the first place that came to hand, and frequently left them there,
finding them a fortnight after, perhaps, rotted to pieces, or eaten by
the ants or snails; and this ardor for learning became so far a madness
that it rendered me almost stupid, and I was perpetually muttering some
passage or other to myself.

The writings of Port-Royal, and those of the Oratory, being what I most
read, had made me half a Jansenist, and, notwithstanding all my
confidence, their harsh theology sometimes alarmed me. A dread of hell,
which till then I had never much apprehended, by little and little
disturbed my security, and had not Madam de Warrens tranquillized my
soul, would at length have been too much for me. My confessor, who was
hers likewise, contributed all in his power to keep up my hopes. This
was a Jesuit, named Father Hemet; a good and wise old man, whose memory
I shall ever hold in veneration. Though a Jesuit, he had the simplicity
of a child, and his manners, less relaxed than gentle, were precisely
what was necessary to balance the melancholy impressions made on me by
Jansenism. This good man and his companion, Father Coppier, came
frequently to visit us at Charmette, though the road was very rough and
tedious for men of their age. These visits were very comfortable to me,
which may the Almighty return to their souls, for they were so old that I
cannot suppose them yet living. I sometimes went to see them at
Chambery, became acquainted at their convent, and had free access to the
library. The remembrance of that happy time is so connected with the
idea of those Jesuits, that I love one on account of the other, and
though I have ever thought their doctrines dangerous, could never find
myself in a disposition to hate them cordially.

I should like to know whether there ever passed such childish notions in
the hearts of other men as sometimes do in mine. In the midst of my