. But its chiet beauty
should lie in the thought that it brings you
nearer home. Pray write me often from your
various stopping -places. The distance between
us seems nothing to me now. At all events
our letters will not be months in transit, let
us hope. Lean on my love just as I do on
yours. — Your brother, your friend,
E. Renan.
Our poor mother took' the news of my having
entered the College Stanislas very well, and
what makes it more remarkable, she believed
I was entered as a layman. We are really
getting on, but we must be exceedingly careful.
312 BROTHER AND SISTER
Do not let her know 1 have left the college.
Your journey in Italy, and above all, your return
to France, will put other things out of her head.
And then I paint the future gaily to her. Would
that I could ensure her happiness ! Imagine my
anguish when I thought I should have to make
her wretched for ever! Happily, things have
grown clearer, and I hope future joy will atone
for passing pain. By a sudden turn of the wheel,
M. Dupanloup and all his close adherents have
left the little Seminary. He has doubtless under-
gone what every superior-minded man belonging
to that body is certain to endure.
XXIX
To Mlle. Renan.
Paris, December 15, 1845.
I write these lines, dear sister, in a state of
extreme anxiety. I cannot understand your long
silence, and I wear myself out in trying to guess
at some explanation which may somewhat lessen
my alarm. We ought to have had a letter from
Vienna more than a month ago. Have you
left that town .-* Is your letter lost in that weary
post ? Did some unexpected event retard your
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 313
journey, or stop it altogether? These are the
hypotheses on which I prefer to dwell. But
when I think of your already failing health, of
the sufferings you concealed from me for so long,
then, oh ! my dearest sister, I get into a perfect
agony of fear. My imagination conjures up every
sort of terror. I fancy you, my sister, my best
and dearest friend, suffering, worn-out with pain,
far from your own country and from those who
love you best.
If this should be the case, I do beseech you,
dearest Henriette, in the name of our common
affection, to let me know without delay, and I
will fly to you at once. No sacrifice is worth
thinking about under such circumstances. Let
me know everything, my dear sister, without
restriction or reserve. The day when you might
have feared the knowledge of your suffering
would have a baneful influence on me, by driving
me yet further on the path I then was following,
is gone by for ever. Its only present effect will
be to spur me onwards, and urge me to fresh
exertions to put an end to your discomforts.
Mdlle. Ulliac is the only person to whom I
can confide my anxiety, and her fears double
mine, for she is better informed than I about
the sad subject of your physical suffering. Oh !
what a weight it would be off my mind to
314 BROTHER AND SISTER
learn my Henriette is still spared to us, and
travelling joyously and happily back to France.
Yes ! back to France, my dearest, never to
leave it ! Of course the thought of your seeing
Italy delights me ; but the great charm of the
journey, in my eyes, is that I look on it as a
pleasant roundabout way of returning to your
own country. I have said it once, and I still
maintain it, you cannot go back to Poland. But
then, kind Heaven, how can I tell you are not
in Poland still ? Positively, I do not know
exactly what corner of Europe holds the being
towards whom my thoughts so fondly turn. I
am absolutely at sea as to where this letter will
find you, and I have only put off sending it till
now, because I thought it would not catch you
at Vienna. Oh if I only get that thrice blessed
letter to-morrow, or the day after! But I have
delayed writing for so many days in the hope
of hearing from you, that 1 fear if I put off
sending this any longer I shall cause you the
same anxiety as that which now devours me.
I have not the courage, in my present painful
state of tension, to enter into a calm discus-
sion of the important schemes which fill my
thoughts whenever they are not claimed by a
much tenderer interest. But I must give you
a slight sketch of the chief events that have
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 315
taken place since our last communications, and
tell you the effect they have had upon my mind.
From this out — moving about as you will con-
stantly be — we may not be able to keep up any
regular correspondence for some considerable
time. First let me tell you, once for all, dear
sister, that I am very comfortable here, and
that, for a temporary arrangement, I really could
not have hoped for anything better. Experience
confirms every one of my original opinions. The
head of the school is a very worthy man, not
distinguished either in intellect or sentiments.
In that he resembles the large majority of his
kind. I confess my first experience of actual
intercourse with men has brought me much
disappointment. Hitherto I have judged them
conjecturally, supposing them to possess certain
qualities. Facts have convinced me I had taken
them to be more acute and intellectual than
they really are. At first I fancied they were
all phoenixes, and I measured every step I
made and every word I spoke with all the
caution of a novice. Now I have gauged the
people round me, I am beginning to feel more
firm upon my feet. I know my manner is not
like other people s. But I will not try to alter
it ; it is natural to me, and it answers very well.
The consideration shown me here is really
3i6 BROTHER AND SISTER
surprising, all the more as the gentleman at
the head of affairs is not considerate to people
in general. But as you know, everything
depends on the attitude one takes up at first,
and every one can, more or less, dictate the
tone to be taken with himself. When I was
negotiating with the proprietor here, I sug-
gested his making inquiries about me from my
old masters at St. Nicholas. He went there,
and they told him every kind of marvel about
me. All this has done me wonderful service.
I get on just as well with the pupils, and do
not foresee having any difficulty with them. I
already have private teaching, three times a
week only, which brings me in five-and-twenty
francs a month, and I hope to get some more.
But all this is mere sport, my dearest. I cannot
take any of these trifles seriously. Let us talk
— ah ! let us talk about our future !
The particular direction my career should
ultimately take has never been a doubtful point
with you, dear sister. From the very instant
when we first began to turn over all these
serious matters together, I told you clearly it
must be one of those I should describe as intel-
lectual. But as you will feel, this word implies
a considerable latitude of choice, and a wide
field for my indecision consequently offered.
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 317
Circumstances have narrowed that, and, as we
have often agreed, it has reduced itself to two
alternatives, the study of Oriental languages, or
entrance at the university. I have, therefore,
had to consider what advantages and chances
of subsequent success each of these two courses
presented to me. I began by making inquiries
about Oriental languages, towards which you
seemed to me to have a certain leaning, and I
had the great good fortune of being able to
collect the necessary evidence from the lips of
the very men most capable of giving pertinent
judgment on the subject. As I had an intro-
duction from the Hebrew professor at the semi-
nary, and was a former pupil of his own as
well, I was able to confer with M. Quatremere,
and by good Mdlle. Ulliac's friendly offices,
aided by you, my sister, the good genius who
guides me everywhere I go, I gained access to
M. Stanislas Julien. I was much struck by the
perfect harmony between the opinions of these
two gentlemen, and the absolute similarity of
their conclusions. It was almost as if they had
agreed beforehand, and this singular coinci-
dence, added to the consummate wisdom of their
remarks, gave them unquestioned authority in
my eyes.
Each of them while pressing me, with all the
3i8 BROTHER AND SISTER
zeal of a savant for his own special department
of science, to continue that particular line of
study, told me frankly I should be very foolish
to build any hopes for the near future on my
efforts. These studies are so out of the common
order, in fact, that they only pave the way to
a very small number of openings. Will you
believe that when I looked into the matter I
found there is only one professorial chair in the
whole of France, that actually held by M.
Quatremere, in which the languages I have
studied, and which I still desire to study,
viz., the ancient languages of the East, might
eventually place me. Now M. Quatremere has
already adopted his future successor in the per-
son of M. Emmanuel Latouche, nephew of the
Abb6 Latouche, whose acquaintance I made at
M. Quatremere's lectures ; and if there were
any possibility of competing with him, even in
spite of the fact of his having been chosen by
his predecessor, I should not like to look as if
I was supplanting any one.
The modern Oriental languages do indeed
offer more choice as to ultimate employment.
There are professorships at the College de
France and at the School for Oriental Lan-
guages attached to the Bibliotheque Royale, and
then there are consulships, interpreterships, and
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 319
so forth. As to the professorial chairs, they are
occupied, and seem likely to be so, as M. Julien
naively remarks, for a long while yet. The
other posts mentioned have no scientific char-
acter, and are evidently not the kind of thing
we want. And besides, the modern Oriental
tongues do not bring nearly so rich results to
the student as the ancient ones ; and I really
could not make up my mind to devote my life
to studies which would have no higher aim than
the facilitation of commercial relations in some
shape or other.
