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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 283
feels at home in the dust, bathes in dirt and should have
been a rat since it makes no use of its wings—man’s jackal.
What was it doing out here where there were no men?
What did it live on ? On the seed of the nettle ?
A few more steps and he found the sole of a shoe ; a
large foot, a foot deformed by hard work, had trodden
heavily on this sole. Between the trunks he came upon a
fire-place made of boulders, an altar perhaps, on which
Nature’s conqueror had sacrificed to Strength. The fire
had long been extinct, but the effects of it were still
visible. The ground was dug up as if by the hoofs of
animals, the trees were stripped of their bark, even the
rocks were broken ; there was a gigantic well in the moun-
tain, filled with dirty brown water ; the bowels of the earth
had been laid bare and the broken pieces scattered as if
by naughty children, disappointed because they had not
found what they sought. But a great piece of mountain
was missing. It had been taken away with the feldspar
to the china factory, and only when there was no more to
be got, man had stayed away.
He fled from the devastation, down to his boat. He
noticed the traces of footsteps on the sand. He cursed
and turned to fly when he suddenly saw in a flash that he
had been cursing himself ; and all at once he understood
why the seagulls and the adder and all the others had
shunned him, and he retraced his footsteps, for he could
not escape from himself.
He gazed at the sea through his field-glasses in the
direction whence he had come. A white dress and a blue
cover shone among the oak-trees. He climbed into the
’
boat, ate his bread, drank a liqueur and muttered, seizing
the oars
—
" You, whose every desire has been fulfilled, who
possess the best of all things Life has to bestow, why are
you discontent?
"
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