SUCH a state of mind was a real disease, or I know not if it may be
called a kind of somnambulism. Without doubt it was the effect of
extreme lassitude, occasioned by continual thought and watchfulness.
It gained upon me. I grew feverish and sleepless. I left off coffee,
but the disease was not removed. It appeared to me as if I were two
persons, one of them eagerly bent upon writing letters, the other upon
doing something else. “At least,” said I, “you shall write them in
German if you do; and we shall learn a little of the language.”
Methought _he_ then set to work, and wrote volumes of bad German, and he
certainly brought me rapidly forward in the study of it. Towards
morning, my mind being wholly exhausted, I fell into a heavy stupor,
during which all those most dear to me haunted my dreams. I thought that
my father and mother were weeping over me; I heard their lamentations,
and suddenly I started out of my sleep sobbing and affrighted.
Sometimes, during short, disturbed slumbers, I heard my mother’s voice,
as if consoling others, with whom she came into my prison, and she
addressed me in the most affectionate language upon the duty of
resignation, and then, when I was rejoiced to see her courage, and that
of others, suddenly she appeared to burst into tears, and all wept. I
can convey no idea of the species of agony which I at these times felt.
To escape from this misery, I no longer went to bed. I sat down to read
by the light of my lamp, but I could comprehend nothing, and soon I found
that I was even unable to think. I next tried to copy something, but
still copied something different from what I was writing, always
recurring to the subject of my afflictions. If I retired to rest, it was
worse; I could lie in no position; I became convulsed, and was
constrained to rise. In case I slept, the same visions reappeared, and
made me suffer much more than I did by keeping awake. My prayers, too,
were feeble and ineffectual; and, at length, I could simply invoke the
name of the Deity; of the Being who had assumed a human form, and was
acquainted with grief. I was afraid to sleep; my prayers seemed to bring
me no relief; my imagination became excited, and, even when awake, I
heard strange noises close to me, sometimes sighs and groans, at others
mingled with sounds of stifled laughter. I was never superstitious, but
these apparently real and unaccountable sights and sounds led me to
doubt, and I then firmly believed that I was the victim of some unknown
and malignant beings. Frequently I took my light, and made a search for
those mockers and persecutors of my waking and sleeping hours. At last
they began to pull me by my clothes, threw my books upon the ground, blew
out my lamp, and even, as it seemed, conveyed me into another dungeon. I
would then start to my feet, look and examine all round me, and ask
myself if I were really mad. The actual world, and that of my
imagination, were no longer distinguishable, I knew not whether what I
saw and felt was a delusion or truth. In this horrible state I could
only repeat one prayer, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”