aster 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.

While I was at the seminary, M. d'Aubonne was obliged to quit Annecy,
Moultou being displeased that he made love to his wife, which was acting
like a dog in the manger, for though Madam Moultou was extremely amiable,
he lived very ill with her, treating her with such brutality that a
separation was talked of. Moultou, by repeated oppressions, at length
procured a dismissal from his employment: he was a disagreeable man; a
mole could not be blacker, nor an owl more knavish. It is said the
provincials revenge themselves on their enemies by songs; M. d'Aubonne
revenged himself on his by a comedy, which he sent to Madam de Warrens,
who showed it to me. I was pleased with it, and immediately conceived
the idea of writing one, to try whether I was so silly as the author had
pronounced me. This project was not executed till I went to Chambery,
where I wrote 'The Lover of Himself'. Thus when I said in the preface to
that piece, "it was written at eighteen," I cut off a few years.

Nearly about this time an event happened, not very important in itself,
but whose consequence affected me, and made a noise in the world when I
had forgotten it. Once a week I was permitted to go out; it is not
necessary to say what use I made of this liberty. Being one