"I hardly know myself yet. I must make its nearer acquaintance
first," answered Wilhelin.
"I confess that it leaves me quite unmoved. No, not that exactly,
for I am rather vexed at it for giving so many idiots an excuse for
ranting and absurd sentimentality. Now just look at all these people
on the beach. In reality they are bored to extinction, and enjoy the
Boulevards infinitely more than this expanse of water, which is
quite meaningless to them. And yet you have only to mention the
word--the sea--and they will instantly turn up their eyes and start
off repeating the lesson they have learned by rote about their
rapture and enthusiasm, just like a musical box which grinds out a
tune when you press a button at the top. The sea was invented by a
few romantically inclined poets. But I deny that there is any truth
in then rhapsodies; the sea is hopelessly monotonous, and monotony
excludes the possibility of beauty or charm. One has at most the
same feeling for it as for a mirror in which one sees oneself
reflected. The sea is a blank page, which each one fills up with
whatever he happens to have in his own mind, or, if you like it
better, a frame into which one puts pictures of one's own imagining.
I grant that you can dream by the side of the sea, for it does
nothing to disturb your dreams or give them any particular bent or
coloring.
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