opinion of others, M. Dupanloup was anxious that I should, before leaving the Stanislas College, go through a course of private prayer.  At first, I was tempted to smile at this proposal, coming from him.  But when he suggested that I should do this under the care of M. de Ravignan I took a different view of the proposal.  I should have accepted, for this would have enabled me to bring my connection with Catholicism to a dignified close.  Unfortunately, M. de Ravignan was not expected in Paris before the 10th of November, and in the meanwhile M. Dupanloup had ceased to be superior of the petty seminary and I had left the Stanislas College; the realization of this proposal seems to me adjourned for a long time to say the least of it.

Good-bye, my dear friend, and forgive me for having spoken only of myself.  For your own as for your friend’s sake, let me beg of you to take care of yourself during the period of convalescence and not to compromise your health again by getting to work too soon.  I will not ask you to answer this unless you feel that you can do so without fatigue.  The true answer will be when we can grasp hands.  Till then, believe in my sincere friendship.

[Footnote 1:  M. Cognat merely analyses the rest as follows:—­“M.  Renan then enters into some details with regard to preparing for his examination for admission into the Normal School, and for a literary degree.  With regard to his bachelor’s degree, the examination for which he has not yet passed, it does not cause him much concern.  He had, however, great difficulty in passing, and only did so by producing a certificate of home study, much as he disliked having resort to this evasive course.  He did not feel compelled to deprive himself of the benefit of a course which was made use of by every one else, and which seemed to be tolerated by the law of monopoly of university teaching in order to temper the odious nature of its privileges.  ‘But,’ he goes on to say, ’I bear the university a grudge for having compelled me to tell a lie, and yet the director of the Normal School was extolling its liberal-mindedness.’”]

PARIS, September 5th, 1846.

I thank you, my dear friend, for your kind letter.  It afforded me great pleasure and comfort during this dreary vacation, which I am spending in the most painful isolation you can possibly conceive.  There is not a human being to whom I can open my heart, nor, what is still worse, with whom I can indulge in conversations which, however commonplace, repose the mind and satisfy one’s craving for company.  One can be much more secluded in Paris than in the midst of the desert, as I am now realizing for myself.  Society does not consist in seeing one’s fellow-men, but in holding with them some of those communications which remind one that one is not alone in the world.  At times, when I happen to be mixed up in the crowds which fill our streets, I fancy that I am surrounded by trees walking.  The effect is precisely the