Given this profound isolation of the individual, his inability to learn of others except through learning of himself, it is hard at first to understand men’s passion for gregariousness. But if you will listen to almost any conversation you will presently note that each individual in the loquacious group is but asserting his own opinions, the more blatantly the less he knows what they really are. In primitive circles this is done frankly, often with every one talking at once: ‘What _I_ say is----,’ ‘Now _my_ notion is----,’ ‘Well, now, just listen to me----.’ It is as though all were shouting: ‘How black-and-white the world is!’ Among more civilized persons there is greater suavity, a pretence of listening to others’ opinions while awaiting an opportunity to express one’s own. But it is only a pretence. Still, there is something in civilization. For in very, very civilized circles conversation becomes a dainty game. Nothing really felt is ever said, and ideas are played with as amusing toys; which is both sensible and delightful. But if we would really learn about our fellow-men, and exchange our silly black-and-white world for a subtler, richer, kinder one, we had best go and live alone on mountain tops. Ten years of such solitude would give us a deeper, tenderer and more tolerant understanding of humanity than a lifetime of jostling contacts in the market-place. THE END FOOTNOTES: [1] No longer true, alas, since the complete suppression by the Fascista government of all freedom of speech and of the press. [2] I do not happen to have read anything by Valéry Larbaud, but from what I read about him I conclude that possibly Monsieur Maurois may find a little relief from loneliness in his company.