The illness that was upon me was, without my
knowing it, the cause of my fear. The next day I was carried downstairs
by two vile-smelling labourers and taken by Vilhelm Rosenstand the
painter, who was one of the few who had made friends with me and shown
me kindness, to the Prussian hospital on the Tarpeian Rock, near the
Capitol.
Here a bad attack of typhoid fever held me prisoner in my bed for some
few months, after a compatriot, who had no connection whatever with me,
had been so inconsiderate as to inform my parents by telegraph how ill I
was, and that there was little hope for me.
The first month I was not fully conscious; I suffered from a delusion of
coercion. Thus it seemed to me that the left side of my bed did not
belong to me, but to another man, who sometimes took the place; and that
I myself was divided into several persons, of which one, for instance,
asked my legs to turn a little to the one side or the other. One of
these persons was Imperialist, and for that reason disliked by the
others, who were Republicans; nevertheless, he performed great
kindnesses for them, making them more comfortable, when it was in his
power. Another strangely fantastic idea that held sway for a long time
was that on my head, the hair of which had been shorn by the hospital
attendant rather less artistically than one cuts a dog's, there was a
clasp of pearls and precious stones, which I felt but could not see.
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