eak continually without time for recollection. I know not
whether it proceeds from my mortal hatred of all constraint; but if I am
obliged to speak, I infallibly talk nonsense. What is still worse,
instead of learning how to be silent when I have absolutely nothing to
say, it is generally at such times that I have a violent inclination: and
endeavoring to pay my debt of conversation as speedily as possible, I
hastily gabble a number of words without ideas, happy when they only
chance to mean nothing; thus endeavoring to conquer or hide my
incapacity, I rarely fail to show it.

I think I have said enough to show that, though not a fool, I have
frequently passed for one, even among people capable of judging; this was
the more vexatious, as my physiognomy and eyes promised otherwise, and
expectation being frustrated, my stupidity appeared the more shocking.
This detail, which a particular occasion gave birth to, will not be
useless in the sequel, being a key to many of my actions which might
otherwise appear unaccountable; and have been attributed to a savage
humor I do not possess. I love society as much as any man, was I not
certain to exhibit myself in it, not only disadvantageously, but totally
different from what I really am. The plan I have adopted of writing and
retirement, is what exactly suits me. Had I been present, my worth would
never have been known, no one would even have suspected it; thus it was
with Madam Dupin, a woman of sense, in whose house I lived for several
years; indeed, she has often since owned it to me: though on the whole
this rule may be subject to some exceptions. I shall now return to my
history.

The estimate of my talents thus fixed, the situation I was capable of
promised, the question only remained how to render her capable of
fulfilling my destined vocation. The principle difficulty was, I did not
know Latin enough for a priest. Madam de Warrens determined to have me
taught for some time at the seminary, and accordingly spoke of it to the
Superior, who was a Lazarist, called M. Gras, a good-natured little
fellow, half blind, meagre, gray-haired, insensible, and the least
pedantic of any Lazarist I ever knew; which, in fact, is saying no great
matter.

He frequently visited Madam de Warrens, who entertained, caressed, and
made much of him, letting him sometimes lace her stays, an office he was
willing enough to perform. While thus employed, she would run about the
room, this