In spite of my apparent coldness, and my continual sarcasms against friendship,—this sentiment to which I pretended to be so indifferent,—I felt at times drawn towards Falmouth by a lively sympathy.
Then, I repeat, this voyage appeared to me under a charming aspect; instead of regarding it as a disagreeable and tiresome distraction, I had golden dreams in thinking of all that might be agreeable, if I saw, if I met in Falmouth a tender and devoted friend.
There were the long and intimate conversations of the voyage, hours so favourable for disclosing one's inmost thoughts, and for confidences; there were the cruises, fatigues, even perils to share as brothers in an unknown country,—confidences, cruises, fatigues, perils, that might be so pleasant to recall later, in saying to each other, "Do you remember?" Sweet words, sweet echo of the past which makes the heart leap!
"Without doubt," I said to myself, "the satiety of pleasures is bad, but at least happily surfeited are they who, satiated with all the delicacies of the most refined existence, have the valiant caprice to go to temper again their souls at the conflagration of Canaris."
Interpreted in this manner, was not this voyage noble and grand? Was there not something touching and chivalrous in this community of dangers so fraternally shared?
When I quietly yielded to these impressions their beneficent influence softened my heart, so grievously occupied; a precious balm shed itself upon my wounds, I felt better; I still sorrowfully deplored the past, but I no longer hated it, and the generous faith that I had in myself for the future soothed the bitterness of my regrets.
Finally, during the pure and pious aspirations of my heart towards a consoling friendship, I could not express the happiness which transported me; as God embraces with a single glance all the ages of eternity, with the sudden radiance of my young hope it seemed to me to disclose all at once the horizon of the happiness which I imagined, a thousand new raptures, a thousand enchanting joys, with these words, "a friend." I felt awaken within me the noblest instincts, the most generous enthusiasm. I was then, doubtless, well worthy of inspiring and of sharing this great and lofty sentiment, for I felt all the sympathy of it, I understood all the pious duties in it, and I experienced all the happiness of it.
But, alas! this ecstasy lasted but a short time, and from this radiant sphere I often fell again into the black abyss of the most detestable doubt, of the most humiliating scepticism.
My distrust of myself and my fear of being the dupe of the feelings which I experienced became magnified to the most suspicious monomania.
Instead of believing Falmouth attracted to me by a sympathy equal to that which I felt for him, I sought to learn what interest he could have had in inviting me to accompany him. I knew his fortune to be so large that I could not see in his offer any desire to diminish by half the expense of the voyage that he wished to make by proposing to me to undertake it with him. Nevertheless, in thinking of the contradictions of human nature, so extreme and so inexplicable, and of the more than modest simplicity which Falmouth assumed at times, I did not regard this miserable afterthought as absolutely inadmissible.