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 tolerable
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 I inform 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