Rousseau's Confessions Excerpt 24 In the Seminary there was an abominable missionary priest who troubled me, and I hated even the Latin he taught me. He has a smooth and shiny head

Rousseau's Confessions excerpt 24-1

In the seminary there was an abominable missionary priest who tried to trouble me, and I hated even the Latin he taught me. He had smooth and shiny black hair, a bread's colored face, a buffalo-like voice, owl-like eyes, a beard like a wild boar's mane, a smile with malicious sarcasm, and a four-strand movement like a puppeteer. I shuddered at the thought of it. What a difference this is between such a teacher and a court priest who was my teacher!

If I let this monster be at the mercy of this monster for two more months, I would be insane. The kind Mr. Gro saw my bitterness, and he freed me from the clutches of the beast. He gave me to one of the most gentle men, a man named Gadhier, a young priest from the place of Fosini, who had come to this seminary to study.

He was very patient and very humble, and he did not teach me to read as he studied with me. I quickly fell in love with him. However, despite the time he spent a lot of time for me, despite the hard work we both worked hard and he taught very well, no matter how hard I tried, the progress was still very small.

When the time came to accept the priesthood, Mr. Gaddicai was to return to the province to be a priest, and when I left, I clinged to him, and I was sorry and grateful.

I hit walls everywhere. With regard to my progress, Mr. Gadie has made as favorable a report as possible, but my progress and my efforts are still disproportionate, and this situation does not encourage me to continue my studies. So the bishop and the dean of the seminary lost faith in me and sent me back to Madame Warren, because I didn't even have enough material to be a priest. Despite all the prejudices against me, Mrs. Warren did not abandon me.

I went back to my mom with the sheet music, which benefited me a little. The tune of "Alfie and Aretus" that I sang was almost all that I had learned at the Seminary, and my special love of this art gave her the idea of developing herself into a musician; the opportunity was good that her family would have a concert at least once a week, and one of the cathedral musicians who conducted this little concert was a Parisian, named Le-Myrtle, a good composer, very lively and cheerful, still very young, a kind lad. My mother introduced me to him privately, I liked him very much, and he didn't hate me. I moved into his house and spent a winter there.

This period was the calmest phase of my life and the most enjoyable in retrospect. In retrospect, I still feel relaxed, as if I still live in it.

On a Sunday of Advent, a hymn is sung on the stone steps of the sanctuary, following the rituals of the local church. My mother's personal maid, Miss Marcelle, knew a little music, and I will never forget the chorus of hymns called "Please Give" that Monsieur Le-Myrtle asked me to sing with her, and her hostess listened so happily. This memory of the innocent era of happiness often intoxicates me and makes me sad.

I lived in Annecy for almost a year without being blamed in the slightest, and anyone was happy with me. I have not done anything stupid since I left Turin; I will never do anything stupid as long as it is in front of my mother's eyes. She guided me and has always guided me well. My attachment to her became my only desire, and yet it was not a crazy' desire, as evidenced by the fact that my mind strengthened my intellect.