The practical advice both these gentlemen
gave me was to continue my Oriental studies
quietly, but to take up some other ostensible
career to supply temporary needs, thus leaving
myself free to embrace any opportunity which
may arise. They went over all the most famous
Oriental scholars of the day, and pointed out to
me that all of them, except those whose private
means permitted them to study as amateurs, had
followed this course. It shall be mine too, my
dearest, as to the two first points at all events ;
for as to the last, I shall very likely never make
any effort to create a position based on that parti-
cular portion of my general knowledge.
But learning of every kind has its value, and
these languages will have all the more in my
320 BROTHER AND SISTER
case, because I shall be almost the only member
of the university who knows much about them.
Now there is a huge vein of information as to the
affinity of these Eastern tongues with the classics
which has been left utterly unworked, thanks to
the profound ignorance of our most eminent
Greco- Latinists. There are several gaps, too, in
the teaching at the College de France which
will necessitate the founding of new professor-
ships, the holders of which must be intimately
acquainted with the languages in question, so
as to be able to lecture on Comparative Philo-
logy, Biblical Exegesis, Hebrew Literature, and
Poetry, none of them included in the ordinary
Hebrew course, which is purely grammatical in
its nature. I have work ready on these subjects
which I believe to be new, and which is sus-
ceptible of further and interesting development.
The College de France is so constituted that
professorships are not difficult to create for per-
sons who bring forward new and advanced ideas,
provided these are not supposed to pertain to the
domain of any existing chair. These are only
dreams, dear sister, but I want to show you the
study in question may be of great ultimate ser-
vice to me, even in external matters, and that
there is no reason I should regret the time I
have devoted to it.
OF THE
IVERSITY
W TO HENRIETTE 321
The Oriental languages being thus eliminated
from my programme, no choice remained to me.
I was bound to turn every thought and every
effort towards the university. I will not here
enumerate the various difficulties and aversions
which might have made me shrink, since neces-
sity drives me to overlook them all. I may even
say frankly that the university does not greatly
tempt me, that the instruction given there is not
as purely scientific as I could wish, that I only
endure the classical work because it is my sole
means of securing the right of independent study,
that classical subjects, as a rule, are not to my
taste, &c. &c. But all the same, I have abso-
lutely resolved to take up this line, especially as
none of the drawbacks I have mentioned are
insuperable. But to which side of university
teaching shall I apply myself. Here is a far more
difficult and debatable problem ! The system
of instruction is divided up into four principal
branches or examination classes : ist. Classical
Literature; 2nd, History; 3rd, Philosophy; 4th,
Mathematics and Physical Science. * The first
three constitute the Faculty of Arts ; the last,
subdivided for examination purposes into Mathe-
matical, Physical, and Natural Science, the
Faculty of Science. The examinations are so
arranged that no man can pass in one section of
X
322 BROTHER AND SISTER
a Faculty unless he is very strong in the two
others. Thus, for example, the tests for a Philo-
sophy Fellowship are exactly the same, except in
the case of the last one, as those for a History
Fellowship. As a result of this arrangement the
only choice is the one between the two Faculties,
and that indeed has been the subject of a mighty
controversy within me.
Science has such a charm for me ; I rank it
so much higher than literature, qua literature,
that I doubted long as to whether I would not
give myself up to it entirely. And I may add,
without presumption, I was morally certain in
that case of rising very high in time, that
branch of study being less crowded, and free
from certain peculiarities which at times render
the other almost antipathetic to me. But the
one thing, alas ! to which it could not possibly
lead me is philosophy. And philosophy it is
that has made me elect for literature, and over-
ridden the otherwise powerful considerations that
had given me pause. I could never be satisfied,
intellectually speaking, with a chair of physical
science, however brilliant its surroundings.
Physical science is not everything in life, and
what is the use of learning unless a man learns
to know his own nature and his God — without
philosophy, in short !
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 323
No study which excludes all others has any
fascination for me. There is only one, the queen
of all the rest, which sums them up and crowns
them, which treats alike of God and of man's
soul, and of his reason, to which I can devote
myself completely. I am far from thinking
philosophy as it is publicly taught, as it must
indeed be taught, answers to the description I
have just given ; but it is the branch of uni-
versity teaching which approaches my ideal most
closely, so I was bound to take it up. Often
have I cursed the system under which my be-
loved study is overshadowed by and connected
with others which are not even closely related
to it ! To my mind (which is much more in-
clined to science than to literature) philosophy
should either have a separate Faculty of its own,
or be incorporated in the Faculty of Science.
