What a surprise it was to find, under the sceptic and mocking mask of a Byronic Don Juan, the warm and valiant heart of Schiller's Posa, with its ardent and holy love of humanity, its sincere faith in the good. He had the same generous faith in men, the same splendid plans for the good of humanity.
If Falmouth now appeared to me in this new light, it was because, during our long voyage, we had touched on all these subjects.
Until this period of my life, I had been totally indifferent to all political questions. I now began to feel the vibration of a new chord in my being, as, transported with indignation, Henry told me of the long arguments he, a peer of England, had sustained in Parliament, against the Tory party, which he considered the disgrace of his country.
It was impossible to remain unmoved before such eloquent emotion, such keen regret as Falmouth's. He deplored the futility of his efforts, but most of all his culpable weakness in having abandoned the contest before his party had given up all hope of obtaining a victory.
I enter into all these details because they lead to one of the most painful episodes in my life.
For two days Falmouth appeared to be lost in thought. Several times I besought him to confide the subject of his preoccupation to me. He always answered with a smile, that I was not to worry, as he was working for both of us, and that I should very soon know the result of his ponderings.
In fact, one morning Henry entered my room with a solemn air, gave me a sealed letter, and said, with emotion: "Read this, my friend,—it concerns your future, our future."
Then he pressed my hand and went out.
Here is his letter.
Here are the few simple pages, where Falmouth's noble soul revealed itself in all its greatness.