Full text: The little review (12 (1926), 1)

You were no longer only a decor. What do I say? The medi 
ocre orderers of a mediocre decor. And here there is no longer 
a decor. There is nothing but you left, my God, there is nothing 
but you—and Satan. Satan, alas, is not, as one imagines, your 
reflection. 
THE WHARF 
But I am in the midst of you, angels and demons of medi 
ation, (for the angels also watch) this beautiful day, and upon 
the wharf there are groups of men who play with the sun and 
with the shadow. It would be so simple to love you, men, and 
see: my heart is already full of this love; but I know that it is 
impossible and that one can love only oneself. One self, God— 
and who else? This we should never know perhaps. All love 
leads to love of oneself, or in part and leads back to it—and love 
of oneself, where does it lead? To Satan, to God and to whom 
else? This should put an end to the vain ideology in which you 
delight, little men, which pretentiously you create each day, and 
forget the Creator. 
Am I indifferent to you? I wish it. But however my uncer 
tain manner and these questions always without answer surprise 
you. “Who is then the one who advances toward the sea and 
before whom the sea recedes? It is so easy (is it not) to go upon 
the sea without danger: We have excellent boats, etc.” Have 
you never seen careless souls walking upon the sea? Faith is 
needed but we do without it. 
You surround me. You urge me to satisfy your question. I 
do not know, I do not know: I would be like a child—to know 
still less, especially not to know that I do not know. I astonish 
you, you say. As a matter of fact the wisdom of children is 
astonishing. You do not understand that one can walk, thus, 
without an aim, or with an aim which continually recedes (you 
murmur that it is the same thing) And perhaps, I would have 
to make only a gesture for the sea to stop, submissive beast, 
curving its snowy back. A gesture! You understand, a 
gesture 
I am like a false prophet who eternally delays the miracle 
which crowns him king. 
ANDRE DE88ON 
S3
	        
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