Of course he had lived the
affair down; but the result of it would seem to be a bottomless ENNUI, a
TEDIUM VITAE that had something pathological about it. Under its
influence the homeliest trifles swelled to feats beyond his strength.
There was, for instance, the putting on and off one's clothing: this
infinite boredom of straps and buttons--and all for what? For a day
that would be an exact copy of the one that had gone before, a night as
unrefreshing as the last. Did any one suspect that there were moments
when he quailed before this job, suspect that more than once he had even
reckoned the number of times he would be called on to perform it, day
in, day out, till that garment was put on him that came off no more; or
that he could understand and feel sympathy with those faint souls--and
there were such--who laid hands on themselves rather than go on doing
it: did this get abroad, he would be considered ripe for Bedlam.
Physician, heal thyself! He swallowed doses of a tonic preparation, and
put himself on a fatty diet.
Thereafter he tried to take a philosophic view of his case. He had now,
he told himself, reached an age when such a state of mind gave cause
neither for astonishment nor alarm. How often had it not fallen to him,
in his role of medical adviser, to reassure a patient on this score. The
arrival of middle age brought about a certain lowness of spirits in even
the most robust: along with a more or less marked bodily languor went an
uneasy sense of coming loss: the time was at hand to bid farewell to
much that had hitherto made life agreeable; and for most this was a
bitter pill.
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