n this, as in many other instances,
wherein he has drawn down the blame of the sticklers for consistency, by
the desire to spare pain and trouble to his family; for he knew that his
relatives would suffer much inconvenience by his resistance on his
death-bed to the execution of certain religious formalities to which, in
his own mind, he attached not the slightest importance."

It is rather a delicate matter to scrutinize motives, however great the
temptation to do so, may be: fortunately, however, all call for the
performance of so ungracious a duty on the present occasion is removed
by M. Colmache, who tells us frankly what the reason was which induced
M. de Talleyrand to enact something like a solemn farce in his dying
moments. It was not religious compunction, nor any affectation of it,
but a regard for the convenience and the material interests of his
successors; "for it can not be denied," said he, "that he had ever held
in view the elevation and aggrandizement of his family."

Certainly not. Nobody will be bold enough to do so. What prompted
Voltaire to attend his parish church regularly to the last hour of his
life, and even to take the communion; what led Franklin to mingle in the
throngs which crowded around Whitefield in America; and what induced
Gibbon to visit temples of religion when he had nothing else to do, and
to record his impressions of the sermons he was condemned to listen to,
must forever remain among the minor mysteries of humanity; but about M.
de Talleyrand's "retraction," as it has been called, strange to say,
there is no mystery at all. It was a mere exemplification of "the ruling
passion strong in death." He could no longer care for himself, which had
been the chief business of his life; but he could do what was next thing
to it--he could care for his relations whom he was leaving behind him,
and he did so.

The querulous part of this statement relates to Louis Philippe. The
monarch, as is well known, visited his aged servant on his death-bed,
and, we have not a doubt, behaved both gracefully and kindly. M.
Colmache, however, does not think so, and all but abuses the king for an
act which, being spontaneous, has the look, if it had not the reality,
of benevolence. His manner was, it seems, constrained, the task itself
was irksome, and his "bearing," as compared with that of the dying
statesman, _tant son peu bourgeois_. "Despite the old faded
dressing-gown of the one, and the snuff-colored