But while feeling I must make a virtue of
necessity, I am inclined to think a great many
of the subjects which are here combined with
philosophy not at all unsuited to my particular
intelligence, nor unlikely to be of service to me.
History and advanced literary criticism, as I
find them in the works of Kant, Schlegel, &c.,
are quite as dear to me as downright philosophy,
of which they really are a certain form.
The one thing I find it hard to swallow is
324 BROTHER AND SISTER
that pedantic rhetoric for which our university
men entertain a respect, to my thinking, almost
laughable. To many of them, I really do be-
lieve, the maker of the most highly polished
of those dull harangues on which students of
rhetoric are always sharpening their schoolboy
wit is the greatest man upon this earth ! I
nearly fainted when I had to drag all those
old classical rags out of their dusty seclusion.
How cold and empty it all is when once one
has sipped the wondrous nectar of the only
living science !
Let me get back to hard facts, dear sister.
The means of getting a fellowship have occu-
pied my mind as much as the question of which
Faculty I was to study for. There can be no
doubt the surest and most brilliant plan is to
enter the Ecole Normale ; so as soon as I was
free to do it, I set about collecting all the in-
formation I could get, and to make assurance
doubly sure, I made it my business to see the
Principal himself He received me very well,
and the simplicity with which I told him my
story seemed to please him. That you must
know, dear Henriette, is the inevitable pre-
amble, the first question every one asks me is,
** Where I have been educated." It has struck
me wherever I go that the word St. Nicholas,
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 325
coupled with the name of DupanloMp, produces an
excellent effect. The Principal (M. Vacherot),
with an obliging kindness which delighted me,
gave me the fullest information and all the
necessary lists, &c., and added a few significant
words about the extreme liberal-mindedness of
the university authorities, who, so he averred,
would jump at the opportunity of proving the
university does not repudiate persons whose
education has not been altogether moulded on
academic lines.
There are many pros and cons about this
matter of entering the Ecole Normale. It terri-
fies me to think a period of three years, added
to a year of preparation, must elapse before I
can cease being a burden on those I love, and
to whose support I am so anxious to contribute
as soon as may be. Think, dearest sister, must
I wait four more years, till I am seven-and-
twenty, before I can even begin to repay all
you have done for me? On the other hand,
supposing I took my degrees without entering
the Ecole Normale, even granting (which I
think unlikely) I had to wait so long, I might
hope to ease the pecuniary burden of the delay
by various temporary expedients.
326 BROTHER AND SISTER
And then, my dearest, does not the idea of
being tied for ten years frighten you, as it does
me? Supposing the wind blew from some un-
expected quarter, supposing some lucky oppor-
tunity came my way, and I was bound hand
and foot inexorably? not to mention, what you
will doubtless feel, that a certain passive obedi-
ence would be expected of me, which involves
a certain risk of constraint, both as to individual
taste and intellectual development. Several in-
stances of this have been quoted to me. And
again, though the outcome of my solitary studies
may have a strongly individual stamp, and so be
less suited to the views of those who will have
to judge it, there will be all the more indepen-
dence and originality about it, and at all events,
it will not be cast in the common mould, a
thing I dread more than anything on earth.
In a w^ord, dear sister, if I keep my personal
independence, I shall have a far wider field of
intellectual action. For instance, I already have
the outlines, or, at all events, the germs, of
various works, quite original as to their point
of view, which I should like to carry through,
and which if they were ultimately submitted to
competent authorities might lead to something
more. Nothing would be easier than this, once
I have obtained my master's degree, at any rate,
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 327
supposing I carry on my studies by myself.
But if I enter the Ecole Normale, any idea of
that kind must be indefinitely deferred. The
one really considerable advantage I can see
about that step is the position it undoubtedly
gives you in the eyes of others, and the ac-
quaintances it naturally procures you without
any effort or intrigue on your part. Simple and
retiring as I am by nature, it is a great trial
to me to have to endeavour to put myself for-
ward. In an isolated position, with all its draw-
backs, with no central body to assist me, I
should have to try and make myself known, to
attract attention, in fact, in quarters whence I
may look for ultimate support. A situation
which is naturally within the general view,
and which by the very fact of one's holding
it attracts men's eyes, is surely much to be pre-
ferred. This is what the Ecole Normale supplies.
