"Yes, monsieur," I replied, quite bewildered at his manner of addressing me.
"And I," he retorted, almost foaming at the mouth, "am the last senior of your family; I am the Abbé de Chateaubriand de La Guerrande[116]: take a good look at me."
The proud ecclesiastic put his hand into the fob of a pair of old plush breeches, took out a moldy six-franc crown-piece wrapped in a piece of dirty paper, flung it at my head, and continued his journey on foot, muttering his matins as he went, with a furious air. I have since learnt that the Prince de Condé[117] had offered this rustic rector the post of tutor to the Duc de Bourbon[118]. The overbearing priest replied that the Prince, as the owner of the Barony of Chateaubriand, ought to know that the heirs of that barony could have tutors, but could not act as such. This haughtiness was the fault of my family; in my father it was hateful; my brother pushed it to a ridiculous length; it has descended in a certain measure to his eldest son. I am not sure that I myself, in spite of my republican inclinations, have entirely shaken it off, although I have been careful to conceal it.
*
The time approached for making my First Communion, when the family used to decide upon the child's future condition. This religious ceremony took the place among young Christians of the assumption of the toga virilis among the Romans. Madame de Chateaubriand had come in order to be present at the First Communion of her son, who, after being united to his God, was about to part from his mother.
My piety seemed to be sincere; I edified the whole college; there was ardor in my eyes; I was so persistent in my fasting as to make my masters uneasy. They feared lest I should drive devotion to excess; their religious enlightenment sought to temper my fervor. My confessor was the superior of the Eudist Seminary, a man of fifty, of stern appearance. Each time that I presented myself at the confessional, he anxiously questioned me. Surprised at the unimportance of my sins, he did not know how to reconcile my distress with the triviality of the secrets I confided to his bosom. The nearer Easter approached, the more pressing did the priest's questions become. "Are you keeping nothing back?" he would ask. I replied, "No, father." "Have you not committed such and such a sin?" "No, father." And it was always: "No, father." He dismissed me doubtfully, sighing, gazing into my very soul, while I left his presence pale and out of face, like a criminal.
Confession and Absolution.
I was to receive absolution on the Wednesday in Holy Week. I spent the night of Tuesday in praying and in reading with terror the Confessions mal faites. At three o'clock on the Wednesday afternoon, we started for the seminary, accompanied by our parents. All the vain renown that has since attached itself to my name would not have given Madame de Chateaubriand one moment of the pride which she felt, as a Christian and a mother, on beholding her son prepared to participate in the great mystery of religion.
On reaching the church, I prostrated myself before the altar, and lay as though annihilated. When I rose to go to the sacristy, where the superior awaited me, my knees trembled beneath me. I flung myself at the priest's feet; it was only in the most broken accents that I was able to pronounce the Confiteor. "Well, have you forgotten nothing?" asked the messenger of Jesus Christ. I remained silent. He began to question me again, and the fatal "No, father," came from my lips. He lapsed into meditation, asked counsel of Him who conferred upon the Apostles the power of binding and loosing souls. Then, making an effort, he prepared to give me absolution.
Had the sky shot a bolt at me, it would have caused me less dread. I cried: