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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10868 ***
+
+CLERAMBAULT
+
+THE STORY OF AN INDEPENDENT SPIRIT DURING THE WAR
+
+
+BY
+
+ROMAIN ROLLAND
+
+
+TRANSLATED BY
+
+KATHERINE MILLER
+
+
+1921
+
+
+
+
+TO THE READER
+
+This book is not a novel, but rather the confession of a free spirit
+telling of its mistakes, its sufferings and its struggles from the
+midst of the tempest; and it is in no sense an autobiography either.
+Some day I may wish to write of myself, and I will then speak without
+any disguise or feigned name. Though it is true that I have lent
+some ideas to my hero, his individuality, his character and the
+circumstances of his life are all his own; and I have tried to give a
+picture of the inward labyrinth where a weak spirit wanders, feeling
+its way, uncertain, sensitive and impressionable, but sincere and
+ardent in the cause of truth.
+
+Some chapters of the book have a family likeness to the meditations
+of our old French moralists and the stoical essays of the end of the
+XVIth century. At a time resembling our own but even exceeding it
+in tragic horror, amid the convulsions of the League, the
+Chief-Magistrate Guillaume Du Vair wrote his noble Dialogues, "De la
+Constance et Consolation ès Calamités Publiques," with a steadfast
+mind. While the siege of Paris was at its worst he talked in his
+garden with his friends, Linus the great traveller, Musée, Dean of the
+Faculty of Medicine, and the writer Orphée. Poor wretches lay dead of
+starvation in the streets, women cried out that pike-men were eating
+children near the Temple; but with their eyes filled with these
+horrible pictures these wise men sought to raise their unhappy
+thoughts to the heights where one can reach the mind of the ages
+and reckon up that which has survived the test. As I re-read these
+Dialogues during the war I more than once felt myself close to that
+true Frenchman who wrote: Man is born to see and know everything, and
+it is an injustice to limit him to one place on the earth. To the wise
+man the whole world is his country. God lends us the world to enjoy in
+common on one condition only, that we act uprightly.
+
+R.R.
+
+PARIS,
+
+May, 1920
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION [1]
+
+[Footnote 1: This Introduction was published in the Swiss newspapers
+in December, 1917, with an episode of the novel and a note explaining
+the original title, _L'Un contre Tous_. "This somewhat ironical name
+was suggested--with a difference--by La Boëtie's _Le Contr' Un_; but
+it must not be supposed that the author entertained the extravagant
+idea of setting one man in opposition to all others; he only wishes
+to summon the personal conscience to the most urgent conflict of our
+time, the struggle against the herd-spirit."]
+
+
+This book is not written about the war, though the shadow of the war
+lies over it. My theme is that the individual soul has been swallowed
+up and submerged in the soul of the multitude; and in my opinion such
+an event is of far greater importance to the future of the race than
+the passing supremacy of one nation.
+
+I have left questions of policy in the background intentionally, as I
+think they should be reserved for special study. No matter what causes
+may be assigned as the origins of the war, no matter what theses
+support them, nothing in the world can excuse the abdication of
+individual judgment before general opinion.
+
+The universal development of democracies, vitiated by a fossilized
+survival, the outrageous "reason of State," has led the mind of Europe
+to hold as an article of faith that there can be no higher ideal than
+to serve the community. This community is then defined as the State.
+
+I venture to say that he who makes himself the servant of a blind or
+blinded nation,--and most of the states are in this condition at the
+present day,--does not truly serve it but lowers both it and himself;
+for in general a few men, incapable of understanding the complexities
+of the people, force thoughts and acts upon them in harmony with their
+own passions and interests by means of the falsehoods of the press and
+the implacable machinery of a centralised government. He who would be
+useful to others must first be free himself; for love itself has no
+value coming from a slave.
+
+Independent minds and firm characters are what the world needs most
+today. The death-like submission of the churches, the stifling
+intolerance of nations, the stupid unitarianism of socialists,--by all
+these different roads we are returning to the gregarious life. Man has
+slowly dragged himself out of the warm slime, but it seems as if the
+long effort has exhausted him; he is letting himself slip backward
+into the collective mind, and the choking breath of the pit already
+rises about him. You who do not believe that the cycle of man
+is accomplished, you must rouse yourselves and dare to separate
+yourselves from the herd in which you are dragged along. Every man
+worthy of the name should learn to stand alone, and do his own
+thinking, even in conflict with the whole world. Sincere thought,
+even if it does run counter to that of others, is still a service to
+mankind; for humanity demands that those who love her should oppose,
+or if necessary rebel against her. You will not serve her by flattery,
+by debasing your conscience and intelligence, but rather by defending
+their integrity from the abuse of power. For these are some of her
+voices, and if you betray yourself you betray her also.
+
+R.R.
+
+SIERRE, March, 1917.
+
+
+
+
+PART ONE
+
+
+
+
+Agénor Clerambault sat under an arbour in his garden at St. Prix,
+reading to his wife and children an ode that he had just written,
+dedicated to Peace, ruler of men and things, "Ara Pacis Augustae." In
+it he wished to celebrate the near approach of universal brotherhood.
+It was a July evening; a last rosy light lay on the tree-tops, and
+through the luminous haze, like a veil over the slopes of the hillside
+and the grey plain of the distant city, the windows on Montmartre
+burned like sparks of gold. Dinner was just over. Clerambault leaned
+across the table where the dishes yet stood, and as he spoke his
+glance full of simple pleasure passed from one to the other of his
+three auditors, sure of meeting the reflection of his own happiness.
+
+His wife Pauline followed the flight of his thought with difficulty.
+After the third phrase anything read aloud made her feel drowsy, and
+the affairs of her household took on an absurd importance; one might
+say that the voice of the reader made them chirp like birds in a cage.
+It was in vain that she tried to follow on Clerambault's lips, and
+even to imitate with her own, the words whose meaning she no longer
+understood; her eye mechanically noted a hole in the cloth, her
+fingers picked at the crumbs on the table, her mind flew back to a
+troublesome bill, till as her husband's eye seemed to catch her in the
+act, hastily snatching at the last words she had heard, she went into
+raptures over a fragment of verse,--for she could never quote poetry
+accurately. "What was that, Agénor? Do repeat that last line. How
+beautiful it is." Little Rose, her daughter, frowned, and Maxime,
+the grown son, was annoyed and said impatiently: "You are always
+interrupting, Mamma!"
+
+Clerambault smiled and patted his wife's hand affectionately. He
+had married her for love when he was young, poor, and unknown, and
+together they had gone through years of hardship. She was not quite
+on his intellectual level and the difference did not diminish with
+advancing years, but Clerambault loved and respected his helpmate, and
+she strove, without much success, to keep step with her great man of
+whom she was so proud. He was extraordinarily indulgent to her. His
+was not a critical nature--which was a great help to him in life in
+spite of innumerable errors of judgment; but as these were always to
+the advantage of others, whom he saw at their best, people laughed
+but liked him. He did not interfere with their money hunt and his
+countrified simplicity was refreshing to the world-weary, like a
+wild-growing thicket in a city square.
+
+Maxime was amused by all this, knowing what it was worth. He was a
+good-looking boy of nineteen with bright laughing eyes, and in the
+Parisian surroundings he had been quick to acquire the gift of rapid,
+humorous observation, dwelling on the outside view of men and things
+more than on ideas. Even in those he loved, nothing ridiculous escaped
+him, but it was without ill-nature. Clerambault smiled at the youthful
+impertinence which did not diminish Maxime's admiration for his father
+but rather added to its flavour. A boy in Paris would tweak the Good
+Lord by the beard, by way of showing affection!
+
+Rosine was silent according to her habit; it was not easy to know her
+thoughts as she listened, bent forward, her hands folded and her arms
+leaning on the table. Some natures seem made to receive, like the
+earth which opens itself silently to every seed. Many seeds fall and
+remain dormant; none can tell which will bring forth fruit. The soul
+of the young girl was of this kind; her face did not reflect the words
+of the reader as did Maxime's mobile features, but the slight flush on
+her cheek and the moist glance of her eyes under their drooping lids
+showed inward ardour and feeling. She looked like those Florentine
+pictures of the Virgin stirred by the magical salutation of the
+Archangel. Clerambault saw it all and as he glanced around his little
+circle his eye rested with special delight on the fair bending head
+which seemed to feel his look.
+
+On this July evening these four people were united in a bond of
+affection and tranquil happiness of which the central point was the
+father, the idol of the family.
+
+
+
+
+He knew that he was their idol, and by a rare exception this knowledge
+did not spoil him, for he had such joy in loving, so much affection
+to spread far and wide that it seemed only natural that he should be
+loved in return; he was really like an elderly child. After a life of
+ungilded mediocrity he had but recently come to be known, and though
+the one experience had not given him pain, he delighted in the other.
+He was over fifty without seeming to be aware of it, for if there
+were some white threads in his big fair moustache,--like an ancient
+Gaul's,--his heart was as young as those of his children. Instead of
+going with the stream of his generation, he met each new wave; the
+best of life to him was the spring of youth constantly renewed, and he
+never troubled about the contradictions into which he was led by this
+spirit always in reaction against that which had preceded it. These
+inconsistencies were fused together in his mind, which was more
+enthusiastic than logical, and filled by the beauty which he saw all
+around him. Add to this the milk of human kindness, which did not mix
+well with his aesthetic pantheism, but which was natural to him.
+
+He had made himself the exponent of noble human ideas, sympathising
+with advanced parties, the oppressed, the people--of whom he knew
+little, for he was thoroughly of the middle-class, full of vague,
+generous theories. He also adored crowds and loved to mingle with
+them, believing that in this way he joined himself to the All-Soul,
+according to the fashion at that time in intellectual circles. This
+fashion, as not infrequently happens, emphasised a general tendency of
+the day; humanity turning to the swarm-idea. The most sensitive among
+human insects,--artists and thinkers,--were the first to show these
+symptoms, which in them seemed a sort of pose, so that the general
+conditions of which they were a symptom were lost sight of.
+
+The democratic evolution of the last forty years had established
+popular government politically, but socially speaking had only brought
+about the rule of mediocrity. Artists of the higher class at first
+opposed this levelling down of intelligence,--but feeling themselves
+too weak to resist they had withdrawn to a distance, emphasising their
+disdain and their isolation. They preached a sort of art, acceptable
+only to the initiated. There is nothing finer than such a retreat when
+one brings to it wealth of consciousness, abundance of feeling and
+an outpouring soul, but the literary groups of the end of the XIXth
+century were far removed from those fertile hermitages where robust
+thoughts were concentrated. They cared much more to economise their
+little store of intelligence than to renew it. In order to purify it
+they had withdrawn it from circulation. The result was that it ceased
+to be perceived. The common life passed on its way without bothering
+its head further, leaving the artist caste to wither in a make-believe
+refinement. The violent storms at the time of the excitement about the
+Dreyfus Case did rouse some minds from this torpor, but when they came
+out of their orchid-house the fresh air turned their heads and they
+threw themselves into the great passing movement with the same
+exaggeration that their predecessors had shown in withdrawing from
+it. They believed that salvation was in the people, that in them was
+virtue, even all good, and though they were often thwarted in their
+efforts to get closer to them, they set flowing a current in the
+thought of Europe. They were proud to call themselves the exponents
+of the collective soul, but they were not victors but vanquished;
+the collective soul made breaches in their ivory tower, the feeble
+personalities of these thinkers yielded, and to hide their abdication
+from themselves, they declared it voluntary. In the effort to convince
+themselves, philosophers and aesthetics forged theories to prove that
+the great directing principle was to abandon oneself to the stream
+of a united life instead of directing it, or more modestly following
+one's own little path in peace. It was a matter of pride to be no
+longer oneself, to be no longer free to reason, for freedom was an old
+story in these democracies. One gloried to be a bubble tossed on the
+flood,--some said of the race and others of the universal life. These
+fine theories, from which men of talent managed to extract receipts
+for art and thought, were in full flower in 1914. The heart of the
+simple Clerambault rejoiced in such visions, for nothing could have
+harmonised better with his warm heart and inaccurate mind. If one has
+but little self-possession it is easy to give oneself up to others, to
+the world, to that indefinable Providential Force on whose shoulders
+we can throw the burden of thought and will. The great current swept
+on and these indolent souls, instead of pursuing their way along the
+bank found it easier to let themselves be carried ...Where? No one
+took the trouble to ask. Safe in their West, it never occurred to them
+that their civilisation could lose the advantages gained; the march of
+progress seemed as inevitable as the rotation of the earth. Firm in
+this conviction, one could fold one's arms and leave all to nature;
+who meanwhile was waiting for them at the bottom of the pit that she
+was digging.
+
+As became a good idealist, Clerambault rarely looked where he was
+going, but that did not prevent him from meddling in politics in a
+fumbling sort of way, as was the mania of men of letters in his day.
+He had his word to say, right or wrong, and was often entreated to
+speak by journalists in need of copy, and fell into their trap, taking
+himself seriously in his innocent way. On the whole he was a fair poet
+and a good man, intelligent, if rather a greenhorn, pure of heart
+and weak in character, sensitive to praise and blame, and to all the
+suggestions round him. He was incapable of a mean sentiment of envy or
+hatred, and unable also to attribute such thoughts to others. Amid the
+complexity of human feelings, he remained blind towards evil and
+an advocate of the good. This type of writer is born to please the
+public, for he does not see faults in men, and enhances their small
+merits, so that even those who see through him are grateful. If we
+cannot amount to much, a good appearance is a consolation, and we love
+to be reflected in eyes which lend beauty to our mediocrity.
+
+This widespread sympathy, which delighted Clerambault, was not less
+sweet to the three who surrounded him at this moment. They were as
+proud of him as if they had made him, for what one admires does seem
+in a sense one's own creation, and when in addition one is of the same
+blood, a part of the object of our admiration, it is hard to tell if
+we spring from him, or he from us.
+
+Agénor Clerambault's wife and his two children gazed at their great
+man with the tender satisfied expression of ownership; and he, tall
+and high-shouldered, towered over them with his glowing words and
+enjoyed it all; he knew very well that we really belong to the things
+that we fancy are our possessions.
+
+
+
+
+Clerambault had just finished with a Schilleresque vision of the
+fraternal joys promised in the future. Maxime, carried away by his
+enthusiasm in spite of his sense of humour, had given the orator a
+round of applause all by himself. Pauline noisily asked if Agénor
+had not heated himself in speaking, and amid the excitement Rosine
+silently pressed her lips to her father's hand.
+
+The servant brought in the mail and the evening papers, but no one was
+in a hurry to read them. The news of the day seemed behind the times
+compared with the dazzling future. Maxime however took up the popular
+middle-class sheet, and threw his eye over the columns. He started
+at the latest items and exclaimed; "Hullo! War is declared." No one
+listened to him: Clerambault was dreaming over the last vibrations of
+his verses; Rosine lost in a calm ecstasy; the mother alone, who could
+not fix her mind on anything, buzzing about like a fly, chanced to
+catch the last word,--"Maxime, how can you be so silly?" she cried,
+but Maxime protested, showing his paper with the declaration of war
+between Austria and Servia.
+
+"War with whom?"--"With Servia?"--"Is that all?" said the good woman,
+as if it were a question of something in the moon.
+
+Maxime however persisted,--_doctus cum libro_,--arguing that from one
+thing to another, this shock no matter how distant, might bring about
+a general explosion; but Clerambault, who was beginning to come out
+of his pleasant trance, smiled calmly, and said that nothing would
+happen.
+
+"It is only a bluff," he declared, "like so many we have had for the
+last thirty years; we get them regularly every spring and summer; just
+bullying and sabre-rattling." People did not believe in war, no one
+wanted it; war had been proved to be impossible,--it was a bugbear
+that must be got out of the heads of free democracies ... and he
+enlarged on this theme. The night was calm and sweet; all around
+familiar sounds and sights; the chirp of crickets in the fields, a
+glow-worm shining in the grass,--delicious perfume of honey-suckle.
+Far away the noise of a distant train; the little fountain tinkled,
+and in the moonless sky revolved the luminous track of the light on
+the Eiffel Tower.
+
+The two women went into the house, and Maxime, tired of sitting down,
+ran about the garden with his little dog, while through the open
+windows floated out an air of Schumann's, which Rosine, full of timid
+emotion, was playing on the piano. Clerambault left alone, threw
+himself back in his wicker chair, glad to be a man, to be alive,
+breathing in the balm of this summer night with a thankful heart.