There can be no doubt that any man who dis-
tinguishes himself there may go on steadily and
peacefully with his work, without what I will call
that collar-gall of everyday anxieties from which
no philosophy can legitimately free us. It is clear
enough that even if I become the most learned
savant of the day nobody will seek me out and
obtain advancement for me, unless I take care
to let others know my powers. Learning is
328 BROTHER AND SISTER
written on no man's brow. It must be con-
strained to reveal itself, and that revelation is
torture unless it is the natural consequence of
the student's external position.
As to the entrance examination and my
chances of success in it, here, dear sister, is
my plain opinion. Though want of confidence
in my own powers is not my usual failing, I
confess I cannot look forward to this trial of
them without a certain amount of alarm. It is
easier than the examination for the master's
degree evidently, for students who have passed
it are supposed to give up a year or two after-
wards to preparation for that. Now my idea,
if I do not get into the Ecole Normale, would
be to go up for my degree in a year's time.
All the more reason, say you, for my not being
afraid of the entrance examination. Not at all,
dear sister. The maxim that the greater strength
presupposes the lesser has no point in this case,
because the tests are different in their nature,
especially as regards the written work, which
constitutes the really difficult and important
portion of them.
The essays for the degree examination are
critical and philosophical dissertations quite in
accord with my turn of mind. Those required
at the entrance examination, on the contrary,
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 329
are rhetorical compositions, to which I have
always felt the greatest repugnance. Besides
this, the candidates for admission are most of
them young men, fresh from their rhetorical and
philosophical lectures, and full of the ardour of
youth. I am old already, and I cannot but
laugh at their schoolboy fervour. However,
everything depends on the nature of the sub-
ject given out, and I think it will be one I shall
be able to discuss with considerable success by
treating it from my own particular point of view.
As to my viva voce, I have no fears. I am more
than equal to all that.
In spite of my hesitation between these various
reasons, all of which have so much weight, there
can be no doubt as to my line of conduct. My
preparatory work must, in fact, be much the same,
whether I propose to enter the Ecole Normale
or go up at once for my degree. My decision
would make but little change in my actual prac-
tice. So we have plenty of time to make up
our minds and prosecute further inquiries. I
have just discovered that one of my old class-
mates is actually at the ^^cole Normale. I in-
tend to go and see him within the next few
days, and to ask him for information which will
doubtless prove interesting. Further, I have
lately, through one of my old schoolfellows and
330 BROTHER AND SISTER
best friends at St. Sulpice, and his near rela-
tion, made the acquaintance of M. Feugere,
Professor of Rhetoric at the College Henri IV.
(whose pupils here I overlook). There was some
idea at first of his giving me instruction in my
preparatory work ; but he did not care to under-
take this regularly, and consequently accept re-
muneration for doing it, which had been the
original plan as arranged between my St. Sulpice
friend and myself He has agreed, however,
very willingly, to give me all the assistance I
need, and has advised my doing any I choose
of the papers he sets his pupils, all of which
pass through my hands, he undertaking to look
them over and correct them. For regular
** coaching" he has recommended me to apply
to M. Egger, Professor of Greek Literature at
the Sorbonne, a celebrated Greek scholar, who
has established special lectures for students pre-
paring for entrance or degree examinations, and
not belonging to the Ecole Normale.
I forthwith called on M. Egger, to whom
M. Feugere had already been good enough to
mention me privately. Unluckily his lecture is
limited by the authorities to fifteen students,
and the number is full. But I am sure of the
first vacancy. It will cost us a hundred francs
a year, but I really believe the money could
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 331
not be laid out better. A still more important
point is that M. Egger is also lecturer (pro-
fessor) at the Ecole Normale, and consequently
a member of the board of admission.
I run on, dear sister, and yet there are so
many more things I might tell you. I forgot
to say that everything is settled about the papers
for my bachelor's degree. My brother sent me
those I asked him for, and no difficulty was
made when they were sent in to the Sorbonne.
But the fact of my having studied in the uni-
versity district of Rennes has necessitated a
special permission from the Ministry of Educa-
tion for me to pass my examination in Paris.
Hence arise long formalities, which are tedious,
but nothing more. I daily expect to hear I am
called up for my examination.
Your good angel, dear sister, has been my
guide again in this affair at the Ministry. I
happened upon a very excellent worthy man,
M. Soulice, who has a most affectionate recol-
lection of you. Mdlle. Ulliac recommended me
to him, and he has rendered me some valuable
help. Without it I should have been terribly
hindered. As it is, the delay at the longest
cannot last beyond the first of January. My
preparation is quite complete, and has not cost
me any very great labour.
332 BROTHER AND SISTER
My exact address is
8 Rue des Deux Aglises.
As to my actual work, dear Henriette, I re-
serve all details for my next letter ; this one has
reached a most alarming length already. I
am closely attending all the lectures at the Sor-
bonne and at the College de France which
are like to assist me in my present undertaking.
The Sorbonne courses are more interesting and
spirited this year than usual, public attention,
which had been temporarily diverted else-
where, having been recalled to them by the
daily press. And then, as an effect of the in-
terruptions at the College de France (spon-
taneous perhaps, though carefully led up to by
M. Michelet and M. Quinet), the noisy, stirring
popular student element, which attends lectures
merely to clap its hands and drum with its
feet and shout, has been driven back to the
Sorbonne.
The Sorbonne may have gained in numbers,
but it has not improved as to orderliness, and its
peaceful walls have witnessed scenes unheard of
in its annals. I was present myself during M.
Lenormand's lectures at the most indescribably
disgraceful sights, typical of this nineteenth
century of ours. This professor, whom I know to
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 333
be a man of remarkably liberal views (though I
am far from personally adopting all his opinions),
was interrupted, all through his lectures, by
coarse invectives and frantic noise, nobody quite
knew why. It was evidently a plot among the
ringleaders to drive him from his professorial
chair, and force the authorities to reinstate M.
Quinet. They kept shouting for M. Quinet as if
he had been there to answer them. If you ever
see the French papers, some echo of this students*
quarrel will have reached you.
Good God ! dear Henriette ! I keep drowsing
on with this long tale of mine, and now a cruel
thought breaks on its quiet peace ! It may be,
even as I write, that you are lying in suffering
and exhaustion! too ill to read these lines per-
haps ! Compare the dates, dear sister. This is
the 1 6th of December, and in your last, dated
28th October, you seemed to hold out hopes of
my hearing very soon again. I wait — ah! in
what agonies of impatience do I wait ! The
daily post-hour is an anxious moment to me.
My mother and Alain share my alarm.
Our dear mother is well, and I am glad to
notice she has had opportunities of making little
trips to Lannion and Guingamp, which have
amused her. She still believes me at the
College Stanislas, and I shall not be able to
334 BROTHER AND SISTER
make any acceptable excuse for having left it
until I have taken my bachelor s degree ; so
pray be careful, if you mention me, to keep that
fact in view. There lies the incurable wound,
dear sister, and I cannot think of it without the
most poignant anguish. It needs all my strength
of will to keep me from dwelling on it. Our
brother gives me the kindliest encouragement
and support. He has made his own inquiries
about the Ecole Normale, and strongly urges my
entrance. I have paid him over the 1500 francs
from Rothschild, which I have no earthly need
of now. He has opened an account for me at
Mallet Freres, in case of any sudden need. This
seems to me the better plan. Our funds are thus
in safety, and bearing interest.
Mdlle. Ulliac is quite well. I saw her a few
days ago. She awaits a letter from you before
writing again. Mde. Ulliac is in a very poor
way. They both of them show me the greatest
kindness and affection. My weekly dissipation is
to go to their mesmeric seances ; the chief charm
of which, as far as I am concerned, lies, I confess,
in the society I meet there. Although I have
been the subject of some personal experiments, I
am less of a believer than when I first began.
If to this exciting recreation you add my Sunday
evening visit to the reading-room to look over
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 335
the week's newspapers, the full tale of my amuse-
ments lies before you.
Farewell, you best of friends, on whose faithful
heart mine leans so thankfully in its hours of
weakness ! O Henriette, how I need your
presence ! I beseech you, for Heaven's sake,
take care of your health, and think of me, whose
life would be an utter desert if I lost you. Oh !
if you knew the castles I build, and could see
how you fill them all ! Farewell, my dear,
farewell ! Ernest Renan.
