M.Gros willingly assented to the project of Madam de Warrens, and, for a very moderate pension, charged himself with the care of instructing me.The consent of the bishop was all that remained necessary, who not only granted it, but offered to pay the pension, permitting me to retain the secular habit till they could judge by a trial what success they might have in my improvement.
What a change! but I was obliged to submit; though I went to the seminary with about the same spirits as if they had been taking me to execution.What a melancholy abode! especially for one who left the house of a pretty woman.I carried one book with me, that I had borrowed of Madam de Warrens, and found it a capital resource! It will not be easily conjectured what kind of book this was- it was a music book.Among the talents she had cultivated, music was not forgotten;she had a tolerably good voice, sang agreeably, and played on the harpsichord.She had taken the pains to give me some lessons in singing, though before I was very uninformed in that respect, hardly knowing the music of our.psalms.Eight or ten interrupted lessons, far from putting me in a condition to improve myself, did not teach me half the notes; notwithstanding, I had such a passion for the art, that I determined to exercise myself alone.The book I took was not of the most easy kind; it was the cantatas of Clerambault.It may be conceived with what attention and perseverance I studied, when Iinform my reader, that without knowing anything of transposition or quantity, I contrived to sing, with tolerable correctness, the first recitative and air in the cantata of Alpheus and Arethusa: it is true this air is so justly set, that it is only necessary to recite the verses in their just measure to catch the music.
There was at the seminary a curst Lazarist, who by undertaking to teach me Latin made me detest it.His hair was coarse, black, and greasy, his face like those formed in gingerbread; he had the voice of a buffalo, the countenance of an owl, and the bristles of a boar in lieu of a beard; his smile was sardonic, and his limbs played like those of a puppet moved by wires.I have forgotten his odious name, but the remembrance of his frightful precise countenance remains with me, though hardly can I recollect it without trembling;especially when I call to mind our meeting in the gallery, when he graciously advanced his filthy square cap as a sign for me to enter his apartment, which appeared more dismal in my apprehension than a dungeon.Let any one judge the contrast between my present master and the elegant Abbe de Gauvon.
Had I remained two months at the mercy of this monster, I am certain my head could not have sustained it; but the good M.Gros, perceiving I was melancholy, grew thin, and did not eat my victuals, guessed the cause of my uneasiness (which indeed was not very difficult) and taking me from the claws of this beast, by another yet more striking contrast, placed me with the gentlest of men, a young Faucigneran abbe, named M.Gatier, who studied at the seminary, and out of complaisance for M.Gros, and humanity to myself, spared some time from the prosecution of his own studies in order to direct mine.Never did I see a more pleasing countenance than that of M.Gatier.He was fair complexioned, his beard rather inclined to red; his behavior, like that of the generality of his countrymen (who under a coarseness of countenance conceal much understanding), marked in him a truly sensible and affectionate soul.In his large blue eyes there was a mixture of softness, tenderness, and melancholy, which made it impossible to see him without feeling one's self interested.From the looks and manner of this young abbe he might have been supposed to have foreseen his destiny, and that he was born to be unhappy.
His disposition did not belie his physiognomy: full of patience and complaisance, he rather appeared to study with than instruct me.
So much was not necessary to make me love him, his predecessor having rendered that very easy; yet, notwithstanding all the time he bestowed on me, notwithstanding our mutual good inclinations, and that his plan of teaching was excellent, with much labor, I made little progress.It is very singular, that with a clear conception I could never learn much from masters except my father and M.Lambercier;the little I know besides I have learned alone, as will be seen hereafter.My spirit, impatient of every species of constraint, cannot submit to the law of the moment; even the fear of not learning prevents my being attentive, and a dread of wearying those who teach, makes me feign to understand them; thus they proceed faster than I can comprehend, and the conclusion is I learn nothing.My understanding must take its own time and cannot submit to that of another.
The time of ordination being arrived, M.Gatier returned to his province as deacon, leaving me with gratitude, attachment, and sorrow for his loss.The vows I made for him were no more answered than those I offered for myself.Some years after, I learned, that being vicar of a parish, a young girl was with child by him, being the only one (though he possessed a very tender heart) with whom he was ever in love.This was a dreadful scandal in a diocese severely governed, where the priests (being under good regulation) ought never to have children- except by married women.Having infringed this politic law, he was put in prison, defamed, and driven from his benefice.I know not whether it was ever after in his power to reestablish his affairs; but the remembrance of his misfortunes, which were deeply engraven on my heart, struck me when I wrote Emilius, and uniting M.Gatier with M.Gaime, I formed from these two worthy priests the character of the Savoyard Vicar, and flatter myself the imitation has not dishonored the originals.