+
+
+
+
+Six days later ... Clerambault had spent the afternoon in the woods,
+and like the monk in the legend, lying under an oak tree, drinking in
+the song of a lark, a hundred years might have gone by him like a day.
+He could not tear himself away till night-fall. Maxime met him in the
+vestibule; he came forward smiling but rather pale, and said: "Well,
+Papa, we are in for it this time!" and he told him the news. The
+Russian mobilisation, the state of war in Germany;--Clerambault stared
+at him unable to comprehend, his thoughts were so far removed from
+these dark follies. He tried to dispute the facts, but the news was
+explicit, and so they went to the table, where Clerambault could eat
+but little.
+
+He sought for reasons why these two crimes should lead to nothing.
+Common-sense, public opinion, the prudence of governments, the
+repeated assurances of the socialists, Jaurès' firm stand;--Maxime let
+him talk, he was thinking of other things,--like his dog with his ears
+pricked up for the sounds of the night ...Such a pure lovely night!
+Those who recall the last evenings of July, 1914, and the even more
+beautiful evening of the first day of August, must keep in their
+minds the wonderful splendour of Nature, as with a smile of pity she
+stretched out her arms to the degraded, self-devouring human race.
+
+It was nearly ten o'clock when Clerambault ceased to talk, for no
+one had answered him. They sat then in silence with heavy hearts,
+listlessly occupied or seeming to be, the women with their work,
+Clerambault with his eyes, but not his mind, on a book. Maxime went
+out on the porch and smoked, leaning on the railing and looking down
+on the sleeping garden and the fairy-like play of the light and
+shadows on the path.
+
+The telephone bell made them start. Someone was calling Clerambault,
+who went slowly to answer, half-asleep and absent so that at first he
+did not understand; "Hullo! is that you, old man?" as he recognised
+the voice of a brother-author in Paris, telephoning him from a
+newspaper office. Still he could not seem to understand; "I don't
+hear,--Jaurès? What about Jaurès?...Oh, my God!" Maxime full of a
+secret apprehension had listened from a distance; he ran and caught
+the receiver from his father's hand, as Clerambault let it drop with
+a despairing gesture. "Hullo, Hullo! What do you say? Jaurès
+assassinated!..." As exclamations of pain and anger crossed each other
+on the wire, Maxime made out the details, which he repeated to his
+family in a trembling voice. Rosine had led Clerambault back to the
+table, where he sat down completely crushed. Like the classic Fate,
+the shadow of a terrible misfortune settled over the house. It was
+not only the loss of his friend that chilled his heart,--the kind gay
+face, the cordial hand, the voice which drove away the clouds,--but
+the loss of the last hope of the threatened people. With a touching,
+child-like confidence he felt Jaurès to be the only man who could
+avert the gathering storm, and he fallen, like Atlas, the sky would
+crumble.
+
+Maxime rushed off to the station to get the news in Paris, promising
+to come back later in the evening, but Clerambault stayed in the
+isolated house, from which in the distance could be seen the far-off
+phosphorescence of the city. He had not stirred from the seat where
+he had fallen stupified. This time he could no longer doubt, the
+catastrophe was coming, was upon them already. Madame Clerambault
+begged him to go to bed, but he would not listen to her. His thought
+was in ruins; he could distinguish nothing steady or constant, could
+not see any order, or follow an idea, for the walls of his inward
+dwelling had fallen in, and through the dust which rose, it was
+impossible to see what remained intact. He feared there was nothing
+left but a mass of suffering, at which he looked with dull eyes,
+unconscious of his falling tears. Maxime did not come home, carried
+away by the excitement at Paris.
+
+Madame Clerambault had gone to bed, but about one o'clock she came and
+persuaded him to come up to their room, where he lay down; but when
+Pauline had fallen asleep--anxiety made her sleepy--he got up and went
+into the next room. He groaned, unable to breathe; his pain was so
+close and oppressive, that he had no room to draw his breath. With
+the prophetic hyper-sensitiveness of the artist, who often lives in
+tomorrow with more intensity than in the present moment, his agonised
+eyes and heart foresaw all that was to be. This inevitable war between
+the greatest nations of the world, seemed to him the failure of
+civilisation, the ruin of the most sacred hopes for human brotherhood.
+He was filled with horror at the vision of a maddened humanity,
+sacrificing its most precious treasures, strength, and genius, its
+highest virtues, to the bestial idol of war. It was to him a moral
+agony, a heart-rending communion with these unhappy millions. To what
+end? And of what use had been all the efforts of the ages? His heart
+seemed gripped by the void; he felt he could no longer live if his
+faith in the reason of men and their mutual love was destroyed, if he
+was forced to acknowledge that the Credo of his life and art rested on
+a mistake, that a dark pessimism was the answer to the riddle of the
+world.
+
+He turned his eyes away in terror, he was afraid to look it in the
+face, this monster who was there, whose hot breath he felt upon him.
+Clerambault implored,--he did not know who or what--that this might
+not be, that it might not be. Anything rather than this should be
+true! But the devouring fact stood just behind the opening door....
+Through the whole night he strove to close that door ...
+
+At last towards morning, an animal instinct began to wake, coming from
+he did not know where, which turned his despair towards the secret
+need of finding a definite and concrete cause, to fasten the blame on
+a man, or a group of men, and angrily hold them responsible for the
+misery of the world. It was as yet but a brief apparition, the first
+faint sign of a strange obscure, imperious soul, ready to break forth,
+the soul of the multitude ... It began to take shape when Maxime came
+home, for after the night in the streets of Paris, he fairly sweated
+with it; his very clothes, the hairs of his head, were impregnated.
+Worn out, excited, he could not sit down; his only thought was to go
+back again. The decree of mobilisation was to come out that day, war
+was certain, it was necessary, beneficial; some things must be put an
+end to, the future of humanity was at stake, the freedom of the world
+was threatened. "They" had counted on Jaurès' murder to sow dissension
+and raise riots in the country they meant to attack, but the entire
+nation had risen to rally round its leaders, the sublime days of the
+great Revolution were re-born ...Clerambault did not discuss these
+statements, he merely asked: "Do you think so? Are you quite sure?" It
+was a sort of hidden appeal. He wanted Maxime to state, to redouble
+his assertions. The news Maxime had brought added to the chaos, raised
+it to a climax, but at the same time it began to direct the distracted
+forces of his mind towards a fixed point, as the first bark of the
+shepherd's dog drives the sheep together.
+
+Clerambault had but one wish left, to rejoin the flock, rub himself
+against the human animals, his brothers, feel with them, act with them....
+Though exhausted by sleeplessness, he started, in spite of his
+wife, to take the train for Paris with Maxime. They had to wait a
+long time at the station, and also in the train, for the tracks were
+blocked, and the cars crowded; but in the common agitation Clerambault
+found calm. He questioned and listened, everybody fraternised, and
+not being sure yet what they thought, everyone felt that they thought
+alike. The same questions, the same trials menaced them, but each man
+was no longer alone to stand or fall, and the warmth of this contact
+was reassuring. Class distinctions were gone; no more workmen or
+gentlemen, no one looked at your clothes or your hands; they only
+looked at your eyes where they saw the same flame of life, wavering
+before the same impending death. All these people were so visibly
+strangers to the causes of the fatality, of this catastrophe, that
+their innocence led them like children to look elsewhere for the
+guilty. It comforted and quieted their conscience. Clerambault
+breathed more easily when he got to Paris. A stoical and virile
+melancholy had succeeded to the agony of the night. He was however
+only at the first stage.
+
+
+
+
+The order for general mobilisation had just been affixed to the doors
+of the _Mairies_. People read and re-read them in silence, then went
+away without a word. After the anxious waiting of the preceding
+days, with crowds around the newspaper booths, people sitting on
+the sidewalk, watching for the news, and when the paper was issued
+gathering in groups to read it, this was certainty. It was also a
+relief. An obscure danger, that one feels approaching without knowing
+when or from where, makes you feverish, but when it is there you can
+take breath, look it in the face, and roll up your sleeves. There had
+been some hours of deep thought while Paris made ready and doubled up
+her fists. Then that which swelled in all hearts spread itself abroad,
+the houses were emptied and there rolled through the streets a human
+flood of which every drop sought to melt into another.
+
+Clerambault fell into the midst and was swallowed up. All at once.
+He had scarcely left the station, or set his foot on the pavement.
+Nothing happened; there were no words or gestures, but the serene
+exaltation of the flood flowed into him. The people were as yet pure
+from violence; they knew and believed themselves innocent, and in
+these first hours when the war was virgin, millions of hearts
+burned with a solemn and sacred enthusiasm. Into this proud, calm
+intoxication there entered a feeling of the injustice done to them, a
+legitimate pride in their strength, in the sacrifices that they were
+ready to make, and pity for others, now parts of themselves, their
+brothers, their children, their loved ones. All were flesh of their
+flesh, closely drawn together in a superhuman embrace, conscious of
+the gigantic body formed by their union, and of the apparition above
+their heads of the phantom which incarnated this union, the Country.
+Half-beast, half-god, like the Egyptian Sphinx, or the Assyrian Bull;
+but then men saw only the shining eyes, the feet were hid. She was the
+divine monster in whom each of the living found himself multiplied,
+the devouring Immortality where those about to die wished to believe
+they would find life, super-life, crowned with glory. Her invisible
+presence flowed through the air like wine; each man brought something
+to the vintage, his basket, his bunch of grapes;--his ideas, passions,
+devotions, interests. There was many a nasty worm among the grapes,
+much filth under the trampling feet, but the wine was of rubies and
+set the heart aflame;--Clerambault gulped it down greedily.
+
+Nevertheless he was not entirely metamorphosed, for his soul was not
+altered, it was only forgotten; as soon as he was alone he could hear
+it moaning, and for this reason he avoided solitude. He persisted in
+not returning to St. Prix, where the family usually stayed in summer,
+and reinstalled himself in his apartment at Paris, on the fifth floor
+in the Rue d'Assas. He would not wait a week, or go back to help in
+the moving. He craved the friendly warmth that rose up from Paris, and
+poured in at his windows; any excuse was enough to plunge into it, to
+go down into the streets, join the groups, follow the processions, buy
+all the newspapers,--which he despised as a rule. He would come back
+more and more demoralised, anaesthetised as to what passed within
+him, the habit of his conscience broken, a stranger in his house, in
+himself;--and that is why he felt more at home out of doors than in.
+
+
+
+
+Madame Clerambault came back to Paris with her daughter, and the first
+evening after their arrival Clerambault carried Rosine off to the
+Boulevards. The solemn fervour of the first days had passed. War had
+begun, and truth was imprisoned. The press, the arch-liar, poured into
+the open mouth of the world the poisonous liquor of its stories of
+victories without retribution; Paris was decked as for a holiday; the
+houses streamed with the tricolour from top to bottom, and in the
+poorer quarters each garret window had its little penny flag, like a
+flower in the hair.
+
+On the corner of the Faubourg Montmartre they met a strange
+procession. At the head marched a tall old man carrying a flag. He
+walked with long strides, free and supple as if he were going to leap
+or dance, and the skirts of his overcoat flapped in the wind. Behind
+came an indistinct, compact, howling mass, gentle and simple, arm in
+arm,--a child carried on a shoulder, a girl's red mop of hair between
+a chauffeur's cap and the helmet of a soldier. Chests out, chins
+raised, mouths open like black holes, shouting the Marseillaise. To
+right and left of the ranks, a double line of jail-bird faces, along
+the curbstone, ready to insult any absent-minded passer-by who failed
+to salute the colours. Rosine was startled to see her father fall into
+step at the end of the line, bare-headed, singing and talking aloud.
+He drew his daughter along by the arm, without noticing the nervous
+fingers that tried to hold him back.
+
+When they came in Clerambault was still talkative and excited. He kept
+on for hours, while the two women listened to him patiently. Madame
+Clerambault heard little as usual, and played chorus. Rosine did not
+say a word, but she stealthily threw a glance at her father, and her
+look was like freezing water.
+
+Clerambault was exciting himself; he was not yet at the bottom, but he
+was conscientiously trying to reach it. Nevertheless there remained to
+him enough lucidity to alarm him at his own progress. An artist yields
+more through his sensibility to waves of emotion which reach him from
+without, but to resist them he has also weapons which others have
+not. For the least reflective, he who abandons himself to his lyrical
+impulses, has in some degree the faculty of introspection which it
+rests with him to utilise. If he does not do this, he lacks good-will
+more than power; he is afraid to look too clearly at himself for
+fear of seeing an unflattering picture. Those however who, like
+Clerambault, have the virtue of sincerity without psychological gifts,
+are sufficiently well-equipped to exercise some control over their
+excitability.
+
+One day as he was walking alone, he saw a crowd on the other side of
+the street, he crossed over calmly and found himself on the opposite
+sidewalk in the midst of a confused agitation circling about an
+invisible point. With some difficulty he worked his way forward, and
+scarcely was he within this human mill-wheel, than he felt himself a
+part of the rim, his brain seemed turning round. At the centre of the
+wheel he saw a struggling man, and even before he grasped the reason
+for the popular fury, he felt that he shared it. He did not know if
+a spy was in question, or if it was some imprudent speaker who had
+braved the passions of the mob, but as cries rose around him, he
+realised that he, yes he, Clerambault, had shrieked out: ... "Kill
+him." ...
+
+A movement of the crowd threw him out from the sidewalk, a carriage
+separated him from it, and when the way was clear the mob surged on
+after its prey. Clerambault followed it with his eyes; the sound
+of his own voice was still in his ears,--he did not feel proud of
+himself....
+
+From that day on he went out less; he distrusted himself, but he
+continued to stimulate his intoxication at home, where he felt himself
+safe, little knowing the virulence of the plague. The infection came
+in through the cracks of the doors, at the windows, on the printed
+page, in every contact. The most sensitive breathe it in on first
+entering the city, before they have seen or read anything; with others
+a passing touch is enough, the disease will develop afterwards alone.
+Clerambault, withdrawn from the crowd, had caught the contagion from
+it, and the evil announced itself by the usual premonitory symptoms.
+This affectionate tender-hearted man hated, loved to hate. His
+intelligence, which had always been thoroughly straightforward, tried
+now to trick itself secretly, to justify its instincts of hatred by
+inverted reasoning. He learned to be passionately unjust and false,
+for he wanted to persuade himself that he could accept the fact
+of war, and participate in it, without renouncing his pacifism of
+yesterday, his humanitarianism of the day before, and his constant
+optimism. It was not plain sailing, but there is nothing that the
+brain cannot attain to. When its master thinks it absolutely necessary
+to get rid for a time of principles which are in his way, it finds
+in these same principles the exception which violates them while
+confirming the rule. Clerambault began to construct a thesis,
+an ideal--absurd enough--in which these contradictions could be
+reconciled: War against War, War for Peace, for eternal Peace.
+
+
+
+
+The enthusiasm of his son was a great help to him. Maxime had
+enlisted. His generation was carried away on a wave of heroic joy;
+they had waited so long--they had not dared to expect an opportunity
+for action and sacrifice.
+
+Older men who had never tried to understand them, stood amazed; they
+remembered their own commonplace, bungling youth, full of petty
+egotisms, small ambitions, and mean pleasures. As they could not
+recognise themselves in their children they attributed to the war this
+flowering of virtues which had been growing up for twenty years around
+their indifference and which the war was about to reap. Even near
+a father as large-minded as Clerambault, Maxime was blighted.
+Clerambault was interested in spreading his own overflowing diffuse
+nature, too much so to see clearly and aid those whom he loved: he
+brought to them the warm shadow of his thought, but he stood between
+them and the sun.
+
+These young people sought employment for their strength which really
+embarrassed them, but they did not find it in the ideals of the
+noblest among their elders; the humanitarianism of a Clerambault was
+too vague, it contented itself with pleasant hopes, without risk or
+vigour, which the quietude of a generation grown old in the talkative
+peace of Parliaments and Academies, alone could have permitted. Except
+as an oratorical exercise it had never tried to foresee the perils of
+the future, still less had it thought to determine its attitude in the
+day when the danger should be near. It had not the strength to make
+a choice between widely differing courses of action. One might be a
+patriot as well as an internationalist or build in imagination peace
+palaces or super-dreadnoughts, for one longed to know, to embrace, and
+to love everything. This languid Whitmanism might have its aesthetic
+value, but its practical incoherence offered no guide to young people
+when they found themselves at the parting of the ways. They pawed
+the ground trembling with impatience at all this uncertainty and the
+uselessness of their time as it went by.
