the light, which struck directly on the planisphere, proceeding from a cause they could not divine- the candle being concealed by the sides of the pail), the four stakes supporting a large paper, marked over with various uncouth figures, with the motion of the telescope, which they saw turning backwards and forwards, gave the whole an air of conjuration that struck them with horror and amazement.My figure was by no means calculated to dispel their fears; a flapped hat put on over my night-cap, and a short cloak about my shoulder (which Madam de Warrens had obliged me to put on presented in their idea the image of a real sorcerer.Being near midnight, they made no doubt but this was the beginning of some diabolical assembly, and having no curiosity to pry further into these mysteries, they fled with all possible speed, awakened their neighbors, and described this most dreadful vision.The story spread so fast that the next day the whole neighborhood was informed that a nocturnal assembly of witches was held in the garden that belonged to Monsieur Noiret, and I am ignorant what might have been the consequence of this rumor if one of the countrymen who had been witness to my conjurations had not the same day carried his complaint to two Jesuits, who frequently came to visit us, and who, without knowing the foundation of the story, undeceived and satisfied them.These Jesuits told us the whole affair, and Iacquainted them with the cause of it, which altogether furnished us with a hearty laugh.However, I resolved for the future to make my observations without light, and consult my planisphere in the house.
Those who have read Venetian magic, in the Letters from the Mountain, may find that I long since had the reputation of being a conjurer.
Such was the life I led at Charmettes when I had no rural employments, for they ever had the preference, and in those that did not exceed my strength, I worked like a peasant; but my extreme weakness left me little except the will; besides, as I have before observed, I wished to do two things at once, and therefore did neither well.I obstinately persisted in forcing my memory to retain a great deal by heart, and, for that purpose, I always carried some book with me, which, while at work, I studied with inconceivable labor.Iwas continually repeating something, and am really amazed that the fatigue of these vain and continual efforts did not render me entirely stupid.I must have learned and relearned the Eclogues of Virgil twenty times over, though at this time I cannot recollect a single line of them.I have lost or spoiled a great number of books by a custom I had of carrying them with me into the dove-house, the garden, orchard, or vineyard, when, being busy about something else, I laid my book at the foot of a tree, on the hedge, or 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 Imost 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 tranquilized 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 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 Idie 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.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, Ithrew 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: