His disposition did not belie his physiognomy: full of patience and
complaisance, he rather appeared to study with than to 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