In recalling these souvenirs of my past life, I have no other aim than the firm determination, if that be possible, of reviewing, as a cold and disinterested spectator, the scenes of my most secret thoughts, as well as the struggles of my instincts, whether good or evil; not to be ashamed to own up to a single one of them, no matter how base or paltry. I believe myself to be neither better nor worse than the common run of men, and what gives me the courage to admit everything to myself is the conviction that possesses me, that, should the greater number of men ask themselves the same questions, and reply to them with the same frankness, their answers would in most instances be the same as mine. To go back to the death of my father: my grief was most profound, but it was not my predominating sentiment at the first. My first sensation was a sort of terrified stupefaction at finding myself, at twenty-two years old, perfectly free, and master of a large fortune. My next feeling was an inexplicable anguish at the idea that from henceforth I was without any natural protector. Come vice or virtue, glory or obscurity, my life from henceforth would interest no one; besides, the eccentric life my father had led, isolated for so long from all the world, had placed me almost in the position of a stranger to that society which my rank and fortune entitled me to enter. The future seemed to extend itself before me like a vast desert crossed by a thousand paths, but no souvenir, no interest, nor even any family or caste patronage could I claim which might show me which of these paths was the right one. As in all else, thanks to the lapse of time, this impression was fated to be modified and then radically altered; but the transition was a long one. Some time later this timidity gave place to, or rather was mingled with, a tinge of pride, as I considered that all the great domains of our family belonged to me alone, and that, though the responsibility of their regency might be burdensome, it would be its own compensation. When still very young I had mechanically acquired a habit of self-interrogation, so when I perceived that my profound affliction had begun to take on these first tints of personality, I shuddered as I remembered those terrible words of my dying father, "You are generous and kind, you love me tenderly, and yet, sooner or later after my death, you will begin to miss me less and less, then you will be entirely consoled, and finally you will forget me altogether."