+
+They welcomed the war, for it put an end to all this indecision,
+it chose for them, and they made haste to follow it. "We go to our
+death,--so be it; but to go is life." The battalions went off singing,
+thrilling with impatience, dahlias in their hats, the muskets adorned
+with flowers. Discharged soldiers re-enlisted; boys put their names
+down, their mothers urging them to it; you would have thought they
+were setting out for the Olympian games.
+
+It was the same with the young men on the other side of the Rhine, and
+there as here, they were escorted by their gods: Country, Justice,
+Right, Liberty, Progress of the World, Eden-like dreams of re-born
+humanity, a whole phantasmagoria of mystic ideas in which young men
+shrouded their passions. None doubted that his cause was the right
+one, they left discussion to others, themselves the living proof, for
+he who gives his life needs no further argument.
+
+The older men however who stayed behind, had not their reasons for
+ceasing to reason. Their brains were given to them to be used, not for
+truth, but for victory. Since in the wars of today, in which entire
+peoples are engulfed, thoughts as well as guns are enrolled. They slay
+the soul, they reach beyond the seas, and destroy after centuries have
+passed. Thought is the heavy artillery which works from a distance.
+Naturally Clerambault aimed his pieces, also the question for him was
+no longer to see clearly, largely, to take in the horizon, but to
+sight the enemy,--it gave him the illusion that he was helping his
+son.
+
+With an unconscious and feverish bad faith kept up by his affection,
+he sought in everything that he saw, heard, or read, for arguments
+to prop up his will to believe in the holiness of the cause, for
+everything which went to prove that the enemy alone had wanted war,
+was the sole enemy of peace, and that to make war on the enemy was
+really to wish for peace.
+
+There was proof enough and to spare; there always is; all that is
+needed is to know when to open and shut your eyes ...But nevertheless
+Clerambault was not entirely satisfied. These half-truths, or truths
+with false tails to them, produced a secret uneasiness in the
+conscience of this honest man, showing itself in a passionate
+irritation against the enemy, which grew more and more. On the same
+lines--like two buckets in a well, one going up as the other goes
+down--his patriotic enthusiasm grew and drowned the last torments of
+his mind in a salutary intoxication.
+
+From now on he was on the watch for the smallest newspaper items
+in support of his theory; and though he knew what to think of the
+veracity of these sheets, he did not doubt them for an instant when
+their assertions fed his eager restless passion. Where the enemy was
+concerned he adopted the principle, that the worst is sure to be
+true--and he was almost grateful to Germany when, by acts of cruelty
+and repeated violations of justice, she furnished him the solid
+confirmation of the sentence which, for greater security, he had
+pronounced in advance.
+
+Germany gave him full measure. Never did a country at war seem more
+anxious to raise the universal conscience against her. This apoplectic
+nation bursting with strength, threw itself upon its adversary in a
+delirium of pride, anger and fear. The human beast let loose, traced
+a ring of systematic horror around him from the first. All his
+instinctive and acquired brutalities were cleverly excited by those
+who held him in leash, by his official chiefs, his great General
+Staff, his enrolled professors, his army chaplains. War has always
+been, will forever remain, a crime; but Germany organised it as she
+did everything. She made a code for murder and conflagration, and over
+it all she poured the boiling oil of an enraged mysticism, made up of
+Bismarck, of Nietzsche, and of the Bible. In order to crush the world
+and regenerate it, the Super-Man and Christ were mobilised. The
+regeneration began in Belgium--a thousand years from now men will tell
+of it. The affrighted world looked on at the infernal spectacle of
+the ancient civilisation of Europe, more than two thousand years old,
+crumbling under the savage expert blows of the great nation which
+formed its advance guard. Germany, rich in intelligence, in science
+and in power, in a fortnight of war became docile and degraded; but
+what the organisers of this Germanic frenzy failed to foresee was
+that, like army cholera, it would spread to the other camp, and once
+installed in the hostile countries it could not be dislodged until it
+had infected the whole of Europe, and rendered it uninhabitable for
+centuries. In all the madness of this atrocious war, in all its
+violence, Germany set the example. Her big body, better fed, more
+fleshly than others, offered a greater target to the attacks of the
+epidemic. It was terrible; but by the time the evil began to abate
+with her, it had penetrated elsewhere and under the form of a slow
+tenacious disease it ate to the very bone. To the insanities of German
+thinkers, speakers in Paris and everywhere were not slow to respond
+with their extravagances; they were like the heroes in Homer; but if
+they did not fight, they screamed all the louder. They insulted not
+only the adversary, they insulted his father, his grandfather, and
+his entire race; better still they denied his past. The tiniest
+academician worked furiously to diminish the glory of the great men
+asleep in the peace of the grave.
+
+Clerambault listened and listened, absorbed, though he was one of the
+few French poets who before the war had European relations and whose
+work would have been appreciated in Germany. He spoke no foreign
+language, it is true; petted old child of France that he was, who
+would not take the trouble to visit other people, sure that they would
+come to him. But at least he welcomed them kindly, his mind was free
+from national prejudices, and the intuitions of his heart made up for
+his lack of instruction and caused him to pour out without stint his
+admiration for foreign genius. But now that he had been warned to
+distrust everything, by the constant: "Keep still,--take care," and
+knew that Kant led straight to Krupp, he dared admire nothing without
+official sanction. The sympathetic modesty that caused him in times
+of peace to accept with the respect due to words of Holy Writ the
+publications of learned and distinguished men, now in the war took on
+the proportions of a fabulous credulity. He swallowed without a gulp
+the strange discoveries made at this time by the intellectuals of his
+country, treading under foot the art, the intelligence, the science
+of the enemy throughout the centuries; an effort frantically
+disingenuous, which denied all genius to our adversary, and either
+found in its highest claims to glory the mark of its present infamy
+or rejected its achievements altogether and bestowed them on another
+race.
+
+Clerambault was overwhelmed, beside himself, but (though he did not
+admit it), in his heart he was glad.
+
+
+
+
+Seeking for someone to share in his excitement and keep it up by fresh
+arguments, he went to his friend Perrotin.
+
+Hippolyte Perrotin was of one of those types, formerly the pride of
+the higher instruction in France but seldom met with in these days--a
+great humanist. Led by a wide and sagacious curiosity, he walked
+calmly through the garden of the centuries, botanising as he went. The
+spectacle of the present was the object least worthy of his attention,
+but he was too keen an observer to miss any of it, and knew how to
+draw it gently back into scale to fit into the whole picture. Events
+which others regarded as most important were not so in his eyes, and
+political agitations appeared to him like bugs on a rose-bush which he
+would carefully study with its parasites. This was to him a constant
+source of delight. He had the finest appreciation of shades of
+literary beauty, and his learning rather increased than impaired the
+faculty, giving to his thought an infinite range of highly-flavoured
+experiences to taste and compare. He belonged to the great French
+tradition of learned men, master writers from Buffon to Renan and
+Gaston Pâris. Member of the Academy and of several Classes, his
+extended knowledge gave him a superiority, not only of pure and
+classic taste, but of a liberal modern spirit, over his colleagues,
+genuine men of letters. He did not think himself exempt from study,
+as most of them did, as soon as they had passed the threshold of the
+sacred Cupola; old profesor as he was, he still went to school. When
+Clerambault was still unknown to the rest of the Immortals, except to
+one or two brother poets who mentioned him as little as possible with
+a disdainful smile, Perrotin had already discovered and placed him in
+his collection, struck by certain pictures, an original phraseology,
+the mechanism of his imagination, primitive yet complicated by
+simplicity. All this attracted him, and then the man interested him
+too. He sent a short complimentary note to Clerambault who came to
+thank him, overflowing with gratitude, and ties of friendship were
+formed between the two men. They had few points of resemblance;
+Clerambault had lyrical gifts and ordinary intelligence dominated by
+his feelings, and Perrotin was gifted with a most lucid mind, never
+hampered by flights of the imagination. What they had in common were
+dignity of life, intellectual probity, and a disinterested love of art
+and learning, for its own sake, and not for success. None the less as
+may be seen, this had not prevented Perrotin from getting on in the
+world; honours and places had sought him, not he them; but he did not
+reject them; he neglected nothing.
+
+Clerambault found him busy unwinding the wrappings with which the
+readers of centuries had covered over the original thought of a
+Chinese philosopher. At this game which was habitual with him, he came
+naturally to the discovery of the contrary of what appeared at first
+to be the meaning; passing from hand to hand the idol had become
+black.
+
+Perrotin received Clerambault in this vein, polite, but a trifle
+absent-minded. Even when he listened to society gossip he was inwardly
+critical, tickling his sense of humour at its expense.
+
+Clerambault spread his new acquisitions before him, starting from
+the recognised unworthiness of the enemy-nation as from a certain,
+well-known fact; the whole question being to decide if one should see
+in this the irremediable decadence of a great people, or the proof,
+pure and simple, of a barbarism which had always existed, but hidden
+from sight. Clerambault inclined to the latter explanation, and full
+of his recent information he held Luther, Kant and Wagner responsible
+for the violation of Belgian neutrality, and the crimes of the German
+army. He, however, to use a colloquial expression, had never been to
+see for himself, being neither musician, theologian, or metaphysician.
+He trusted to the word of Academicians, and only made exceptions in
+favour of Beethoven, who was Flemish, and Goethe, citizen of a free
+city and almost a Strassburger, which is half French,--or French and a
+half. He paused for approbation.
+
+He was surprised not to find in Perrotin an ardour corresponding to
+his own. His friend smiled, listened, contemplated Clerambault with an
+attentive and benevolent curiosity. He did not say no, but he did not
+say yes, either, and to some assertions he made prudent reservations.
+When Clerambault, much moved, quoted statements signed by two or three
+of Perrotin's illustrious colleagues, the latter made a slight gesture
+as much as to say: "Ah, you don't say so!"
+
+Clerambault grew hotter and hotter, and Perrotin then changed his
+attitude, showing a keen interest in the judicious remarks of his good
+friend, nodding his head at every word, answering direct questions
+by vague phrases, assenting amiably as one does to someone whom one
+cannot contradict.
+
+Clerambault went away out of countenance and discontented, but a few
+days later he was reassured as to his friend, when he read Perrotin's
+name on a violent protestation of the Academies against the
+barbarians. He wrote to congratulate him, and Perrotin thanked him in
+a few prudent and sibylline words:
+
+"DEAR SIR,"--he affected in writing the studied, ceremonious formulas
+of _Monsieur de Port-Royal_--"I am ready to obey any suggestions of my
+country, for me they are commands. My conscience is at her service,
+according to the duty of every good citizen."
+
+
+
+
+
+One of the most curious effects of the war on the mind, was that it
+aroused new affinities between individuals. People who up to this time
+had not a thought in common discovered all at once that they thought
+alike; and this resemblance drew them together. It was what people
+called "the Sacred Union." Men of all parties and temperaments,
+the choleric, the phlegmatic, monarchists, anarchists, clericals,
+Calvinists, suddenly forgot their everyday selves, their passions,
+their fads and their antipathies,--shed their skins. And there before
+you were now creatures, grouped in an unforeseen manner, like metal
+filings round an invisible magnet. All the old categories had
+momentarily disappeared, and no one was astonished to find himself
+closer to the stranger of yesterday than to a friend of many years'
+standing. It seemed as if, underground, souls met by secret roots that
+stretched through the night of instinct, that unknown region, where
+observation rarely ventures. For our psychology stops at that part
+of self which emerges from the soil, noting minutely individual
+differences, but forgetting that this is only the top of the plant,
+that nine-tenths are buried, the feet held by those of other plants.
+This profound, or lower, region of the soul is ordinarily below the
+threshold of consciousness, the mind feels nothing of it; but the war,
+by waking up this underground life, revealed moral relationships
+which no one had suspected. A sudden intimacy showed itself between
+Clerambault and a brother of his wife whom he had looked upon until
+now, and with good reason, as the type of a perfect Philistine.
+
+Leo Camus was not quite fifty years old. He was tall, thin, and
+stooped a little; his skin was grey, his beard black, not much hair on
+his head,--you could see the bald spots under his hat behind,--little
+wrinkles everywhere, cutting into each other, crossing, like a
+badly-made net; add to this a frowning, sulky expression, and a
+perpetual cold in the head. For thirty years he had been employed by
+the State, and his life had passed in the shadow of a court-yard at
+the Department. In the course of years he had changed rooms, but not
+shadows; he was promoted, but always in the court-yard, never would he
+leave it in this life. He was now Under-Secretary, which enabled him
+to throw a shadow in his turn. The public and he had few points of
+contact, and he only communicated with the outside world across a
+rampart of pasteboard boxes and piles of documents. He was an old
+bachelor without friends, and he held the misanthropical opinion
+that disinterested friendship did not exist upon earth. He felt no
+affection except for his sister's family, and the only way that he
+showed that was by finding fault with everything that they did. He was
+one of those people whose uneasy solicitude causes them to blame those
+they love when they are ill, and obstinately prove to them that they
+suffer by their own fault.
+
+At the Clerambaults no one minded him very much. Madame Clerambault
+was so easy-going that she rather liked being pushed about in this
+way, and as for the children, they knew that these scoldings were
+sweetened by little presents; so they pocketed the presents and let
+the rest go by.
+
+The conduct of Leo Camus towards his brother-in-law had varied with
+time. When his sister had married Clerambault, Camus had not hesitated
+to find fault with the match; an unknown poet did not seem to him
+"serious" enough. Poetry--unknown poetry--is a pretext for not
+working; when one is "known," of course that is quite another thing;
+Camus held Hugo in high esteem, and could even recite verses from the
+"Châtiments," or from Auguste Barbier. They were "known," you see, and
+that made all the difference.... Just at this time Clerambault himself
+became "known," Camus read about him one day in his favourite paper,
+and after that he consented to read Clerambault's poems. He did not
+understand them, but he bore them no ill will on that account. He
+liked to call himself old-fashioned, it made him feel superior, and
+there are many in the world like him, who pride themselves on their
+lack of comprehension. For we must all plume ourselves as we can; some
+of us on what we have, others on what we have not.
+
+Camus was willing to admit that Clerambault could write. He knew
+something of the art himself,--and his respect for his brother-in-law
+increased in proportion to the "puffs" he read in the papers, and he
+liked to chat with him. He had always appreciated his affectionate
+kind-heartedness, though he never said so, and what pleased also in
+this great poet, for great he was now, was his manifest incapacity,
+and practical ignorance of business matters; on this ground Camus
+was his superior, and did not hesitate to show it. Clerambault had a
+simple-hearted confidence in his fellow-man, and nothing could have
+been better suited to Camus' aggressive pessimism, which it kept in
+working order. The greater part of his visits was spent in reducing
+Clerambault's illusions to fragments, but they had as many lives as
+a cat, and every time he came it had to be done over again. This
+irritated Camus, but secretly pleased him for he needed a pretext
+constantly renewed to think the world bad, and men a set of imbeciles.
+Above all he had no mercy on politicians; this Government employee
+hated Governments, though he would have been puzzled to say what
+he would put in their places. The only form of politics that he
+understood was opposition. He suffered from a spoiled life and
+thwarted nature. He was a peasant's son and born to raise grapes, or
+else to exercise his authoritative instincts over the field labourers,
+like a watch-dog. Unfortunately, diseases of the vines interfered and
+also the pride of a quill-driver; the family moved to town, and now he
+would have felt it a derogation to return to his real nature, which
+was too much atrophied, even if he had wished it. Not having found his
+true place in society, he blamed the social order, serving it, as do
+millions of functionaries, like a bad servant, an underhand enemy.
+
+A mind of this sort, peevish, bitter, misanthropical, it seems would
+have been driven crazy by the war, but on the contrary it served to
+tranquilise it. When the herd draws itself together in arms against
+the stranger it is a fall for those rare free spirits who love the
+whole world, but it raises the many who weakly vegetate in anarchistic
+egotism, and lifts them to that higher stage of organised selfishness.
+Camus woke up all at once, with the feeling that for the first time he
+was not alone in the world.
