opportunity of talking of myself as an isolated individual; but if you judge me converted to false notions, I must say to you and to others who are interested in me:  read me as a whole, and do not judge me by detached fragments; a spirit which is independent of party exactions, sees necessarily the pros and cons, and the sincere writer tells both without busying himself about the blame or the approbation of partizan readers.  But every being who is not mad maintains a certain consistency, and I do not think that I have departed from mine.  Reason and sentiment are always in accord in me to make me repulse whatever attempts to make me revert to childhood in politics, in religion, in philosophy, in art.  My sentiment and my reason combat more than ever the idea of factitious distinctions, the inequality of conditions imposed as a right acquired by some, as a loss deserved by others.  More than ever I feel the need of raising what is low, and of lifting again what has fallen.  Until my heart is worn out it will be open to pity, it will take the part of the weak, it will rehabilitate the slandered.  If today it is the people that is under foot, I shall hold out my hand to the people—­if it is the oppressor and executioner, I shall tell it that it is cowardly and odious.  What do I care for this or that group of men, these names which have become standards, these personalities which have become catchwords?  I know only wise and foolish, innocent and guilty.  I do not have to ask myself where are my friends or my enemies.  They are where torment has thrown them.  Those who have deserved my love, and who do not see through my eyes, are none the less dear to me.  The thoughtless blame of those who leave me does not make me consider them as enemies.  All friendship unjustly withdrawn remains intact in the heart that has not merited the outrage.  That heart is above self-love, it knows how to wait for the awakening of justice and affection.

Such is the correct and easy role of a conscience that is not engaged in the party interests through any personal interest.  Those who can not say that of themselves will certainly have success in their environment, if they have the talent to avoid all that can displease them, and the more they have of this talent, the more they will find the means to satisfy their passions.  But do not summon them in history to witness the absolute truth.  From the moment that they make a business of their opinion, their opinion has no value.

I know sweet, generous and timorous souls, who in this terrible moment of our history, reproach themselves for having loved and served the cause of the weak.  They see only one point in space, they believe that the people whom they have loved and served exist no longer, because in their place a horde of bandits followed by a little army of bewildered men has occupied momentarily the theatre of the struggle.

These good souls have to make an effort to say to themselves that what good there was in the poor and what interest there was in the disinherited still exists, only it is no longer in evidence and the political disturbance has sidetracked it from the stage.  When such dramas take place, those who rush in light-heartedly are the vain or the greedy members of the family, those who allow themselves to be pulled in are the idiots.