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
Charmettes, 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 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 practice the same folly.
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