aux, a pious and
learned Breton priest who was vicar-general to M. de Quelen, I chose
M. Gosselin for my tutor, and I have retained a most affectionate
recollection of him. No one could have shown more benevolence,
cordiality and respect for a young man's conscience. He left me in
possession of unrestricted liberty. Recognising the honesty of my
character, the purity of my morals and the uprightness of my mind, it
never occurred to him for a moment that I could be led to feel doubt
upon subjects about which he himself had none. The great number of
young ecclesiastics who had passed through his hands had somewhat
weakened his powers of diagnosis. He classed his students wholesale,
and I will, as I proceed, explain how one who was not my tutor read
far more clearly into my conscience than he did, or than I did myself.
Two of the other tutors, M. Gottofrey, one of the professors of
philosophy, and M. Pinault, professor of mathematics and natural
philosophy, were in every respect a contrast to M. Gosselin. The first
named, a young priest of about seven and twenty, was, I believe, only
half a Frenchman by descent. He had the bright rosy complexion of
a young Englishwoman, with large eyes which had a melancholy candid
look. He was the most extraordinary instance which can be conceived of
suicide through mystical orthodoxy. He would certainly have made, if
he had cared to do so, an accomplished man of the world, and I have
never known any one who would have been a greater favourite with
women. He had within him an infinite capacity for loving. He felt that
he had been highly gifted in this way; and then he set to work, in
a sort of blind fury, to annihilate himself. It seemed as if he
discerned Satan in those graces which God had so liberally bestowed
upon him. He boiled with inward anger at the sight of his own
comeliness; he was like a shell within which a puny evil genius
was ever busy in crushing the inner pearl. In the heroic ages of
Christianity, he would have sought out the keen agony of martyrdom,
but failing that he paid such constant court to death that she, whom
alone he loved, embraced him at last. He went out to Canada, and the
cholera which raged at Montreal gave him an excellent opportunity for
attaining his end. He nursed the sick with eager joy and died.

I have always thought that there must have been a hidden romance
in the life of M. Gottofrey, and that he had undergone some
disappointment in love. He had