. We are all answerable, do you say?
Terrible net-work of words! Responsible no doubt we are for the best
and the worst of our people, it is a fact as we well know, but that it
is a duty that binds us to their injustices and their insanities.... I
deny it!...

There can be no question as to community of interest. No one, thought
Clerambault, has had more joy in it, or said more in praise of its
greatness. It is good and healthy, it makes for rest and strength, to
plunge the bare, stiff, cold ego into the collective mind, as into
a bath of confidence and fraternal gifts. It unbends, gives itself,
breathes more deeply; man needs his fellow-man, and owes himself to
him, but in order to give out, he must possess, he must be something.
But how can he be, if his self is merged in others? He has many
duties, but the highest of all is to be and remain himself; even when
he sacrifices and gives all that he is. To bathe in the soul of others
would be dangerous as a permanent state; one dip, for health's sake,
but do not stay too long, or you will lose all moral vigour. In our
day you are plunged from childhood, whether you like it or not, into
the democratic tub. Society thinks for you, imposes its morality upon
you; its State acts for you, its fashions and its opinions steal from
you the very air you breathe; you have no lungs, no heart, no light of
your own. You serve what you despise, you lie in every gesture, word,
and thought, you surrender, become nothing.... What does it profit us
all, if we all surrender? For the sake of whom, or what? To satisfy
blind instincts, or rogues? Does God rule, or do some charlatans speak
for the oracle? Let us lift the veil, and look the hidden thing behind
it in the face.... Our Country! A great noble word! The father,
brother embracing brother.... That is not what your false country
offers me, but an enclosure, a pit full of beasts, trenches, barriers,
prison bars.... My brothers, where are they? Where are those who
travail all over the world? Cain, what hast thou done with them? I
stretch out my arms; a wave of blood separates us; in my own country I
am only an anonymous instrument of assassination.... My Country! but
it is you who destroy her!... My Country was the great community of
mankind; you have ravaged it, for thought and liberty know not where
to lay their heads in Europe today. I must rebuild my house, the home
of us all, for you have none, yours is a dungeon.... How can it
be do