yond the differences of race, the roots and the
common trunk of our civilization. Art makes them
love the profound sources of the genius of a people.
Science makes them believe in the unity of reason.
The great social movement which renews the world,
reveals the organized effort of the working classes
all round them to unite their forces in the hopes
and struggles which break the barriers of nations.
The brightest geniuses of the earth, like Walt Whit-
man and Tolstoi, chant universal brotherhood in
joy and suffering, or else like our Latin spirits,
pierce with their criticism the prejudices of hatred
and ignorance which separate individuals and
peoples.

Like all the men of my time, I have been brought
up on these thoughts; I have tried in my turn to
share the bread of life with my younger or less
fortunate brothers. When the war came I did not
think it my duty to deny these thoughts because the
hour had come to put them to the test.

I have been insulted. I knew that I should be
and I went forward. But I did not know that I
should be insulted without even a hearing.

For several months no one in France could know
my writings except through scraps of phrases arbi-
trarily extracted and mutilated by my enemies. It

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