+
+Patriotism is perhaps the only instinct under present conditions which
+escapes the withering touch of every-day life. All other instincts and
+natural aspirations, the legitimate need to love and act in social
+life, are stifled, mutilated and forced to pass under the yoke of
+denial and compromise. When a man reaches middle life and turns to
+look back, he sees these desires marked with his failures and his
+cowardice; the taste is bitter on his tongue, he is ashamed of them
+and of himself. Patriotism alone has remained outside, unemployed
+but not tarnished, and when it re-awakes it is inviolate. The soul
+embraces and lavishes on it the ardour of all the ambitions, the
+loves, and the longings, that life has disappointed. A half century of
+suppressed fire bursts forth, millions of little cages in the social
+prison open their doors. At last! Long enchained instincts stretch
+their stiffened limbs, cry out and leap into the open air, as of
+right--right, do I say? it is now their duty to press forward all
+together like a falling mass. The isolated snow-flakes turned
+avalanche.
+
+Camus was carried away, the little bureaucrat found himself part of it
+all and without fury or futile violence he felt only a calm strength.
+All was "well" with him, well in mind, well in body. He had no more
+insomnia, and for the first time in years his stomach gave him no
+trouble--because he had forgotten all about it. He even got through
+the winter without taking cold--something that had never been heard of
+before. He ceased to find fault with everything and everybody, he no
+longer railed at all that was done or undone, for now he was filled
+with a sacred pity for the entire social body--that body, now his, but
+stronger, better, and more beautiful. He felt a fraternal bond with
+all those who formed part of it by their close union, like a swarm of
+bees hanging from a branch, and envied the younger men who went to
+defend it. When Maxime gaily prepared to go, his uncle gazed at him
+tenderly, and when the train left carrying away the young men, he
+turned and threw his arms round Clerambault, then shook hands with
+unknown parents who had come to see their sons off, with tears of
+emotion and joy in his eyes. In that moment Camus was ready to give
+up everything he possessed. It was his honey-moon with Life--this
+solitary starved soul saw her as she passed and seized her in his
+arms.... Yes, Life passes, the euphoria of a Camus cannot last
+forever, but he who has known it lives only in the memory of it, and
+in the hope that it may return. War brought this gift, therefore Peace
+is an enemy, and enemies are all those who desire it.
+
+
+
+
+Clerambault and Camus exchanged ideas, and to such an extent that
+finally Clerambault could not tell which were his own, and as he lost
+footing he felt more strongly the need to act; for action was a kind
+of justification to himself.... Whom did he wish to justify? Alas, it
+was Camus! In spite of his habitual ardour and convictions he was a
+mere echo--and of what unhappy voices.
+
+He began to write Hymns to Battle. There was great competition in this
+line among poets who did not fight themselves. But there was little
+danger that their productions would clog men's memories in future
+ages, for nothing in their previous career had prepared these
+unfortunates for such a task. In vain they raised their voices and
+exhausted all the resources of French rhetoric, the "poilus" only
+shrugged their shoulders.
+
+However people in the rear liked them much better than the stories
+written in the dark and covered with mud, that came out of the
+trenches. The visions of a Barbusse had not yet dawned to show
+the truth to these talkative shadows. There was no difficulty for
+Clerambault, he shone in these eloquent contests. For he had the fatal
+gift of verbal and rhythmical facility which separates poets from
+reality, wrapping them as if in a spider's web. In times of peace this
+harmless web hung on the bushes, the wind blowing through it, and the
+good-natured Arachne caught nothing but light in her meshes. Nowadays,
+however, the poets cultivated their carniverous instincts--fortunately
+rather out of date--and hidden at the bottom of their web one could
+catch sight of a nasty little beast with an eye fixed on the prey.
+They sang of hatred and holy butchery, and Clerambault did as they
+did, even better, for he had more voice. And, by dint of screaming,
+this worthy man ended by feeling passions that he knew nothing of. He
+learned to "know" hatred at last, know in the Biblical sense, and it
+only roused in him that base pride that an undergraduate feels when
+for the first time he finds himself coming out of a brothel.
+
+Now he was a man, and in fact he needed nothing more, he had fallen as
+low as the others.
+
+Camus well deserved and enjoyed the first taste of each one of these
+poems and they made him neigh with enthusiasm, for he recognised
+himself in them. Clerambault was flattered, thinking he had touched
+the popular string. The brothers-in-law spent their evenings alone
+together. Clerambault read, Camus drank in his verses; he knew them by
+heart, and told everyone who would listen to him that Hugo had come
+to life again, and that each of these poems was worth a victory. His
+noisy admiration made it unnecessary for the other members of the
+family to express their opinion. Under some excuse, Rosine regularly
+made a practice of leaving the room when the reading was over.
+Clerambault felt it, and would have liked to ask his daughter's
+opinion, but found it more prudent not to put the question. He
+preferred to persuade himself that Rosine's emotion and timidity put
+her to flight. He was vexed all the same, but the approval of the
+outside world healed this slight wound. His poems appeared in
+the _bourgeois_ papers, and proved the most striking success of
+Clerambault's career, for no other work of his had raised such
+unanimous admiration. A poet is always pleased to have it said that
+his last work is his best, all the more when he knows that it is
+inferior to the others.
+
+Clerambault knew it perfectly well, but he swallowed all the fawning
+reviews of the press with infantile vanity. In the evening he made
+Camus read them aloud in the family circle, beaming with joy as he
+listened. When it was over he nearly shouted:
+
+"Encore!"
+
+In this concert of praise one slightly flat note came from Perrotin.
+(Undoubtedly he had been much deceived in him, he was not a true
+friend.) The old scholar to whom Clerambault had sent a copy of his
+poems did not fail to congratulate him politely, praising his great
+talent, but he did not say that this was his finest work; he even
+urged him, "after having offered his tribute to the warlike Muse, to
+produce now a work of pure imagination detached from the present."
+What could he mean? When an artist submits his work for your approval,
+is it proper to say to him: "I should prefer to read another one quite
+different from this?" This was a fresh sign to Clerambault of the
+sadly lukewarm patriotism that he had already noticed in Perrotin.
+This lack of comprehension chilled his feeling towards his old friend.
+The war, he thought, was the great test of characters, it revised all
+values, and tried out friendships. And he thought that the loss of
+Perrotin was balanced by the gain of Camus, and many new friends,
+plain people, no doubt, but simple and warm-hearted.
+
+Sometimes at night he had moments of oppression, he was uneasy,
+wakeful, discontented, ashamed; ... but of what? Had he not done his
+duty?
+
+
+
+
+The first letters from Maxime were a comforting cordial; the first
+drops dissipated every discouragement, and they all lived on them
+in long intervals when no news came. In spite of the agony of these
+silences, when any second might be fatal to the loved one, his perfect
+confidence (exaggerated perhaps, through affection, or superstition)
+communicated itself to them all. His letters were running over with
+youth and exuberant joy, which reached its climax in the days that
+followed the victory of the Marne. The whole family yearned towards
+him as one; like a plant the summit of which bathes in the light,
+stretching up to it in a rapture of mystic adoration.
+
+People who but yesterday were soft and torpid, expanded under the
+extraordinary light when fate threw them into the infernal vortex of
+the war, the light of Death, the game with Death; Maxime, a spoiled
+child, delicate, overparticular, who in ordinary times took care
+of himself like a fine lady, found an unexpected flavour in the
+privations and trials of his new life, and wondering at himself he
+boasted of it in his charming, vainglorious letters which delighted
+the hearts of his parents.
+
+Neither affected to be cast in the mould of one of Corneille's heroes,
+and the thought of immolating their child on the altar of a barbaric
+idea would have filled them with horror; but the transfiguration
+of their petted boy suddenly become a hero, touched them with a
+tenderness never before felt. In spite of their anxiety, Maxime's
+enthusiasm intoxicated them, and it made them ungrateful toward their
+former life, that peaceful affectionate existence, with its long
+monotonous days. Maxime was amusingly contemptuous of it, calling it
+absurd after one had seen what was going on "out there."
+
+"Out there" one was glad to sleep three hours on the hard ground, or
+once in a month of Sundays on a wisp of straw, glad to turn out at
+three o'clock in the morning and warm up by marching thirty kilometres
+with a knapsack on one's back, sweating freely for eight or ten hours
+at a time.... Glad above all to get in touch with the enemy, and rest
+a little lying down under a bank, while one peppered the boches....
+This young Cyrano declared that fighting rested you after a march, and
+when he described an engagement you would have said that he was at a
+concert or a "movie."
+
+The rhythm of the shells, the noise when they left the gun and when
+they burst, reminded him of the passage with cymbals in the divine
+scherzo of the Ninth Symphony. When he heard overhead as from an
+airy music-box the buzzing of these steel mosquitoes, mischievous,
+imperious, angry, treacherous, or simply full of amiable carelessness,
+he felt like a street boy rushing out to see a fire. No more fatigue;
+mind and body on the alert; and when came the long-awaited order
+"Forward!" one jumped to one's feet, light as a feather, and ran to
+the nearest shelter under the hail of bullets, glad to be in the open,
+like a hound on the scent. You crawled on your hands and knees, or on
+your stomach, you ran all bent doubled-up, or did Swedish gymnastics
+through the underbrush ... that made up for not being able to walk
+straight; and when it grew dark you said: "What, night already?--What
+have we been doing with ourselves, today?" ... "In conclusion," said
+this little French cockerel, "the only tiresome thing in war is what
+you do in peace-time,--you walk along the high road."
+
+This was the way these young men talked in the first month of the
+campaign, all soldiers of the Marne, of war in the open. If this
+had gone on, we should have seen once more the race of barefooted
+Revolutionaries, who set out to conquer the world and could not stop
+themselves.
+
+They were at last forced to stop, and from the moment that they were
+put to soak in the trenches, the tone changed. Maxime lost his spirit,
+his boyish carelessness. From day to day he grew virile, stoical,
+obstinate and nervous. He still vouched for the final victory, but
+ceased after a while to talk of it, and wrote only of duty to be done,
+then even that stopped, and his letters became dull, grey, tired-out.
+
+Enthusiasm had not diminished behind the lines, and Clerambault
+persisted in vibrating like an organ pipe, but Maxime no longer gave
+back the echo he sought to evoke.
+
+
+
+
+All at once, without warning, Maxime came home for a week's leave. He
+stopped on the stairs, for though he seemed more robust than formerly,
+his legs felt heavy, and he was soon tired. He waited a moment to
+breathe, for he was moved, and then went up. His mother came to the
+door at his ring, screaming at the sight of him. Clerambault who was
+pacing up and down the apartment in the weariness of the long waiting,
+cried out too as he ran. It was a tremendous row.
+
+After a few minutes there was a truce to embraces and inarticulate
+exclamations. Pushed into a chair by the window with his face to the
+light, Maxime gave himself up to their delighted eyes. They were in
+ecstasies over his complexion, his cheeks more filled out, his healthy
+look. His father threw his arms around him calling him "My Hero"--but
+Maxime sat with his fingers twitching nervously, and could not get out
+a word.
+
+At table they feasted their eyes on him, hung on every word, but he
+said very little. The excitement of his family had checked his first
+impetus, but luckily they did not notice it, and attributed his
+silence to fatigue or to hunger. Clerambault talked enough for two;
+telling Maxime about life in the trenches. Good mother Pauline was
+transformed into a Cornelia, out of Plutarch, and Maxime looked at
+them, ate, looked again.... A gulf had opened between them.
+
+When after dinner they all went back to his father's study, and they
+saw him comfortably established with a cigar, he had to try and
+satisfy these poor waiting people. So he quietly began to tell them
+how his time was passed, with a certain proud reserve and leaving out
+tragical pictures. They listened in trembling expectation, and when
+he had finished they were still expectant. Then on their side came a
+shower of questions, to which Maxime's replies were short--soon he
+fell silent. Clerambault to wake up the "young rascal" tried several
+jovial thrusts.
+
+"Come now, tell us about some of your engagements.... It must be fine
+to see such joy, such sacred fire--Lord, but I would like to see all
+that, I would like to be in your place."
+
+"You can see all these fine things better from where you are," said
+Maxime. Since he had been in the trenches he had not seen a fight,
+hardly set eyes on a German, his view was bounded by mud and
+water--but they would not believe him, they thought he was talking
+"contrariwise" as he did when he was a child.
+
+"You old humbug," said his father, laughing gaily, "What does happen
+then all day long in your trenches?"
+
+"We take care of ourselves; kill time, the worst enemy of all."
+
+Clerambault slapped him amicably on the back.
+
+"Time is not the only one you kill?"--Maxime drew away, saw the kind,
+curious glances of his father and mother, and answered:
+
+"Please talk of something else," and added after a pause:
+
+"Will you do something for me?--don't ask me any more questions
+today."
+
+They agreed rather surprised, but they supposed that he needed care,
+being so tired, and they overwhelmed him with attentions. Clerambault,
+however, could not refrain from breaking out every minute or two in
+apostrophes, demanding his son's approbation. His speeches resounded
+with the word "Liberty." Maxime smiled faintly and looked at Rosine,
+for the attitude of the young girl was singular. When her brother came
+in she threw her arms round his neck, but since she had kept in the
+background, one might have said aloof. She had taken no part in her
+parents' questions, and far from inviting confidence from Maxime she
+seemed to shrink from it. He felt the same awkwardness, and avoided
+being alone with her. But still they had never felt closer to each
+other in spirit, they could not have borne to say why.
+
+Maxime had to be shown to all the neighbours, and by way of amusement
+he was taken out for a walk. In spite of her mourning, Paris again
+wore a smiling face; poverty and pain were hidden at home, or at the
+bottom of her proud heart; but the perpetual Fair in the streets and
+in the press showed its mask of contentment.
+
+The people in the cafés and the tea-rooms were ready to hold out for
+twenty years, if necessary. Maxime and his family sat in a tea-shop at
+a little table, gay chatter and the perfume of women all about
+him. Through it he saw the trench where he had been bombarded for
+twenty-six days on end, unable to stir from the sticky ditch full of
+corpses which rose around him like a wall.... His mother laid her
+hand on his, he woke, saw the affectionate questioning glances of his
+people, and self-reproached for making them uneasy, he smiled and
+began to look about and talk gaily. His boyish high spirits came back,
+and the shadow cleared away from Clerambault's face; he glanced simply
+and gratefully at Maxime.
+
+His alarms were not at an end, however. As they left the tea-shop--he
+leaning on the arm of his son--they met a military funeral. There were
+wreaths and uniforms, a member of the Institute with his sword between
+his legs, and brass instruments braying out an heroic lamentation.
+
+The crowd drew respectfully to either side, Clerambault stopped and
+pointedly took off his hat, while with his left hand he pressed
+Maxime's arm yet closer to his side. Feeling him tremble, he turned
+towards his son, and thought he had a strange look. Supposing that he
+was overcome he tried to draw him away, but Maxime did not stir, he
+was so much taken aback.
+
+"A dead man," he thought. "All that for one dead man!... and out there
+we walk over them. Five hundred a day on the roll, that's the normal
+ration."
+
+Hearing a sneering little laugh, Clerambault was frightened and pulled
+him by the arm.
+
+"Come away!" he said, and they moved on.
+
+"If they could see," said Maxime to himself, "if they could only
+see!... their whole society would go to pieces,... but they will
+always be blind, they do not want to see ..."
+
+His eyes, cruelly sharpened now, saw the adversary all around him,--in
+the carelessness of the world, its stupidity, its egotism, its luxury,
+in the "I don't give a damn!", the indecent profits of the war,
+the enjoyment of it, the falseness down to the roots.... All these
+sheltered people, shirkers, police, with their insolent autos that
+looked like cannon, their women booted to the knee, with scarlet
+mouths, and cruel little candy faces ... they are all satisfied ...
+all is for the best!... "It will go on forever as it is!" Half the
+world devouring the other half....
+
+They went home. In the evening after dinner Clerambault was dying to
+read his latest poem to Maxime. The idea of it was touching, if a
+little absurd.--In his love for his son, he sought to be in spirit,
+at least, the comrade of his glory and his sufferings, and he had
+described them,--at a distance--in "Dawn in the Trenches." Twice he
+got up to look for the MS., but with the sheets in his hand a sort of
+shyness paralysed him, and he went back without them.
+
+As the days went by they felt themselves closely knit together by ties
+of the flesh, but their souls were out of touch. Neither would admit
+it though each knew it well.
