Departure for the Seminary
I had to be in the seminary on 30th October of that year, 1835. My little wardrobe was ready. My relatives were all pleased, and I even more than they. It was only my mother who was pensive. Her eyes followed me around, as if she wanted to say something to me. On the evening before my departure she called me to her and spoke to me these unforgettable words:
My dear John, you have put on the priestly habit. I feel all the happiness that any mother could feel in her sons good fortune. Do remember this, however: it’s not the habit that honours your state, but the practice of virtue. If you should ever begin to doubt your vocation, then – for heaven’s sake! – do not dishonour this habit. Put it aside immediately. I would much rather have a poor farmer for a son, than a priest who neglects his duties.
When you came into the world, I consecrated you to the Blessed Virgin. When you began your studies, I recommended to you devotion to this Mother of ours. Now I say to you, be completely hers; love those of your companions who have devotion to Mary; and if you become a priest, always preach and promote devotion to Mary.
My mother was deeply moved as she finished these words, and I cried.
Mother, I replied, I thank you for all you have said and done for me. These words of yours will not prove vain; I will treasure them all my life.
The following morning I went off to Chieri, and on the evening of that same day I entered the seminary. After greeting my superiors, I made my bed, and then, with my friend Garigliano, strolled through the dormitories, the corridors, and finally into the courtyard. Glancing up at a sundial, I saw written,
The hours drag for the sad, fly for the happy.
That’s it, I said to my friend; that’s our programme.
Let’s always be cheerful, and the time will pass quickly.
The following day I began a three-day retreat, and I went out of my way to make it as well as I could. At the end of the retreat I approached Dr Ternavasio of Bra, the lecturer in philosophy. I asked him for some rule of life by which I might fulfil my duties and win the goodwill of my superiors.
Just one thing, replied the good priest, the exact fulfilment of your duties.
I made this advice my norm and applied myself with all my soul to the observance of the rules of the seminary. I made no distinction between the bells that called me to study, to church, to the refectory, to recreation, or to bed. This diligent observance won me the affection of my companions and the esteem of superiors. Consequently, my six years at the seminary were a very happy period.