studies, and of a life as innocent as man could lead, notwithstanding
every persuasion to the contrary, the dread of hell frequently tormented
me. I asked myself, "What state am I in? Should I die at this instant,
must I be damned?" According to my Jansenists the matter was
indubitable, but according to my conscience it appeared quite the
contrary: terrified and floating in this cruel uncertainty, I had
recourse to the most laughable expedient to resolve my doubts, for which
I would willingly shut up any man as a lunatic should I see him practise
the same folly. One day, meditating on this melancholy subject,
I exercised myself in throwing stones at the trunks of trees, with my
usual dexterity, that is to say, without hitting any of them. In the
height of this charming exercise, it entered my mind to make a kind of
prognostic, that might calm my inquietude; I said, "I will throw this
stone at the tree facing me; if I hit my mark, I will consider it as a
sign of salvation; if I miss, as a token of damnation." While I said
this, I threw the stone with a trembling hand and beating breast but so
happily that it struck the body of the tree, which truly was not a
difficult matter, for I had taken care to choose one that was very large
and very near me. From that moment I never doubted my salvation: I know
not on recollecting this trait, whether I ought to laugh or shudder at
myself. Ye great geniuses, who surely laugh at my folly, congratulate
yourselves on your superior wisdom, but insult not my unhappiness, for I
swear to you that I feel it most sensibly.

These troubles, these alarms, inseparable, perhaps, from devotion, were
only at intervals; in general, I was tranquil, and the impression made on
my soul by the idea of approaching death, was less that of melancholy
than a peaceful languor, which even had its pleasures. I have found
among my old papers a kind of congratulation and exhortation which I made
to myself on dying at an age when I had the courage to meet death with