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shipwrecked men in the shape of a single dark band, a sort of black blot
on the horizon.
Shipwreck is the ideal of helplessness; to be near land, and unable to
reach it; to float, yet not to be able to do so in any desired
direction; to rest the foot on what seems firm and is fragile; to be
full of life, when o'ershadowed by death; to be the prisoner of space;
to be walled in between sky and ocean; to have the infinite overhead
like a dungeon; to be encompassed by the eluding elements of wind and
waves; and to be seized, bound, paralyzed--such a load of misfortune
stupefies and crushes us. We imagine that in it we catch a glimpse of
the sneer of the opponent who is beyond our reach. That which holds you
fast is that which releases the birds and sets the fishes free. It
appears nothing, and is everything. We are dependent on the air which is
ruffled by our mouths; we are dependent on the water which we catch in
the hollow of our hands. Draw a glassful from the storm, and it is but a
cup of bitterness--a mouthful is nausea, a waveful is extermination. The
grain of sand in the desert, the foam-flake on the sea, are fearful
symptoms. Omnipotence takes no care to hide its atom, it changes
weakness into strength, fills naught with all; and it is with the
infinitely little that the infinitely great crushes you. It is with its
drops the ocean dissolves you. You feel you are a plaything.
A plaything--ghastly epithet!
The Matutina was a little above Aurigny, which was not an unfavourable
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