It was, then, simply an instinctive movement on my part, and not the result of any fixed purpose.
And then had that action been any sacrifice on my part? No, I had not hesitated an instant. Then there was very little merit in it, because value of an action can only be judged by the sacrifice it involves.
A millionaire, giving a gold piece to a beggar, does nothing that appeals to our sympathy; but the beggar, dividing his louis with one who is more unfortunate than himself, appears sublime.
When I once began to consider the truth of such paradoxes, I never could stop.
My bravery was none the less belittled in my eyes.
When I behaved with so much bravery in my struggle with the pirates, did I for an instant think of sustaining the name of Frenchman or the honour of my country before those Englishmen, of chasing from the sea those pirates that infest it, of showing Falmouth that, in spite of the moral weakness of my nature, I at least possessed the courage of action? No; I had simply obeyed the instinct of self-preservation; I had struck blow for blow. I wished to kill, in order not to be killed. Therefore, there was no more greatness nor bravery in my conduct than in the desperate rage of the animal that is brought to bay, and turns ferociously on its enemy.
Then as a last argument against myself, I said: Why is my heart filled with bitterness and sadness? Had my action been really grand, the high sentiments it aroused in me would not already have vanished, to give place to such doubts about Falmouth and myself.
Alas! the terrible conclusion of all these accursed doubts was not far off.
Now that I can reflect on my cruel blindness, I think that I must have been urged on to this pitiless analysis by a miserable jealousy that I dared not admit.
Not being capable of such devotion as that of Falmouth, I doubtless wished to account for it by some vile motive.