of lustre round my misfortunes.

Suddenly the vision fled, and my dungeon became to me really like a
living tomb. A strange sadness for many days quite oppressed me. I
could not even write: it was a dark, quiet, nameless feeling, in no
way partaking of the violence and irritation which I had before
experienced. Was it that I had become more inured to adversity,
more philosophical, more of a Christian? Or was it really that the
extremely enervating heat of my dungeon had so prostrated my powers
that I could no longer feel the pangs of excessive grief. Ah, no!
for I can well recollect that I then felt it to my inmost soul; and,
perhaps, more intensely from the want both of will and power to give
vent to it by agitation, maledictions, and cries. The fact is, I
believe, that I had been severely schooled by my past sufferings,
and was resigned to the will of God. I had so often maintained that
it was a mark of cowardice to complain, that, at length, I succeeded
in restraining my passion, when on the point of breaking out, and
felt vexed that I had permitted it to obtain any ascendancy over me.

My mental faculties were strengthened by the habit of writing down
my thoughts; I got rid of all my vanity, and reduced the chief part
of my reasonings to the following conclusions: There is a God:
THEREFORE unerring justice; THEREFORE all that happens is ordained
to the best end; consequently, the sufferings of man on earth are
inflicted for the good of man.

Thus, my acquaintance with Angiola had proved beneficial, by
soothing and conciliating my feelings. Her good opinion of me had
urged me to the fulfilment of many duties, especially of that of
proving one's self superior to the shocks of fortune, and of