XII.

I was not given to looking at life in a rosy light. My nature, one
uninterrupted endeavour, was too tense for that. Although I occasionally
felt the spontaneous enjoyments of breathing the fresh air, seeing the
sun shine, and listening to the whistling of the wind, and always
delighted in the fact that I was in the heyday of my youth, there was
yet a considerable element of melancholy in my temperament, and I was so
loth to abandon myself to any illusion that when I looked into my own
heart and summed up my own life it seemed to me that I had never been
happy for a day. I did not know what it was to be happy for a whole day
at a time, scarcely for an hour. I had only known a moment's rapture in
the companionship of my comrades at a merry-making, in intercourse with
a friend, under the influence of the beauties of Nature, or the charm of
women, or in delight at gaining intellectual riches--during the reading
of a poem, the sight of a play, or when absorbed in a work of art.

Any feeling that I was enriching my mind from those surrounding me was
unfortunately rare with me. Almost always, when talking to strangers, I
felt the exact opposite, which annoyed me exceedingly, namely, that I
was being intellectually sucked, squeezed like a lemon, and whereas I
was never bored when alone, in the society of other people I suffered
overwhelmingly from boredom. In fact, I was so bored by the visits
heaped upon me by my comrades and acquaintances, who inconsiderately
wasted my time, in order to kill a few hours, that I was almost driven
to despair; I was too young obstinately to refuse to see them.

By degrees, the thought of the boredom that I suffered at almost all