I was acquainted with men of
letters, I heard them speak of literature, and sometimes mingled in
the conversation, yet rather adopted the jargon of books, than the
knowledge contained. In my excursions, I frequently called on my
good old friend Monsieur Simon, who greatly promoted my rising
emulation by fresh news from the republic of letters, extracted from
Baillet or Colomies. I frequently saw too, at Chambery, a Jacobin
professor of physic, a good kind of friar, who often made little
chemical experiments which greatly amused me. In imitation of him, I
attempted to make some sympathetic ink, and having for that purpose
more than half filled a bottle with quicklime, orpiment, and water,
the effervescence immediately became extremely violent; I ran to
unstop the bottle, but had not time to effect it, for, during the
attempt, it burst in my face like a bomb, and I swallowed so much of
the orpiment and lime, that it nearly cost me my life. I remained
blind for six weeks, and by the event of this experiment learned to
meddle no more with experimental chemistry while the elements were
unknown to me.
This adventure happened very unluckily for my health, which, for
some time past, had been visibly on the decline. This was rather
extraordinary, as I was guilty of no kind of excess; nor could it have
been expected from my make, for my chest, being well formed and rather
capacious, seemed to give my lungs full liberty to play; yet I was
short breathed, felt a very sensible oppression, sighed involuntarily,
had palpitations of the heart, and spitting of blood, accompanied with
a lingering fever, which I have never since entirely overcome.
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