I now look back upon with the greatest satisfaction.  But what a cruel severance.  It was upon my mother’s account that I suffered the most.  I was compelled to inflict a deep wound upon her without being able to give the slightest explanation.  Although gifted with much native intelligence, she was not sufficiently educated to understand that a person’s religious faith can be affected because he has discovered that the Messianic explanations of the Psalms are erroneous, and that Gesenius, in his commentary upon Isaiah, is in nearly every point right when combating the arguments of the orthodox.  It grieved me much, also, to give pain to my old Brittany masters, who retained such kindly feelings towards me.  The critical question, as it represented itself to my mind, would have seemed absolutely unintelligible to them, so plain and unquestioning was their faith.  I went back to Paris therefore without letting them know anything more than that I was likely to travel, and that my ecclesiastical studies might possibly be suspended.

The masters of St. Sulpice, accustomed to take a broader view of things, were not very much surprised.  M. Le Hir, who placed an unlimited confidence in study, and who also knew how steady my conduct was, did not dissuade me from devoting a few years to free study in Paris, and sketched out the course which I was to follow at the College de France and at the School of Eastern Languages.  M. Carbon was grieved; he saw how different my position must become, and he promised to try and find me a quiet and honourable position.  M. Dupanloup[2] displayed in this matter the high and hearty appreciation of spiritual things which constituted his superiority.  I spoke very frankly to him.  The critical side of the question did not in any way impress him, and my allusion to German criticism took him by surprise.  The labours of M. Le Hir were almost unknown to him.  Scripture in his eyes was only useful in supplying preachers with eloquent passages, and Hebrew was of no use for that purpose.  But how kind and generous-hearted he was!  I have now before me a short note from him, in which he says:  “Do you want any money?  This would be natural enough in your position.  My humble purse is at your service.  I should like to be able to offer you more precious gifts.  I hope that my plain and simple offer will not offend you.”  I declined his kind offer with thanks, but there was no merit in my refusal, for my sister Henriette had sent me twelve hundred francs to tide over this crisis.  I scarcely touched this sum, but nevertheless, by relieving me of any immediate apprehension for the morrow, it was the foundation of the independence and of the dignity of my whole life.

Thus, on the 6th of October, 1845, I went down, never again to remount them in priestly dress, the steps of the St. Sulpice seminary.  I crossed the courtyard as quickly as I could, and went to the hotel which then stood at the north-west corner of the esplanade, not at that time thrown open, as it is now.