+
+A sadness was between them, but they refused to see the real cause,
+and preferred to ascribe it to the approaching reparation. From time
+to time the father or the mother made a fresh attempt to re-open the
+sources of intimacy, but each time came the same disappointment.
+Maxime saw that he had no longer any way of communicating with them,
+with anyone in the rear. They lived in different worlds ... could they
+ever understand each other again?... Yet still he understood them, for
+once he had himself undergone the influence which weighed on them,
+and had only come to his senses "out there," in contact with real
+suffering and death. But just because he had been touched himself, he
+knew the impossibility of curing the others by process of reasoning;
+so he let them talk, silent himself, smiling vaguely, assenting to be
+knew not what. The preoccupations here behind the lines filled him
+with disgust, weariness, and a profound pity for these people in
+the rear--a strange race to him, with the outcries of the papers,
+questions from such persons--old buffoons, worn-out, damaged
+politicians!--patriotic braggings, written-up strategies, anxieties
+about black bread, sugar cards, or the days when the confectioners
+were shut. He took refuge in a mysterious silence, smiling and sad;
+and only went out occasionally, when he thought of the short time he
+had to be with these dear people who loved him. Then he would begin to
+talk with the utmost animation about anything. The important thing was
+to make a noise, since one could no longer speak one's real thoughts,
+and naturally he fell back on everyday matters. Questions of general
+interest and political news came first, but they might as well have
+read the morning paper aloud. "The Crushing of the Huns," "The Triumph
+of the Right," filled Clerambault's thoughts and speeches, while he
+served as acolyte, and filled in the pauses with _cum spiritu tuo_.
+All the time each was waiting for the other to begin to talk.
+
+They waited so long that the end of his leave came. A little while
+before he went, Maxime came into his father's study resolved to
+explain himself:
+
+"Papa, are you quite sure?" ...
+
+The trouble painted on Clerambault's face checked the words on his
+lips. He had pity on him and asked if his father was quite sure at
+what time the train was to leave and Clerambault heard the end of the
+question with an only too visible relief. When he had supplied all the
+information--that Maxime did not listen to--he mounted his oratorical
+hobby-horse again and started out with one of his habitual idealistic
+declamations. Maxime held his peace, discouraged, and for the last
+hour they spoke only of trifles. All but the mother felt that the
+essential had not been uttered; only light and confident words, an
+apparent excitement, but a deep sigh in the heart--"My God! my God!
+why hast thou forsaken us?"
+
+When Maxime left he was really glad to go back to the front. The gulf
+that he had found between the front and rear seemed to him deeper than
+the trenches, and guns did not appear to him as murderous as ideas.
+
+As the railway carriage drew out of the station he leaned from the
+window and followed with his eyes the tearful faces of his family
+fading in the distance, and he thought:
+
+"Poor dears, you are their victims and we are yours."
+
+
+
+
+The day after his return to the front the great spring offensive was
+let loose, which the talkative newspapers had announced to the enemy
+several weeks beforehand. The hopes of the nation had been fed on it
+during the gloomy winter of waiting and death, and it rose now, filled
+with an impatient joy, sure of victory and crying out to it--"At
+last!"
+
+The first news seemed good; of course it spoke only of the enemy's
+losses, and all faces brightened. Parents whose sons, women whose
+husbands were "out there" were proud that their flesh and their love
+had a part in this sanguinary feast; and in their exaltation they
+hardly stopped to think that their dear one might be among the
+victims. The excitement ran so high that Clerambault, an affectionate,
+tender father, generally most anxious for those he loved, was actually
+afraid that his son had not got back in time for "The Dance." He
+wanted him to be there, his eager wishes pushed, thrust him into the
+abyss, making this sacrifice, disposing of his son and of his life,
+without asking if he himself agreed. He and his had ceased to belong
+to themselves. He could not conceive that it should be otherwise with
+any of them. The obscure will of the ant-heap had eaten him up.
+
+Sometimes taken unawares, the remains of his self-analytical habit of
+mind would appear; like a sensitive nerve that is touched,--a dull
+blow, a quiver of pain, it is gone, and we forget it.
+
+At the end of three weeks the exhausted offensive was still pawing the
+ground of the same blood-soaked kilometres, and the newspapers began
+to distract public attention, putting it on a fresh scent. Nothing had
+been heard from Maxime since he left. They sought for the ordinary
+reasons for delay which the mind furnishes readily but the heart
+cannot accept. Another week went by. Among themselves each of the
+three pretended to be confident, but at night, each one alone in his
+room, the heart cried out in agony, and the whole day long the ear was
+strained to catch every step on the stair, the nerves stretched to the
+breaking point at a ring of the bell, or the touch of a hand passing
+the door.
+
+The first official news of the losses began to come in; several
+families among Clerambault's friends already knew which of their men
+were dead and which wounded. Those who had lost all, envied those who
+could have their loved ones back, though bleeding, perhaps mutilated.
+Many sank into the night of their grief; for them the war and life
+were equally over. But with others the exaltation of the early days
+persisted strangely; Clerambault saw one mother wrought up by her
+patriotism and her grief to the point that she almost rejoiced at the
+death of her son. "I have given my all, my all!" she would say, with
+a violent, concentrated joy such as is felt in the last second before
+extinction by a woman who drowns herself with the man she loves.
+Clerambault however was weaker, and waking from his dizziness he
+thought:
+
+"I too have given all, even what was not my own."
+
+He inquired of the military authorities, but they knew nothing as yet.
+Ten days later came the news that Sergeant Clerambault was reported
+as missing from the night of the 27-28th of the preceding month.
+Clerambault could get no further details at the Paris bureaus;
+therefore he set out for Geneva, went to the Red Cross, the Agency for
+Prisoners,--could find nothing; followed up every clue, got permission
+to question comrades of his son in hospitals or depots behind the
+lines. They all gave contradictory information; one said he was a
+prisoner, another had seen him dead, and both the next day admitted
+that they had been mistaken.... Oh! tortures! God of vengeance!...
+He came back after a fortnight from this Way of the Cross, aged,
+broken-down, exhausted.
+
+He found his wife in a paroxysm of frantic grief, which in this
+good-natured creature had turned to a furious hatred of the enemy;
+she cried out for revenge, and for the first time Clerambault did not
+answer. He had not strength enough to hate, he could only suffer.
+
+He shut himself into his room. During that frightful ten days'
+pilgrimage he had scarcely looked his thoughts in the face, hypnotised
+as he was, day and night by one idea, like a dog on a scent,--faster!
+go faster! The slowness of carriages and trains consumed him, and
+once, when he had taken a room for the night, he rushed away the same
+evening, without stopping to rest. This fever of haste and expectation
+devoured everything, and made consecutive thought impossible,--which
+was his salvation. Now that the chase was ended, his mind, exhausted
+and dying, recovered its powers.
+
+Clerambault knew certainly that Maxime was dead. He had not told his
+wife, but had concealed some information that destroyed all hope. She
+was one of those people who absolutely must keep a gleam of falsehood
+to lure them on, against all reason, until the first flood of grief is
+over. Perhaps Clerambault himself had been one of them, but he was not
+so now; for he saw where this lure had led him. He did not judge, he
+was not yet able to form a judgment, lying in the darkness. Too weak
+to rise, and feel about him, he was like someone who moves his crushed
+limbs after a fall, and with each stab of pain recovers consciousness
+of life, and tries to understand what has happened to him. The stupid
+gulf of this death overcame him. That this beautiful child, who had
+given them so much joy, cost them so much care, all this marvel of
+hope in flower, the priceless little world that is a young man, a tree
+of Jesse, future years ... all vanished in an hour!--and why?--why?--
+
+He was forced to try to persuade himself at least that it was for
+something great and necessary. Clerambault clung despairingly to this
+buoy during the succeeding nights, feeling that if his hold gave way
+he should go under. More than ever he insisted on the holiness of the
+cause; he would not even discuss it; but little by little his fingers
+slipped, he settled lower with every movement, for each new statement
+of the justice of his cause roused a voice in his conscience which
+said:
+
+"Even if you were twenty thousand times more right in this struggle,
+is your justification worth the disasters it costs? Does justice
+demand that millions of innocents should fall, a ransom for the sins
+and the errors of others? Is crime to be washed out by crime?
+or murder by murder? And must your sons be not only victims but
+accomplices, assassinated and assassins?..."
+
+He looked back at the last visit of his son, and reflected on their
+last talks together. How many things were clear to him now, which he
+had not understood at the time! Maxime's silence, the reproach in his
+eyes. The worst of all was when he recognised that he had understood,
+at the time, when his son was there, but that he would not admit it.
+
+This discovery, which had hung over him like a dark cloud for
+weeks,--this realisation of inward falsehood,--crushed him to the
+earth.
+
+
+
+
+Until the actual crisis was upon them, Rosine Clerambault seemed
+thrown into the shade. Her inward life was unknown to the others, and
+almost to herself; even her father had scarcely a glimpse of it. She
+had lived under the wing of the warm, selfish, stifling family life,
+and had few friends or companions of her own age, for her parents
+stood between her and the world outside, and she had grown up in their
+shadow.
+
+As she grew older if she had wished to escape she would not have
+dared, would not have known how; for she was shy outside the
+family circle, and could hardly move or talk; people thought her
+insignificant. This she knew; it wounded her self-respect, and
+therefore she went out as little as possible, preferring to stay at
+home, where she was simple, natural and taciturn. This silence did not
+arise from slowness of thought, but from the chatter of the others.
+As her father, mother, and brother were all exuberant talkers, this
+little person by a sort of reaction, withdrew into herself, where she
+could talk freely.
+
+She was fair, tall, and boyishly slender, with pretty hair, the locks
+always straying over her cheeks. Her mouth was rather large and
+serious, the lower lip full at the corners, her eyes large, calm and
+vague, with fine well-marked eyebrows. She had a graceful chin, a
+pretty throat, an undeveloped figure, no hips; her hands were large
+and a little red, with prominent veins. Anything would make her blush,
+and her girlish charm was all in the forehead and the chin. Her eyes
+were always asking and dreaming, but said little.
+
+Her father's preference was for her, just as her mother was drawn
+towards the son by natural affinity. Without thinking much about it,
+Clerambault had always monopolised his daughter, surrounding her from
+childhood with his absorbing affection. She had been partly educated
+by him, and with the almost offensive simplicity of the artist mind,
+he had taken her for the confidante of his inner life. This was
+brought about by his overflowing self-consciousness, and the little
+response that he found in his wife, a good creature, who, as the
+saying is, sat at his feet, in fact stayed there permanently,
+answering yes to all that he said, admiring him blindly, without
+understanding him, or feeling the lack; the essential to her was not
+her husband's thought but himself, his welfare, his comfort, his food,
+his clothing, his health. Honest Clerambault in the gratitude of his
+heart did not criticise his wife, any more than Rosine criticised her
+mother, but both of them knew how it was, instinctively, and were
+drawn closer by a secret tie. Clerambault was not aware that in his
+daughter he had found the real wife of his heart and mind. Nor did he
+begin to suspect it, till in these last days the war had seemed to
+break the tacit accord between them. Rosine's approval hitherto had
+bound her to him, and now all at once it failed him. She knew many
+things before he did, but shrank from the depths of the mystery; the
+mind need not give warning to the heart, it knows.
+
+Strange, splendid mystery of love between souls, independent of social
+and even of natural laws. Few there be that know it, and fewer still
+that dare to reveal it; they are afraid of the coarse world and its
+summary judgments and can get no farther than the plain meaning
+of traditional language. In this conventional tongue, which is
+voluntarily inexact for the sake of social simplification, words are
+careful not to unveil, by expressing them, the many shades of reality
+in its multiple forms. They imprison it, codify it, drill it; they
+press it into the service of the mind already domesticated; of that
+reasoning power which does not spring from the depth of the
+spirit, but from shallow, walled-in pools--like the basins at
+Versailles--within the limits of constituted society.
+
+In this somewhat legal phraseology love is bound to sex, age, and
+social classes; it is either natural or unnatural, legitimate or the
+reverse. But this is a mere trickle of water from the deep springs of
+love, which is as the law of gravitation that keeps the stars in their
+courses, and cares nothing for the ways that we trace for it. This
+infinite love fulfils itself between souls far removed by time and
+space; across the centuries it unites the thoughts of the living and
+the dead; weaves close and chaste ties between old and young hearts;
+through it, friend is nearer to friend, the child is closer in spirit
+to the old man than are husband or wife in the whole course of
+their lives. Between fathers and children these ties often exist
+unconsciously, and "the world" as our forefathers used to say, counts
+so little in comparison with love eternal, that the positions are
+sometimes reversed, and the younger may not always be the most
+childlike. How many sons are there who feel a devout paternal
+affection for an old mother? And do we not often see ourselves small
+and humble under the eyes of a child? The look with which the Bambino
+of Botticelli contemplates the innocent Virgin is heavy with a sad
+unconscious experience, and as old as the world.
+
+The affection of Clerambault and Rosine was of this sort; fine,
+religious, above the reach of reason. That is why, in the depths of
+the troubled sea, below the pains and the conflicts of conscience
+caused by the war, a secret drama went on, without signs, almost
+without words, between these hearts united by a sacred love. This
+unavowed sentiment explained the sensitiveness of their mutual
+reactions. At first Rosine drew away in silence, disappointed in her
+affection, her secret worship tarnished, by the effect of the war on
+her father; she stood apart from him, like a little antique statue,
+chastely draped. At once Clerambault became uneasy; his sensibility
+sharpened by tenderness, felt instantly this _Noli me tangere_, and
+from this arose an unexpressed estrangement between the father and
+daughter. Words are so coarse, one would not dare to speak even in the
+purest sense of disappointed love, but this inner discord, of which
+neither ever spoke a word, was pain to both of them; made the young
+girl unhappy, and irritated Clerambault. He knew the cause well
+enough, but his pride refused to admit it; though little by little he
+was not far from confessing that Rosine was right. He was ready to
+humiliate himself, but his tongue was tied by false shame; and so the
+difference between their minds grew wider, while in their hearts each
+longed to yield.
+
+In the confusion that followed Maxime's death, this inward prayer
+pressed more on the one less able to resist. Clerambault was
+prostrated by his grief, his wife aimlessly busy, and Rosine was out
+all day at her war work. They only came together at meals. But it
+happened that one evening after dinner Clerambault heard her mother
+violently scolding Rosine, who had spoken of wounded enemies whom she
+wanted to take care of. Madame Clerambault was as indignant as if
+her daughter had committed a crime, and appealed to her husband. His
+weary, vague, sad eyes had begun to see; he looked at Rosine who was
+silent, her head bent, waiting for his reply.
+
+"You are right, my little girl," he said.
+
+Rosine started and flushed, for she had not expected this; she raised
+her grateful eyes to his, and their look seemed to say: "You have come
+back to me at last."
+
+After the brief repast they usually separated; each to eat out his
+heart in solitude. Clerambault sat before his writing-table and wept,
+his face hidden in his hands. Rosine's look had pierced through to his
+suffering heart; his soul lost, stifled for so long, had come to be as
+it was before the war. Oh, the look in her eyes!...
+
+He listened, wiping away his tears; his wife had locked herself into
+Maxime's room as she did every evening, and was folding and unfolding
+his clothes, arranging the things left behind.... He went into the
+room where Rosine sat alone by the window, sewing. She was absorbed in
+thought, and did not hear him coming till he stood before her; till he
+laid his grey head on her shoulder and murmured: "My little girl."
+
+Then her heart melted also. She took the dear old head between her
+hands, with its rough hair, and answered:
+
+"My dear father."
+
+Neither needed to ask or to explain why he was there. After a long
+silence, when he was calmer, he looked at her and said:
+
+"It seems as if I had waked up from a frightful dream." ... But she
+merely stroked his hair, without speaking.
+
+"You were watching over me, were you not?... I saw it.... Were you
+unhappy?" ...
+
+She just bowed her head not daring to look at him. He stooped to kiss
+her hands, and raising his head he whispered:
+
+"My good angel. You have saved me!"
+
+
+
+
+When he had gone back to his room she stayed there without moving,
+filled with emotion, which kept her for long, still, with drooping
+head, her hands clasped on her knees. The waves of feeling that flowed
+through her almost took away her breath. Her heart was bursting with
+love, happiness, and shame. The humility of her father overcame
+her.... And all at once a passionate impulse of tender, filial piety
+broke the bonds which paralysed her soul and body, as she stretched
+out her arms towards the absent, and threw herself at the foot of her
+bed, thanking God, beseeching Him to give all the suffering to her,
+and happiness to the one she loved.
