Till now, I had been a great sleeper, but a total privation of
repose, with other alarming symptoms which have accompanied it, even
to this time, persuaded me I had but a short time to live. This idea
tranquillized me for a time: I became less anxious about a cure, and
being persuaded I could not prolong life, determined to employ the
remainder of it as usefully as possible. This was practicable by a
particular indulgence of Nature, which, in this melancholy state,
exempted me from sufferings which it might have been supposed I should
have experienced. I was incommoded by the noise, but felt no pain, nor
was it accompanied by any habitual inconvenience, except nocturnal
wakefulness, and at all times a shortness of breath, which is not
violent enough to be called an asthma, but was troublesome when I
attempted to run, or use any degree of exertion.
This accident, which seemed to threaten the dissolution of my
body, only killed my passions, and I have reason to thank Heaven for
the happy effect produced by it on my soul. I can truly say, I only
began to live when I considered myself as entering the grave; for,
estimating at their real value those things, was quitting, I began
to employ myself on nobler objects, namely by anticipating those I
hoped shortly to have the contemplation of, and which I had hitherto
too much neglected. I had often made light of religion, but was
never totally devoid of it; consequently, it cost me less pain to
employ my thoughts on that subject, which is generally thought
melancholy, though highly pleasing to those who make it an object of
hope and consolation; Madam de Warrens, therefore, was more useful
to me on this occasion than all the theologians in the world would
have been.
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