The last day of my life.
February 11, 1650
I do not like to wake up at 5 o'clock. I wish Queen Christina would understand my poor health conditions and would let me rest until 11 o'clock. I cannot complain too much because she was nice enough to let me into Sweden and let me stay close to the palace. Queen Christina is always the one to let me in the palace. None of the guarde trust me; even after all the months that I have been coming here. Although if she would let me stay in bed until 11 o'clock, I would be more awake and I would get the tangents done even faster than before.
As I have wrote in my past entries over the months, I have told you that the weather here is extreamly cold. It's taking my breath every time I walk out the door. I think that I might be in worst condition than before. Almost like I have a sickness that I am not aware of.
I went to the doctor a few hours ago, just as the Queen ordered me to, and he said that I have Pneumonia. He said he could not do anything about it. So I think tonight I might pass on. The weather is too cold for me here in Sweden. Tell Queen Christina I thank her for her kindness. Tell my friends I thank them for their hardwork and generosity towards my work. Now I will take my last breath.
Sincerly,
Rene Descartes
