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resistless torrent of wild ideas, it forms for itself a sort of mad
logic, full of anger and malignity; it is in a state at once as
absolutely unphilosophical as it is unchristian.
If I were a divine I should often insist upon the necessity of
correcting irritability and inquietude of character; none can be
truly good without that be effected. How nobly pacific, both with
regard to himself and others, was He whom we are all bound to
imitate. There is no elevation of mind, no justice without
moderation in principles and ideas, without a pervading spirit which
inclines us rather to smile at, than fall into a passion with, the
events of this little life. Anger is never productive of any good,
except in the extremely rare case of being employed to humble the
wicked, and to terrify them from pursuing the path of crime, even as
the usurers were driven by an angry Saviour, from polluting his holy
Temple. Violence and excitement, perhaps, differing altogether from
what I felt, are no less blamable. Mine was the mania of despair
and affliction: I felt a disposition, while suffering under its
horrors, to hate and to curse mankind. Several individuals, in
particular, appeared to my imagination depicted in the most
revolting colours. It is a sort of moral epidemic, I believe,
springing from vanity and selfishness; for when a man despises and
detests his fellow-creatures, he necessarily assumes that he is much
better than the rest of the world. The doctrine of such men amounts
to this:- "Let us admire only one another, if we turn the rest of
mankind into a mere mob, we shall appear like demi-gods on earth."
It is a curious fact that living in a state of hostility and rage
actually affords pleasure; it seems as if people thought there was a
species of heroism in it. If, unfortunately, the object of our
wrath happens to die, we lose no time in finding some one to fill
the vacant place. Whom shall I attack next, whom shall I hate? Ah!
is that the villain I was looking out for? What a prize! Now my
friends, at him, give him no quarter. Such is the world, and,
without uttering a libel, I may add that it is not what it ought to
be.
CHAPTER XVIII.
It showed no great malignity, however, to complain of the horrible
place in which they had incarcerated me, but fortunately another
room became vacant, and I was agreeably surprised on being informed
that I was to have it. Yet strangely enough, I reflected with
regret that I was about to leave the vicinity of Maddalene. Instead
of feeling rejoiced, I mourned over it with almost childish feeling.
I had always attached myself to some object, even from motives
comparatively slight. On leaving my horrible abode, I cast back a
glance at the heavy wall against which I had so often supported
myself, while listening as closely as possible to the gentle voice
of the repentant girl.
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