XXX
Paris, December 25, 1845.
I can bear it no longer, dear Henriette. I am
writing to Mde. Catry, beseeching her to tell
me the real truth. I must rid myself of this
agonising doubt which tortures me as much
almost as the most crushing certainty. Hen-
riette, dearest Henriette ! what is the matter }
You have been delayed on your journey, I tell
myself — you have stopped somewhere in Galicia.
But surely letters are delivered in every Euro-
pean country. 1 go wild with terror when I
think that the frightful nightmares my fancy
336 BROTHER AND SISTER
sometimes conjures up may after all be hideous
facts ! Our mother, too, is terribly anxious.
Mdlle. Ulliac knows not what to think. I
count the days till I can have Mde. Catry's
answer. Good God! suppose I have to wait
till then ! If I even knew where to find you,
where to turn to get direct news of you I but
I am utterly in the dark. Who knows whether
even Mde. Catry will be able to tell me any-
thing ! Oh ! if only some good news puts an
end to my anxiety, how heartily I will swear
that this time shall be the last, and these ter-
rible separations never cause us torture more!
France ! France ! dear sister ! That is settled
and irrevocable ! I should feel I was trifling
with the life of my beloved sister if I allowed
her to risk it on my account a moment longer.
I have a strange and unexpected piece of news
to give you. It would be a great delight to me
were it not for the miserable anxiety which
darkens everything. Oh ! how joyfully should
I announce it, if only some good report of you
would arrive to set my mind at rest. The simple
fact is this : —
While I was lecturing on Hebrew at St. Sul-
pice I drew up for my own guidance a very full
set of notes, which form a pretty complete
Hebrew grammar, on a plan which is, to my
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 337
mind, both novel and original — so at least those
who heard my lectures thought it. My former
Hebrew master, who is still my very good friend,
asked to see these notes, and thought them so
good that he has strongly pressed me to publish
them. I should not, I confess, have thought of
doing so yet, but he answered my objections by
such advantageous offers that I was really forced
to give in, at all events for the moment. First
of all, he undertakes to get his publisher (for he
writes himself) to accept the work as his own,
leaving me all the proprietary rights in the book.
Further, and this is the chief point, he being in
charge of the Hebrew studies in all the semi-
naries connected with the Society of St. Sulpice,
assures me he will have the work adopted as the
teaching manual in all those establishments, and
there is really no work at present in existence
which fully supplies that need. You will under-
stand the vital importance of this last clause.
I confess it has dazzled me, and I could not
find it in my heart to refuse. And indeed,
dear sister, I have so many ideas on the
subject which seem to me both novel and
correct, I have collected so much material, and
my research has resulted in so much interest-
ing matter, that I have no doubt of complete
success.
Y
338 BROTHER AND SISTER
All the students who attended my lectures
thought so highly of them, that they took the
trouble of copying out these same notes in full,
in spite of their being so voluminous. I have
enriched my repertory since then with a number
of fresh facts. In short, I shall throw my whole
soul and strength into the work, and I feel I
shall win success. You will readily conceive
what an invaluable start in life this would give
me. A book is the best kind of introduction to
the learned world. Its very composition neces-
sitates consulting a number of wise men, who
are never more flattered than by the homage
their knowledge thus receives. The dedication,
again, may secure one friends and protectors in
high places. My idea would be to dedicate my
book to M. Quatremere. I have quantities of
facts and work on this and kindred subjects for
which there is no room in any grammar, large
as my conception of that word is ; and I have no
doubt that once I can put this information into
literary form it may find a place in the columns
of some one of the scientific publications which
treat specially of Asiatic subjects. I do not
enumerate all the advantages this would bring,
dear sister. You will see them for yourself. I
must tell you, by the way, that the work itself
is nearly finished ; and were it not that I desire
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 339
to give my publication all the finish I am capable
of imparting to it, a few months would suffice
to complete it. But as I desire my first attempt
to be far above the average, and as I want to
be thoroughly conscientious in its preparation, I
shall make it my business to undertake a fresh
series of researches, which will very likely delay
the conclusion of the book for eighteen or twenty
months.
My present situation is precarious indeed, but
it does support me, or will, as time improves it.
