ivilization. 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
Whitman 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 arbitrarily extracted and mutilated by my
enemies. It is a shameful record. For nearly a year this has gone on.
Certain socialist or syndicalist papers may have succeeded here and
there in getting some fragments through,[2] but it was only in the month
of June 1915 that for the first time my chief article, the one which was
the object of the most violent criticism, "Above the Battle," dating
from September 1914, could be published in full (almost in full), thanks
to the malevolent zeal of a maladroit pamphleteer, to whom I am indebted
for bringing my words before the French public for the first time.

A Frenchman does not judge his adversary unheard. Whoever does so judges
and condemns himself: for he shows that he fears the light. I place
before the world the texts they have slandered.[3] I shall not defend
them. Let them defend themselves!

One single word will I add. For a year I have been rich in enemies. Let
me say this to them: they can hate me, but they will not teach me to
hate. I have no concern with them. My business is to say what I believe
to be fair and humane. Whether this pleases or irritates is not my
business. I know that words once uttered make their way of themselves.
Hopefully I sow them in the bloody soil. The harvest will come.

ROMAIN ROLLAND.

_September, 1915._

I. AN OPEN LETTER TO GERHART HAUP