22 
ots can be united for an instant without crime; it is only society 
which would be the outcast; if the children of people of the same 
race are born albinos the mid-wife laughs; the bestiality is not 
avoided, etc., murder does not distinguish one individual from 
another: it is always crushing a spider. It is the same story for 
other ties. 
M recognizes that he is not a reformer but a stage manager: 
he is vexed, he passes to another exercise, he dances. Soon his 
head turns, eyes motionless, a hundred and eighty degrees, he 
sees the depth of his thought, the mercury of the mirror 
scratched by use with little black lines until it is transparent, his 
lacy association of ideas. The future appears to him combin 
ations of reflections, days uncoiled like tresses. In business 
houses the last pleasures of humanity come to an end—hard men 
speak. Below the crowd, prey to economic furies, watches. By 
wireless comes the idea which will destroy the equilibrium. To 
the signal of the clouds a clamor answers, a record of clamor. 
What adventure I am giving the world! In my childhood I 
enjoyed the history of the sack of Rome by the French. It is that 
which has grown in me, dawn risen on the massacre. A marvel 
lous bit of murder! The day when someone will have found the 
explosive which will destroy the world, someone will be found 
to use it, in spite of laws, century old, dictated by the fear of 
this unique event. That is why I think. 
LOUIS ARAGON