+
+The God to whom she prayed did not give ear; for it was on the head of
+this young girl that he poured the sweet sleep of forgetfulness; but
+Clerambault had to climb his Calvary to the end.
+
+Alone in his room, the lamp put out, in darkness, Clerambault looked
+within himself. He was determined to pierce to the bottom of his
+timid, lying soul which tried to hide itself. On his head he could
+still feel the coolness of his daughter's hand, which had effaced all
+his hesitation.
+
+He would face this monster Truth, though he were torn by its claws
+which never relax, once they have taken hold.
+
+With a firm hand, in spite of his anguish, he began to tear off in
+bleeding fragments the covering of mortal prejudices, passions, and
+ideas foreign to his real nature, which clung to him.
+
+First came the thick fleece of the thousand-headed beast, the
+collective soul of the herd. He had hidden under it from fear and
+weariness. It is hot and stifling, a dirty feather-bed; but once
+wrapped in it, one cannot move to throw it off, or even wish to do so;
+there is no need to will, or to think; one is sheltered from cold,
+from responsibilities. Laziness, cowardice!... Come, away with it!...
+Let the chilly wind blow through the rents. You shrink at first, but
+already this breath has shaken the torpor; the enfeebled energy begins
+to stagger to its feet. What will it find outside? No matter what, we
+must see....
+
+Sick with disgust, he saw first what he was loath to believe; how this
+greasy fleece had stuck to his flesh. He could sniff the musty odour
+of the primitive beast, the savage instincts of war, of murder, the
+lust for blood like living meat torn by his jaws. The elemental force
+which asks death for life. Far down in the depths of human nature is
+this slaughter-house in the ditch, never filled up but covered with
+the veil of a false civilisation, over which hangs a faint whiff from
+the butcher's shop.... This filthy odour finally sobered Clerambault;
+with horror he tore off the skin of the beast whose prey he had been.
+
+Ah, how thick it was,--warm, silky, and beautiful, and at the same
+time stinking and bloody, made of the lowest instincts, and the
+highest illusions. To love, give ourselves to all, be a sacrifice for
+all, be but one body and one soul, our Country the sole life!... What
+then is this Country, this living thing to which a man sacrifices
+his life, the life of all but his conscience and the consciences of
+others? What is this blind love, of which the other side of the shield
+is an equally blinded hate?
+
+... "It was a great error to take the name of reason from that of
+love," says Pascal, "and we have no good cause to think them opposed,
+for love and reason are in truth the same. Love is a precipitation of
+thought to one side without considering everything; but it is always
+reason." ...
+
+Well, let us consider everything. Is not this love in a great measure
+the fear of examining all things, as a child hides his head under the
+sheet, so as not to see the shadow on the wall?
+
+Country? A Hindoo temple: men, monsters, and gods. What is she? The
+earth we tread on? The whole earth is the mother of us all. The
+family? It is here and there, with the enemy as with ourselves, and it
+asks nothing but peace. The poor, the workers, the people, they are
+on both sides, equally miserable, equally exploited. Thinkers have a
+common field, and as for their rivalries and their vanities, they are
+as ridiculous in the East as in the West; the world does not go to war
+over the quarrels of a Vadius or a Trissotin. The State? But the State
+and the Country are not the same thing. The confusion is made by those
+who find profit in it; the State is our strength, used and abused by
+men like ourselves, no better than ourselves, often worse. We are not
+duped by them, and in times of peace we judge them fairly enough, but
+let a war come on, they are given _carte blanche_, they can appeal to
+the lowest instincts, stifle all control, suppress liberty and truth,
+destroy all humanity; they are masters, we must stand shoulder to
+shoulder to defend the honour and the mistakes of these Masacarilles
+arrayed in borrowed plumes. 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 done, where shall I look, or find shelter?... They have taken
+everything from me! There is not a free spot on earth or in the mind;
+all the sanctuaries of the soul, of art, of science, religion, they
+are all violated, all enslaved! I am alone, lost, nothing remains to
+me but death!...
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When he had torn everything away, there remained nothing but his naked
+soul. And for the rest of the night, it could only stand chilled and
+shivering. But a spark lived in this spirit that shivered, in this
+tiny being lost in the universe like those shapes which the primitive
+painters represented coming out of the mouth of the dying. With the
+dawn the feeble flame, stifled under so many falsehoods, began to
+revive, and was relighted by the first breath of free air; nothing
+could again extinguish it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Upon this agony or parturition of the soul there followed a long sad
+day, the repose of a broken spirit, in a great silence with the aching
+relief of duty performed.... Clerambault sat with his head against the
+back of his armchair, and thought; his body was feverish, his heart
+heavy with recollections. The tears fell unnoticed from his eyes,
+while out of doors nature awoke sadly to the last days of winter, like
+him stripped and bare. But still there trembled a warmth beneath the
+icy air, which was to kindle a new fire everywhere.
+
+
+
+
+PART TWO
+
+
+
+
+It was a week before Clerambault could go out again. The terrible
+crisis through which he had passed had left him weak but resolved,
+and though the exaltation of his despair had quieted down, he was
+stoically determined to follow the truth even to the end. The
+remembrance of the errors in which his mind had delighted, and the
+half-truths on which it had fed made him humble; he doubted his own
+strength, and wished to advance step by step. He was ready to welcome
+the advice of those wiser than himself. He remembered how Perrotin
+listened to his former confidences with a sarcastic reserve that
+irritated him at the time, but which now attracted him. His first
+visit of convalescence was to this wise old friend.
+
+Perrotin was rather short-sighted and selfish, and did not take the
+trouble to look carefully at things that were not necessary to him,
+being a closer observer of books than of faces, but he was none the
+less struck by the alteration in Clerambault's expression.
+
+"My dear friend," said he, "have you been ill?"
+
+"Yes, ill enough," answered Clerambault, "but I have pulled myself
+together again, and am better now."
+
+"It is the cruelest blow of all," said Perrotin, "to lose at our age,
+such a friend as your poor boy was to you ..."
+
+"The most cruel is not his loss," said the father, "it is that I
+contributed to his death."
+
+"What do you mean, my good friend?" said Perrotin in surprise. "How
+can you imagine such things to add to your trouble?"
+
+"It was I who shut his eyes," said Clerambault bitterly, "and he has
+opened mine."
+
+Perrotin pushed aside the work, which according to his habit he
+had continued to ruminate upon during the conversation, and looked
+narrowly at his friend, who bent his head, and began his story in an
+indistinct voice, sad and charged with feeling. Like a Christian
+of the early times making public confession, he accused himself of
+falsehood towards his faith, his heart, and his reason.
+
+When the Apostle saw his Lord in chains, he was afraid and denied Him;
+but he was not brought so low as to offer his services as executioner.
+He, Clerambault, had not only deserted the cause of human brotherhood,
+he had debased it; he had continued to talk of fraternity, while he
+was stirring up hatred. Like those lying priests who distort the
+Scriptures to serve their wicked purposes, he had knowingly altered
+the most generous ideas to disguise murderous passions.
+
+He extolled war, while calling himself a pacifist; professed to be
+humanitarian, previously putting the enemy outside humanity.... Oh,
+how much franker it would have been to yield to force than to lend
+himself to its dishonouring compromises! It was thanks to such
+sophistries as his that the idealism of young men was thrown into the
+arena. Those old poisoners, the artists and thinkers, had sweetened
+the death-brew with their honeyed rhetoric, which would have been
+found out and rejected by every conscience with disgust, if it had not
+been for their falsehoods....
+
+"The blood of my son is on my head," said Clerambault sadly. "The
+death of the youth of Europe, in all countries, lies at the door of
+European thought. It has been everywhere a servant to the hangman."
+
+Perrotin leaned over and took Clerambault's hand. "My poor friend,"
+said he, "you make too much of this. No doubt you are right to
+acknowledge the errors of judgment into which you have been drawn by
+public opinion, and I may confess to you now that I was sorry to see
+it; but you are wrong to ascribe to yourself and other thinkers so
+much responsibility for the events of today. One man speaks, another
+acts; but the speakers do not move the others to action; they are all
+drifting with the tide. This unfortunate European thought is a bit of
+drift-wood like the rest, it does not make the current, it is carried
+along by it."
+
+"It persuades people to yield to it," said Clerambault, "instead of
+helping the swimmers, and bidding them struggle against it; it
+says: Let yourself go.... No, my friend, do not try to diminish its
+responsibility, it is the greatest of all. Our thought had the best
+place from which to see; its business was to keep watch, and if it saw
+nothing, it was through lack of good-will, for it cannot lay the blame
+on its eyes, which are clear enough. You know it and so do I, now that
+I have come to my senses. The same intelligence which darkened my
+eyes, has now torn away the bandage; how can it be, at the same time,
+a power for truth and for falsehood?"
+
+Perrotin shook his head.
+
+"Yes, intelligence is so great and so high that she cannot put herself
+at the service of any other forces without derogation; for if she is
+no longer mistress and free, she is degraded. It is a case of
+Roman master debasing the Greek, his superior, and making him his
+purveyor--_Graeculus_, sophist, _Laeno_.... To the vulgar the
+intelligence is a sort of maid-of-all-work, and in this position she
+displays the sly, dishonest cleverness of her kind. Sometimes she is
+employed by hatred, pride, or self-interest, and then she flatters
+these little devils, dressing them up as Idealism, Love, Faith,
+Liberty, and social generosity; for when a man does not love his
+neighbour, he says he loves God, his Country, or even Humanity.
+Sometimes the poor master is himself a slave to the State. Under
+threat of punishment, the social machine forces him to acts which are
+repugnant, but the complaisant intelligence persuades him that these
+are fine and glorious, and performed by him of his own free will. In
+either case the intelligence knows what she is about, and is always
+at our disposition if we really want her to tell us the truth; but we
+take good care to avoid it, and never to be left alone with her.
+We manage so as to meet her only in public when we can put leading
+questions as we please.... When all is said, the earth goes round none
+the less, _e pur se muove_;--the laws of the world are obeyed, and the
+free mind beholds them. All the rest is vanity; the passions, faith,
+sincere or insincere, are only the painted face of that necessity
+which rules the world, without caring for our idols: family, race,
+country, religion, society, progress.... Progress indeed! The great
+illusion! Humanity is like water that must find its level, and when
+the cistern brims over a valve opens and it is empty again.... A
+catastrophic rhythm, the heights of civilisation, and then downfall.
+We rise, and are cast down ..."
+
+Thus Perrotin calmly unveiled his Thought. She was not much accustomed
+to going naked; but she forgot that she had a witness, and undressed
+as if she were alone. She was extremely bold, as is often the thought
+of a man of letters not obliged to suit the action to the word,
+but who much prefers, on the contrary, not to do so. The alarmed
+Clerambault listened with his mouth open; certain words revolted him,
+others pierced him to the heart; his head swam, but he overcame his
+weakness, for he was determined to lose nothing of these profundities.
+He pressed Perrotin with questions: and he, on his part, flattered and
+smiling, complaisantly unrolled his pyrrhonian visions, as peaceable
+as they were destructive.
+
+The vapours of the pit were rising all about them; and Clerambault was
+admiring the ease of this free spirit perched on the edge of the abyss
+and enjoying it, when the door opened, and the servant came in with a
+card which he gave to Perrotin.
+
+At once the terrible phantoms of the brain vanished; a trap-door
+shut out the emptiness, and an official drawing-room rug covered it.
+Perrotin roused himself and said eagerly: "Certainly, show him in at
+once." Turning to Clerambault he added:
+
+"Pardon me, my dear friend, it is the Honourable Under-Secretary of
+State for Public Instruction."
+
+He was already on his feet and went to meet his visitor, a stage-lover
+looking fellow, with the blue clean-shaven chin of a priest or a
+Yankee, who held his head very high, and wore in the grey cut-a-way
+which clothed his well-rounded figure, the rosette which is displayed
+alike by our heroes and our lackeys. The old gentleman presented
+Clerambault to him with cheerful alacrity: "Mr. Agénor
+Clerambault--Mr. Hyacinth Monchéri," and asked the Honourable
+Under-Secretary of State to what he owed the honour of his visit.
+The Honourable Under-Secretary, not in the least surprised by the
+obsequious welcome of the old scholar, settled himself in his armchair
+with the lofty air of familiarity suitable to the superior position he
+held over the two representatives of French letters. He represented
+the State.
+
+Speaking haughtily through his nose, and braying like a dromedary, he
+extended to Perrotin an invitation from the Minister to preside over
+a solemn contest of embattled intellectuals from ten nations, in the
+great amphitheatre of the Sorbonne--"an imprecatory meeting," he
+called it. Perrotin promptly accepted, and professed himself overcome
+by the honour. His servile tone before this licensed government
+ignoramus made a striking contrast with his bold statements a few
+moments before, and Clerambault, somewhat taken aback, thought of the
+_Graeculus_.
+
+Mr. "Chéri" walked out with his head in the air, like an ass in a
+sacred procession, accompanied by Perrotin to the very threshold, and
+when the friends were once more alone, Clerambault would have liked to
+resume the conversation, but he could not conceal that he was a little
+chilled by what had passed. He asked Perrotin if he meant to state
+in public the opinions he had just professed, and Perrotin refused,
+naturally, laughing at his friend's simplicity. What is more, he
+cautioned him affectionately against proclaiming such ideas from the
+house-tops. Clerambault was vexed and disputed the point, but in order
+to make the situation clear to him, and with the utmost frankness,
+Perrotin described his surroundings, the great minds of the higher
+University, which he represented officially: historians, philosophers,
+professors of rhetoric. He spoke of them politely but with a deep
+half-concealed contempt, and a touch of personal bitterness; for in
+spite of his prudence, the less intelligent of his colleagues looked
+on him with suspicion; he was too clever. He said he was like an old
+blind man's dog in a pack of barking curs; forced to do as they did
+and bark at the passers-by.
+
+Clerambault did not quarrel with him, but went away with pity in his
+heart.
+
+
+
+
+He stayed in the house for several days, for this first contact with
+the outside world had depressed him, and the friend on whom he had
+relied for guidance had failed him miserably. He was much troubled,
+for Clerambault was weak and unused to stand alone. Poet as he was,
+and absolutely sincere, he had never felt it necessary to think
+independently of others; he had let himself be carried along by
+their thought, making it his own, becoming its inspired voice and
+mouth-piece. Now all was suddenly changed. Notwithstanding that night
+of crisis, his doubts returned upon him; for after fifty a man's
+nature cannot be transformed at a touch, no matter how much the mind
+may have retained the elasticity of youth. The light of a revelation
+does not always shine, like the sun in a clear summer sky, but is more
+like an arc-light, which often winks and goes out before the current
+becomes strong. When these irregular pulsations fade out, the shadows
+appear deeper, and the spirit totters and then--. It was hard for
+Clerambault to get along without other people.
+
+He decided to visit all his friends, of whom he had many, in the
+literary world, in the University, and among the intelligent
+_bourgeoisie_. He was sure to find some among them who, better than
+he, could divine the problems which beset him, and help him in their
+solution.
+
+Timidly, without as yet betraying his own mind, he tried to read
+theirs, to listen and observe; but he had not realised that the veil
+had fallen from his eyes; and the vision that he saw of a world, once
+well-known to him, seemed strange and cold.
+
+The whole world of letters was mobilised; so that personalities were
+no longer to be distinguished. The universities formed a ministry of
+domesticated intelligence; its functions were to draw up the acts of
+the State, its master and patron; the different departments were known
+by their professional twists.
+
+The professors of literature were above all skilful in developing
+moral arguments oratorically under the three terms of the syllogism.
+Their mania was an excessive simplification of argument; they put
+high-sounding words in the place of reason, and made too much of a few
+ideas, always the same, lifeless for lack of colour or shading. They
+had unearthed these weapons of a so-called classic antiquity, the key
+to which had been jealously guarded throughout the ages by academic
+Mamelukes, and these eloquent antiquated ideas were falsely called
+Humanities, though in many respects they offended the common-sense and
+the heart of humanity as it is today. Still they bore the hall-mark
+of Rome, prototype of all our modern states, and their authorised
+exponents were the State rhetoricians.
