re, 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 I 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.

She, who brought everything into a system, had not failed to do as much
by religion; and this system was composed of ideas that bore no affinity
to each other. Some were extremely good, and others very ridiculous,
being made up of sentiments proceeding from her disposition, and
prejudices derived from education. Men, in general, make God like
themselves; the virtuous make Him good, and the profligate make Him
wicked; ill-tempered and bilious devotees see nothing but hell, because
they would willingly damn all mankind; while loving and gentle souls
disbelieve it altogether; and one of the astonishments I could never
overcome, is to see the good Fenelon speak of it in his Telemachus as if
he really gave credit to it; but I hope he lied in that particular, for
however strict he might be in regard to truth, a bishop absolutely must
lie sometimes. Madam de Warrens spoke truth with me, and that soul, made
up without gall, who could not imagine a revengeful and ever angr