The real difficulty does not lie so much in the
present as in the future, and the first question I
have asked myself has been, " What will this lead
to ? " People who like to feel their feet at every
step they take may think I should be safer if I
joined the university at once, even at the risk
of vegetating for ever so long in some college.
But I do not care to circumscribe the possible
area of my life. I desire to leave circumstances
and events to play that important part which no
human foresight can hope to affect or calculate.
Let us allow them to take their natural course,
and let us fit ourselves to snatch every oppor-
tunity as it arises. The execution of this project
would not involve my relinquishing any of our
original ones. The Ecole Normale alone would
have to be sacrificed. I do not regret that
340 BROTHER AND SISTER
greatly. I have made those inquiries from my
former classmate (now a student there) which I
mentioned in my last letter, and the result has
not proved very enticing. As to my degrees, I
am quite determined to carry out that plan. I
consider my bachelor's degree as good as taken.
As for my master's degree, it may be somewhat
delayed, but I still hope to be able to get that exa-
mination over in the course of the next (scholas-
tic) year. I have always made it a rule of work
to have one chief subject of study, and to add
to that several secondary subjects to fill up the
intervals which must occur in my chief pursuit.
After the master's degree there is nothing but
the doctor's, which is mere child's play, on purely
voluntary subjects.
Even supposing the Oriental languages are
not destined to become the principal occupation
of my life, you will readily understand what
inestimable service the fact of my having pub-
lished a book carrying some weight would do
me in any intellectual career. There are num-
berless positions, the competition for which is.
decided by an examination of the works pub-
lished by the candidates. Among these are the
university professorships, to which any man
holding a doctor's degree may aspire. As re-
gards the investigations I have to make, my
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 341
present position affords me every necessary
facility.
M. Julien has obtained leave for me to go
to the Institute Library and consult the precious
MSS. it contains. And a former classmate of
mine at St. Sulpice, whose brother is one of the
librarians at Ste. Genevieve, has got me permis-
sion to take away any books I need in his name.
M. Emmanuel Latouche, whom I have already
mentioned, is in charge of the Semitic Language
Department at the Royal Library, and I have
no doubt he will be very useful to me. I am
carefully attending the lectures my new plan
renders necessary to me, amongst others the
Arabic course given in connection with the
Royal Library and the College de France,
and I have already come across several useful
and pleasant people there. The attendance at
these lectures being very small, gives special
opportunities of this kind. M. Lelin (of St.
Sulpice) had recommended me beforehand to
the notice of M. Caussin de Perceval, the
Professor of Arabic at the College de France,
his own old friend and teacher. Lastly,
M. Julien seemed very much pleased when I
mentioned my idea to him, and has promised
me all the hints I need as to the Tartar lan-
guages. I constantly see him at the Royal
342 BROTHER AND SISTER
Library, where he spends a great many hours
of each day. So, dear sister, my life as regards
study is on an excellent footing ; and though my
future is not quite clear yet, some cheering light
is to be seen. Yes, cheering it would be, if only
my Henriette would come back to complete
my happiness ! The activity of the intellectual
sphere into which my occupations lead me is
very delightful to me. But when I think of the
loved one I may never see again, my joy all
pales, and life looks sad and dreary. I shall be
very happy once hope comes back to me.
I quite forgot to say that if I carry out this
new plan it will answer splendidly as a means of
making things agreeable to our mother. She
believes I am still at the College Stanislas ; and
though my deceit, which amounts to no more
than silence^ is innocent enough, it lies very
heavy on my soul. I am certain the new out-
look will please her, all the more because the
transition from my past life seems so quiet and
simple. And it will soon be easy to convince
her that my studies and researches made a
more independent situation indispensable. She
took great pride in the work I had already
done in this line, and I am sure she will be
delighted.
Dear sister, I have no courage to talk of other
ERNEST TO HENRIETTE 343
things. I can say no more, only repeat the
entreaty of my last letter. If you are ill, in
God's name tell me so plainly and frankly. And
then, Henriette, my beloved ! nothing shall keep
me back ! Not for your sake alone, for mine
too, I beseech you ! Oh, if my sister should
never really know me! Farewell, dearest and
best of friends ! One word from you will change
my sadness to joy and hope. Oh, if I loved you
less I should suffer less bitterly ! Farewell, dear
Henriette ! — Your friend,
E. R.
THE END
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
Edinburgh and London
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