+
+The philosophers excelled in abstract constructions; they had the art
+of explaining the concrete by the abstract, the real by its shadow.
+They systematised some hasty partial observations, melted them in
+their alembics, and from them deduced laws to regulate the entire
+world. They strove to subject life, multiple and many-sided, to
+the unity of the mind, that is, to _their_ mind. The time-serving
+trickeries of a sophistical profession facilitated this imperialism of
+the reason; they knew how to handle ideas, twisting, stretching, and
+tying them together like strips of candy; it would have been child's
+play for them to make a camel pass through the eye of a needle. They
+could also prove that black was white, and could find in the works of
+Emanuel Kant the freedom of the world, or Prussian militarism, just as
+they saw fit.
+
+The historians were the born scribes, attorneys, and lawyers of the
+Government, charged with the care of its charters, its title-deeds,
+and cases, and armed to the teeth for its future quarrels.... What is
+history after all? The story of success, the demonstration of what has
+been done, just or unjust. The defeated have no history. Be silent,
+you Persians of Salamis, slaves of Spartacus, Gauls, Arabs of
+Poitiers, Albigenses, Irish, Indians of both Americas, and colonial
+peoples generally!... When a worthy man revolting against the
+injustices of his day, puts his hope in posterity by way of
+consolation, he forgets that this posterity has but little chance to
+learn of former events. All that can be known is what the advocates of
+official history think favourable to the cause of their client, the
+State. A lawyer for the adverse party may possibly intervene--someone
+of another nation, or of an oppressed social or religious group; but
+there is small chance for him; the secret is kept too well!
+
+Orators, sophists, and pleaders, the three corporations of the Faculty
+of Letters,--Letters of State, signed and patented!
+
+The studies of the "scientifics" ought to have protected them better
+from the suggestions and contagions of the outside world--that is, if
+they confined themselves to their trade. Unfortunately they have been
+tempted from it, for the applied sciences have taken so large a place
+in practical affairs that experts find themselves thrown into the
+foremost ranks of action, and exposed to all the infections of the
+public mind. Their self-respect is directly interested in the victory
+of the community, which can as easily assimilate the heroism of the
+soldier as the follies and falsehoods of the publicist. Few scientific
+men have had the strength to keep themselves free; for the most
+part they have only contributed the rigour, the stiffness of the
+geometrical mind, added to professional rivalries, always more acute
+between learned bodies of different nationalities.
+
+The regular writers, poets, and novelists, who have no official ties,
+they, at least should have the advantages of their independence; but
+unfortunately few of them are able to judge for themselves of events
+which are beyond the limits of their habitual preoccupations,
+commercial or aesthetic. The greater number, and not the least known,
+are as ignorant as fishes. It would be best for them to stick to their
+shop, according to their natural instinct; but their vanity has been
+foolishly tickled, and they have been urged to mix themselves up with
+public affairs, and give their opinion on the universe. They can
+naturally have but scattering views on such subjects, and in default
+of personal judgment, they drift with the current, reacting with
+extreme quickness to any shock, for they are ultra-sensitive, with a
+morbid vanity which exaggerates the thoughts of others when it cannot
+express their own. This is the only originality at their disposal, and
+God knows they make the most of it!
+
+What remains? the Clergy? It is they who handle the heaviest
+explosives; the ideas of Justice, Truth, Right, and God; and they make
+this artillery fight for their passions. Their absurd pride, of which
+they are quite unconscious, causes them to lay claim to the property
+of God, and to the exclusive right to dispose of it wholesale and
+retail.
+
+It is not so much that they lack sincerity, virtue, or kindness, but
+they do lack humility; they have none, however much they may profess
+it. Their practice consists in adoring their navel as they see it
+reflected in the Talmud, or the Old and New Testaments. They are
+monsters of pride, not so very far removed from the fool of legend
+who thought himself God the Father. Is it so much less dangerous to
+believe oneself His manager, or His secretary?
+
+Clerambault was struck by the morbid character of the intellectual
+species. In the _bourgeois_ caste the power of organisation and
+expression of ideas has reached almost monstrous proportions. The
+equilibrium of life is destroyed by a bureaucracy of the mind which
+thinks itself much superior to the simple worker. Certainly no one can
+deny that it has its uses; it collects and classifies thoughts in its
+pigeon-holes and puts them to various purposes, but the idea rarely
+occurs to it to examine its material and renew the content of thought.
+
+It remains the vain guardian of a demonetised treasure. If only
+this mistake were a harmless one; but ideas that are not constantly
+confronted with reality, which are not frequently dipped into the
+stream of experience, grow dry, and take on a toxic character. They
+throw a heavy shadow over the new life, bring on the night and produce
+fever. What a stupid thraldom to abstract words! Of what use is it to
+dethrone kings and by what right do we jeer at those who die for their
+masters, if it is only to put tyrannic entities in their places, which
+we adorn with their tinsel? It is much better, to have a flesh and
+blood monarch, whom you can control--suppress if necessary--than these
+abstractions, these invisible despots, that no one knows now, nor ever
+has known. We deal only with the head Eunuchs, the priests of the
+hidden Crocodile, as Taine calls him, the wire-pulling ministers who
+speak in the idol's name.--Ah! let us tear away the veil and know the
+creature hidden inside of us. There is less danger when man shows
+frankly as a brute than when he drapes himself in a false and sickly
+idealism. He does not eliminate his animal instincts, he only deifies
+and tries to explain them, but as this cannot be done without
+excessive simplification--according to the law of the mind which
+in order to grasp must let go an equal amount--he disguises and
+intensifies them in one direction. Everything that departs from the
+straight line or that interferes with the strict logic of his mental
+edifice, he denies; worse he pulls it up by the roots, and commands
+that it be destroyed in the name of sacred principles. It therefore
+follows that he cuts down much of the infinite growth of nature, and
+allows to stand only the trees of the mind that he chooses--generally
+those that flourish in deserts and ruins and which there grow
+abnormally. Of such is the crushing predominance of one single
+tyrannous form of the Family, of Country, and of the narrow morality
+which serves them. The poor creature is proud of it all; and it is he
+who is the victim.
+
+Humanity does not dare to massacre itself from interested motives. It
+is not proud of its interests, but it does pride itself on its ideas
+which are a thousand times more deadly. Man sees his own superiority
+in his ideas, and will fight for them; but herein I perceive his
+folly, for this warlike idealism is a disease peculiar to him, and its
+effects are similar to those of alcoholism; they add enormously to
+wickedness and criminality. This sort of intoxication deteriorates
+the brain, filling it with hallucinations, to which the living are
+sacrificed.
+
+What an extraordinary spectacle, seen from the interior of our skulls!
+A throng of phantoms rising from our overexcited brains: Justice,
+Liberty, Right, Country.... Our poor brains are all equally honest,
+but each accuses the other of insincerity. In this fantastic shadowy
+struggle, we can distinguish nothing but the cries and the convulsions
+of the human animal, possessed by devils.... Below are clouds charged
+with lightnings, where great fierce birds are fighting; the realists,
+the men of affairs, swarm and gnaw like fleas in a skin; with open
+mouths, and grasping hands, secretly exciting the folly by which they
+profit, but in which they do not share....
+
+O Thought! monstrous and splendid flower springing from the humus
+of our time-honoured instincts!... In truth, thou art an element
+penetrating and impregnating man, but thou dost not spring from him,
+thy source is beyond him, and thy strength greater than his. Our
+senses are fairly well-adapted to our needs but our thought is not,
+it overflows and maddens us. Very, very few among us men can guide
+themselves on this torrent; the far greater number are swept along,
+at random, trusting to chance. The tremendous power of thought is not
+under man's control; he tries to make it serve him, and his greatest
+danger is that he believes that it does so; but he is like a child
+handling explosives; there is no proportion between these colossal
+engines and the purpose for which his feeble hands employ them.
+Sometimes they all blow up together....
+
+How guard against this danger? Shall we stifle thought, uproot living
+ideas? That would mean the castration of man's brain, the loss of his
+chief stimulus in life; but nevertheless the _eau-de-vie_ of his mind
+contains a poison which is the more to be dreaded because it is spread
+broadcast among the masses, in the form of adulterated drugs....
+Rouse thee, Man, and sober thyself! Look about; shake off ideas. Free
+thyself from thine own thoughts and learn to govern thy gigantic
+phantoms which devour themselves in their rage.... And begin by
+taking the capitals from the names of those great goddesses, Country,
+Liberty, Right. Come down from Olympus into the manger, and come
+without ornaments, without arms, rich only in your beauty, and our
+love.... I do not know the gods of Justice and Liberty; I only know
+my brother-man, and his acts, sometimes just, sometimes unjust; and I
+also know of peoples, all aspiring to real liberty but all deprived of
+it, and who all, more or less, submit to oppression.
+
+
+
+
+The sight of this world in a fever-fit would have filled a sage with
+the desire to withdraw until the attack was over; but Clerambault was
+not a sage. He knew this, and he also knew that it was vain to
+speak; but none the less he felt that he must, that he should end by
+speaking. He wished to delay the dangerous moment, and his timidity,
+which shrank from single combat with the world, sought about him for a
+companion in thought. The fight would not be so hard if there were two
+or three together.
+
+The first whose feeling he cautiously sounded were some unfortunate
+people who, like him, had lost a son. The father, a well-known
+painter, had a studio in the Rue Notre Dame des Champs. His name was
+Omer Calville and the Clerambaults were neighbourly with him and his
+wife, a nice old couple of the middle class, devoted to each other.
+They had that gentleness, common to many artists of their day, who had
+known Carrière, and caught remote reflections of Tolstoïsm, which,
+like their simplicity, appeared a little artificial, for though it
+harmonised with their real goodness of heart, the fashion of the time
+had added a touch of exaggeration.
+
+Those artists who sincerely profess their religious respect for all
+that lives, are less capable than anyone else of understanding the
+passions of war. The Calvilles had held themselves outside the
+struggle; they did not protest, they accepted it, without acquiescing,
+as one accepts sickness, death, or the wickedness of men, with a
+dignified sadness.
+
+When Clerambault read them his burning poems they listened politely
+and made little response--but strangely enough, at the very time that
+Clerambault, cured of his warlike illusions, turned to them, he found
+that they had changed places with him. The death of their son had
+produced on them the opposite effect. And now they were awkwardly
+taking part in the conflict, as if to replace their lost boy. They
+snuffed up eagerly all the stench in the papers, and Clerambault found
+them actually rejoicing, in their misery, over the assertion that the
+United States was prepared to fight for twenty years.
+
+"What would become of France, of Europe, in twenty years?" he tried
+to say, but they hastily put this thought away from them with much
+irritation, almost as if it were improper to mention, or even to think
+of such a thing.
+
+The question was to conquer; at what price? That could be settled
+afterwards.--Conquer? Suppose there were no more conquerors left in
+France? Never mind, so long as the others are beaten. No, it should
+not be that the blood of their son had been shed in vain.
+
+"And to avenge his death, must other innocent lives also be
+sacrificed?" thought Clerambault, and in the hearts of these good
+people he read the answer: "Why not?" The same idea was in the minds
+of all those who, like the Calvilles, had lost through the war what
+they held dearest--a son, a husband, or a brother....
+
+"Let the others suffer as we have, we have nothing left to lose." Was
+there nothing left? In truth there was one thing only, on which the
+fierce egotism of these mourners kept jealous guard; their faith in
+the necessity of these sacrifices. Let no one try to shake that, or
+doubt that the cause was sacred for which these dear ones fell. The
+leaders of the war knew this, and well did they understand how to make
+the most of such a lure. No, by these sad fire-sides there was no
+place for Clerambault's doubts and feelings of pity.
+
+"They had no pity on us," thought the unhappy ones, "why should we
+pity them?"
+
+Some had suffered less, but what characterised nearly all of these
+_bourgeois_ was the reverence they had for the great slogans of
+the past: "Committee of Public Safety," "The Country in Danger,"
+"Plutarch," "_De Viris_," "Horace,"--it seemed impossible for them to
+look at the present with eyes of today; perhaps they had no eyes to
+see with. Outside of the narrow circle of their own affairs, how many
+of our anemic _bourgeoisie_ have the power to think for, themselves,
+after they have reached the age of thirty? It would never cross their
+minds; their thoughts are furnished to them like their provisions,
+only more cheaply. For one or two cents a day they get them from their
+papers. The more intelligent, who look for thought in books, do not
+give themselves the trouble to seek it also in life, and think that
+one is the reflection of the other. Like the prematurely aged, their
+members become stiff, and their minds petrified.
+
+In the great flock of those ruminating souls who fed on the past, the
+group of bigots pinning its faith to the French Revolution was easily
+distinguished. Among the backward _bourgeoisie_ they were reckoned
+incendiary in former days;--about the time of the 16th of May, or a
+little later. Like quinquagenarians grown stolid and settled, they
+looked back with pride to their wild conduct, and lived on the memory
+of the emotions of by-gone days. If their mirror showed them no
+change, the world had altered around them without their suspecting it,
+while they continued to copy their antiquated models. It is a curious
+imitative instinct, a slavery of the brain, to remain hypnotised by
+some point in the past, instead of trying to follow Proteus in his
+course--the life of change. One picks up the old skin which the young
+snake has thrown off long ago, and tries to sew it together again.
+These pedantic admirers of old revolutions believe that those of the
+future will be made on the same lines. They will not see that the new
+liberty must have a gait of its own, and will overleap barriers before
+which its grandmother of ninety-three stopped, out of breath. They are
+also much more vexed by the disrespect of the young people who have
+gone by them, than they are by the spiteful yelping of the old whom
+they have left behind; this is only natural, for these young folks
+make them feel their age, and then it is their turn to yelp.
+
+So it ever shall be; as they grow older there are very few men willing
+to let life take its own course, and who are generous enough to look
+at the future through the eyes of their juniors, as their own sight
+grows dim. The greater number of those who loved liberty in their
+youth, want to make a case of it now for the new broods, because they
+can no longer fly themselves.
+
+The followers of the national revolutionary cult--in the style of
+Danton, or of Robespierre--were the bitterest adversaries of the
+internationalism of today; though they did not always agree perfectly
+amongst themselves, and the friends of Danton and Robespierre, with
+the shadow of the guillotine between them, hurled the epithet of
+heretic at each other with the deadliest threats. They did, however,
+all agree on one point, and devoted to destruction those who did not
+believe that Liberty is shot out of the mouth of cannon, those who
+dared to feel the same aversion towards violence, whether it was
+exerted by Caesar, Demos, or his satellites, or even if it was in the
+name of right and liberty itself. The face underneath is the same, no
+matter what mask may be worn.
+
+Clerambault knew several of these fanatics, but there was no point in
+discussing with them whether the right, or its counterfeit, were only
+on one side in war; it would have been equally sensible to argue about
+the Holy Inquisition with a Manichee. Lay religions have their great
+seminaries and secret societies where they deposit their doctrinal
+treasures with great pride. He who departs from these is
+excommunicated--until he in turn belongs to the past, when he becomes
+a god, and can excommunicate in future himself.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If Clerambault was not tempted to convert these hardened intellectuals
+with their stiff helmet of truth, he knew others who had not the same
+proud certainty; far from it. Those who sinned rather through softness
+and pure dilettantism--Arsène Asselin was one of these, an amiable
+Parisian, unmarried, a man of the world, clever and sceptical; and as
+much shocked by a defect in sentiment as in expression. How could he
+like extremes of thought, which are the cultures in which the germs of
+war develop? His critical and sarcastic spirit inclined him towards
+doubt; so there was no reason why he should not have understood
+Clerambault's point of view, and he came within an ace of doing so.
+His choice depended on some fortuitous circumstances, but from
+the moment that he turned his face in the other direction, it was
+impossible for him to go back; and the more he stuck in the mud, the
+more obstinate he grew. French self-respect cannot bear to admit its
+mistakes; it would rather die in defence of them.... But French or
+not, how many are there in the world who would have the strength of
+mind to say: "I have made a mistake, we must begin all over again."
+Better deny the evidence ... "To the bitter end" ... And then break
+down.
+
+Alexandre Mignon was a before-the-war pacifist and an old friend
+of Clerambault's. He was a _bourgeois_ of about his own age,
+intellectual, a member of the University, and justly respected for the
+dignity of his life. He should not be confounded with those parlour
+pacifists covered with official decorations and grand cordons of
+international orders, for whom peace is a gilt-edged investment in
+quiet times. For thirty years he had sincerely denounced the dangerous
+intrigues of the dishonest politicians and speculators of his country;
+he was a member of the League for the Rights of Man, and loved to make
+speeches for either cause, as it might happen. It was enough if his
+client purported to be oppressed; it did not matter if the victim had
+been a would-be oppressor himself. His blundering generosity sometimes
+made him ridiculous, but he was always liked. He did not object to the
+ridicule, nor did he dread a little unpopularity, as long as he was
+surrounded by his own group, whose approbation was necessary to him.
+As a member of a group which was independent when they all held
+together, he thought that he was an independent person, but this was
+not the case. Union is strength they say, but it accustoms us to lean
+upon it, as Alexandre Mignon found to his cost.
+
+The death of Jaurès had broken up the group; and lacking one
+voice--the first to speak--all the others failed. They waited for the
+password that no one dared to give. When the torrent broke over them
+these generous but weak men were uncertain, and were carried away by
+the first rush. They did not understand nor approve of it, but they
+could make no resistance. From the beginning desertions began in
+their ranks, produced largely by the terrible speech-makers who
+then governed the country--demagogue lawyers, practised in all the
+sophistries of republican idealogy: "War for Peace, Lasting Peace at
+the End ..." (_Requiescat_) ... In these artifices the poor pacifists
+saw a way to get out of their dilemma; it was not a very brilliant
+way and they were not proud of it, but it was their only chance. They
+hoped to reconcile their pacific principles with the fact of violence
+by means of "big talk" which did not sound to them as outrageous as
+it really was. To refuse would have been to give themselves up to the
+war-like pack, which would have devoured them.
+
+Alexandre Mignon would have had courage to face the bloody jaws if he
+had had his little community at his back, but alone it was beyond his
+strength. He let things go at first, without committing himself,
+but he suffered, passing through agonies something like those of
+Clerambault, but with a different result. He was less impulsive and
+more intellectual. In order to efface his last scruples he hid
+them under close reasoning, and with the aid of his colleagues he
+laboriously proved by a + b that war was the duty of consistent
+pacifism. His League had every advantage in dwelling on the criminal
+acts of the enemy; but did not dwell on those in its own camp.
+Alexandre Mignon had occasional glimpses of the universal injustice;
+an intolerable vision, on which he closed his shutters....
+
+In proportion as he was swaddled in his war arguments, it became more
+difficult for him to disentangle himself, and he persisted more and
+more. Suppose a child carelessly pulls off the wing of an insect; it
+is only a piece of nervous awkwardness, but the insect is done for,
+and the child ashamed and irritated, tears the poor creature to pieces
+to relieve his own feelings.
+
+The pleasure with which he listened to Clerambault's _mea culpa_ may
+be imagined; but the effect was surprising. Mignon, already ill at
+ease, turned on Clerambault, whose self-accusations seemed to point
+at him, and treated him like an enemy. In the sequel no one was more
+violent than Mignon against this living remorse.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There were some politicians who would have understood Clerambault
+better, for they knew as much as he did and perhaps more; but it did
+not keep them awake at night. They had been used to mental
+trickery ever since they cut their first teeth, and were expert at
+_combinazione_; they had the illusion of serving their party, cheaply
+gained by a few compromises here and there!... To think and walk
+straightforwardly was the one thing impossible to these flabby
+shufflers, who backed, or advanced in spirals, who dragged their
+banner in the mud, by way of assuring its triumph, and who, to reach
+the Capitol, would have crawled up the steps on their stomachs.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Here and there some clear-sighted spirits were hidden, but they were
+easier to guess at than to see; they were melancholy glow-worms who
+had put out their lanterns in their fright, so that not a gleam was
+visible. They certainly had no faith in the war, but neither did they
+believe in anything against it;--fatalists, pessimists all.
+
+It was clear to Clerambault that when personal energy is lacking,
+the highest qualities of head and heart only increase the public
+servitude. The stoicism which submits to the laws of the universe
+prevents us from resisting those which are cruel, instead of saying to
+destiny: "No, thus far, and no farther!" ... If it pushes on you
+will see the stoic stand politely aside, as he murmurs: "Please come
+in!"--Cultivated heroism, the taste for the superhuman, even the
+inhuman, chokes the soul with its sacrifices, and the more absurd they
+are, the more sublime they appear--Christians of today, more generous
+than their Master, render all to Caesar; a cause seems sacred to them
+from the moment that they are asked to immolate themselves to it. To
+the ignominy of war they piously kindle the flame of their faith, and
+throw their bodies on the altar. The people bend their backs, and
+accept with a passive, ironic resignation.... "No need to borrow
+trouble." Ages and ages of misery have rolled over this stone, but in
+the end stones do wear down and become mud.
+
+
+
+
+Clerambault tried to talk with one and another of these people but
+found himself everywhere opposed by the same hidden, half-unconscious
+resistance. They were armed with the will not to hear, or rather with
+a remarkable not-will to hear. Their minds were as impervious to
+contrary arguments as a duck's feathers to water. Men in general are
+endowed, for their comfort, with a precious faculty; they can make
+themselves blind and deaf when it does not suit them to see and hear,
+and when by chance they pick up some inconvenient object, they drop it
+quickly, and forget it as soon as possible. How many citizens in any
+country knew the truth about the divided responsibility for the
+war, or about the ill-omened part played by their politicians, who,
+themselves deceived, pretended with great success to be ignorant!
+
+If everyone is trying to escape from himself, it is clear, that a man
+will run faster from someone who, like Clerambault, would help him to
+recover himself. In order to avoid their own conscience, intelligent,
+serious, honourable men do not blush to employ the little tricks of a
+woman or a child trying to get its own way; and dreading a discussion
+which might unsettle them, they would seize on the first awkward
+expression used by Clerambault. They would separate it from the
+context, dress it up if necessary, and with raised voices and eyes
+starting from their heads, feign an indignation which they ended by
+feeling sincerely. They would repeat "_mordicus_," even after the
+proof, and if obliged to admit it, would rush off, banging the door
+after them: "Can't stand any more of that!" But two, or perhaps ten
+days after, they would come back and renew the argument, as if nothing
+had happened.
+
+Some treacherous ones provoked Clerambault to say more than he
+intended, and having gained their point, exploded with rage. But even
+the most good-natured told him that he lacked good sense--"good," of
+course, meaning "my way of thinking."
+
+There were the clever talkers also who, having nothing to fear from a
+contest of words, began an argument in the flattering hope that they
+could bring the wandering sheep back to the fold. It was not his main
+idea that they disputed, so much as its desirability; they would
+appeal to Clerambault's better side:
+
+"Certainly, of course, I think as you do, or almost as you do; I
+understand what you mean; ... but you ought to be cautious, my dear
+friend, not to trouble the consciences of those who have to fight. You
+cannot always speak the truth, at least not all at once. These fine
+things may come about ... in fifty years, perhaps. We must wait and
+not go too fast for nature ..."
+
+"Wait, until the appetites of the exploiter, and the folly of the
+exploited are equally exhausted? When the thinking of clear-sighted,
+better sort gives way to the blindness of coarser minds, it goes
+directly contrary to that nature which it professes to follow, and
+against the historical destiny which they themselves make it a point
+of honour to obey. For do we respect the plans of Nature when we
+stifle one part of its thought, and the higher, at that? The theory
+which would lop off the strongest forces from life, and bend it
+before the passions of the multitude, would result in suppressing the
+advance-guard, and leaving the army without leaders.... When the boat
+leans over, must I not throw my weight on the other side to keep an
+even keel? Or must we all sit down to leeward? Advanced ideas are
+Nature's weights, intended to counter-balance the heavy stubborn past;
+without them the boat will upset.... The welcome they will receive is
+a side issue. Their advocates can expect to be stoned, but whoever has
+these things in his mind and does not speak them, is a dishonoured
+man. He is like a soldier in battle, to whom a dangerous message is
+entrusted; is he free to shirk it?... Why does not everyone understand
+these things?"
+
+When they saw that persuasion had no effect on Clerambault, they
+unmasked their batteries and violently taxed him with absurd, criminal
+pride. They asked him if he thought himself cleverer than anyone else,
+that he set himself up against the entire nation? On what did he found
+this overweening self-confidence? Duty consists in being humble, and
+keeping to one's proper place in the community; when it commands, our
+duty is to bow to it, and, whether we agree or not, we must carry out
+its orders. Woe to the rebel against the soul of his country! To be in
+the right and in opposition to her is to be wrong, and in the hour of
+action wrong is a crime. The Republic demands obedience from her sons.
+
+"The Republic or death," said Clerambault ironically. "And this is a
+free country? Free, yes, because there have always been, and always
+will be some souls like mine, which refuse to bend to a yoke which
+their conscience disavows. We are become a nation of tyrants. There
+was no great advantage in taking the Bastille. In the old days one ran
+the risk of perpetual imprisonment if one made so bold as to differ
+from the Prince--the fagot, if you did not agree with the Church; but
+now you must think with forty millions of men and follow them in their
+frantic contradictions. One day you must scream: "Down with England!"
+Tomorrow it will be: "Down with Germany!" and the next day it may be
+the turn of Italy; and _da capo_ in a week or two. Today we acclaim a
+man or an idea, tomorrow we shall insult him; and anyone who refuses
+risks dishonour--or a pistol bullet. This is the most ignoble and
+shameful servitude of all!... By what right do a hundred, a thousand,
+one or forty millions of men, demand that I shall renounce my soul?
+Each of them has one, like mine. Forty millions of souls together
+often make only one, which has denied itself forty millions of
+times.... I think what I think. Go you and do likewise. The living
+truth can be re-born only from the equilibrium of opposing thoughts.
+To make the citizen respect the city, it must be reciprocal; each has
+his soul. It is his right and his first duty is to be true to it....
+I have no illusions, and in this world of prey I do not attribute an
+exaggerated importance to my own conscience, but however small we may
+be or little we may do, we must exist. We are all liable to err, but
+deceived or not, a man should be sincere; an honest mistake is not a
+lie, but a stage on the road to truth. The real lie is to fear the
+truth and try to stifle it. Even if you were a thousand times right,
+if you resort to force to crush a sincere mistake, you commit the most
+odious crime against reason itself. If reason is persecutor, and error
+persecuted, I am for the victim, for error has rights as well as
+truth.... Truth--the real truth, is to be always seeking what is true,
+and to respect the efforts of those who suffer in the pursuit. If you
+insult a man who is striving to hew out his path, if you persecute him
+who wishes, and perhaps fails, to find less inhuman roads for human
+progress, you make a martyr of him. Your way is the best, the only
+one, you say? Follow it then, and let me follow mine. I do not oblige
+you to come with me, so why are you angry? Are you afraid lest I
+should prove to be in the right?"
+
+
+
+
+The impression left on Clerambault's mind by his last interview with
+Perrotin, was one of sadness and pity; but on the whole he decided to
+go again to see him, having by now arrived at a better understanding
+of his ironical and prudent attitude towards the world. If he had
+retained but small esteem for Perrotin's character, on the other hand
+the great intelligence of the old scholar continued to command his
+highest admiration; he still saw in him a guide towards the light.
+
+Perrotin was not exactly delighted to see Clerambault again. The other
+day he had been obliged to commit a little cowardly act; he did not
+mind that, for he was used to it, but it was under the eyes of an
+incorruptible witness, and he was too clever not to have retained a
+disagreeable memory of the incident. He foresaw a discussion, and he
+hated to discuss with people who had convictions--there is no fun in
+it, they take everything so seriously--however, he was courteous,
+weak, good-natured, and unable to refuse when anyone attacked him
+vigorously. He tried at first to avoid serious questions; but when he
+saw that Clerambault really needed him, and that perhaps he might save
+him from some imprudence, he consented, with a sigh, to give up his
+morning.
+
+Clerambault related to him all that he had done, and the result. He
+realised that the world around served other gods than his; for he had
+shared the same faith, and even now was impartial enough to see a
+certain grandeur and beauty in it. Since these last trials, however,
+he had also seen its horror and absurdity; he had abandoned it for a
+new ideal, which would certainly bring him into conflict with the old.
+With brief and passionate touches, Clerambault explained this new
+ideal, and called on Perrotin to say if to him it seemed true or
+false; entreating his friend to lay aside considerations of tact or
+politeness, to speak clearly and frankly. Struck by Clerambault's
+tragic earnestness, Perrotin changed his tone, and answered in the
+same key.
+
+"It amounts to this, that you think I am wrong?" asked Clerambault,
+distressed. "I see that I am alone in this, but I cannot help it. Do
+not try to spare me now, but tell me, am I wrong to think as I do?"
+
+"No, my friend," replied Perrotin gravely, "you are right."
+
+"Then you agree that I ought to fight against these murderous
+mistakes?"
+
+"Ah, that is another matter."
+
+"Ought I to betray the truth, when it is clear to me?"
+
+"Truth, my poor friend! No, don't look at me like that, I shall not
+follow Pilate's example, and ask: What is Truth? Like you, and longer
+than you perhaps, I have loved her. But Truth, my dear Sir, is higher
+than you, than I, than all those that ever have, or ever will inhabit
+the earth. We may believe that we obey the Great Goddess, but in
+fact we serve only the _Dî minores_, the saints in the side chapels,
+alternately adored and neglected by the crowd. The one in honour of
+whom men are now killing and mutilating themselves in a Corybantic
+frenzy, can evidently be no longer yours nor mine. The ideal of the
+Country is a god, great and cruel, who will leave to the future the
+image of a sort of bugaboo Cronos, or of his Olympian son whom Christ
+superseded. Your ideal of humanity is the highest rung of the ladder,
+the announcement of the new god--who will be dethroned later on by one
+higher still, who will embrace more of the universe. The ideal and
+life never cease to evolve, and this continual advance forms the
+genuine interest of the world to the liberal mind; but if the mind can
+constantly rise without rest or interruption, in the world of fact
+progress is made step by step, and a scant few inches are gained in
+the whole of a lifetime. Humanity limps along, and your mistake, the
+only one, is that you are two or three days' journey ahead of it,
+but--perhaps with good reason--that is one of the mistakes most
+difficult to forgive. When an ideal, like that of Country, begins
+to age with the form of society to which it is strongly bound, the
+slightest attack makes it ferocious, and it will blaze out furiously
+in its exasperation. The reason is that it has already begun to
+doubt itself. Do not deceive yourself; these millions of men who are
+slaughtering each other now in the name of patriotism, have no longer
+the early enthusiasm of 1792, or 1813, even though there is more noise
+and ruin today. Many of those who die, and those who send them to
+their death, feel in their hearts the horrible touch of doubt; but
+entangled as they are, too weak to escape, or even to imagine a way of
+salvation, they proclaim their injured faith with a kind of despair,
+and throw themselves blindly into the abyss. They would like to throw
+in also those who first raised doubts in them by words or actions. To
+wish to destroy the dream of those who are dying for its sake, is to
+wish to kill twice over."
+
+Clerambault held out his hand to stop him:--"Ah! you have no need to
+tell me that, and it tortures me. Do you think I am insensible to the
+pain of these poor souls whose faith I undermine? Respect the beliefs
+of others; offend not one of these little ones.... My God! what can I
+do? Help me to get out of this dilemma; shall I see wrong done, let
+men go to ruin,--or risk injuring them, wound their faith, draw hatred
+upon myself when I try to save them?... Show me the law!"
+
+"Save yourself."
+
+"But that would be to lose myself, if the price is the life of others,
+if we do nothing. You and I, no effort would be too great,--the ruin
+of Europe, of the whole world, is imminent."
+
+Perrotin sat quietly, his elbows on the arms of his chair, his hands
+folded over his Buddha-like belly. He twirled his thumbs, looking
+kindly at Clerambault, shook his head, and replied: "Your generous
+heart, and your artistic sensibilities urge you too far, my friend,
+but fortunately the world is not near its end. This is not the first
+time. And there will be many others. What is happening today is
+painful, certainly, but not in the least abnormal. War has never kept
+the earth from turning on its axis, nor prevented the evolution of
+life; it is even one of the forms of its evolution. Let an old scholar
+and philosopher oppose his calm inhumanity to your holy Man of
+Sorrows. In spite of all it may bring you some benefit. This struggle,
+this crisis which alarms you so much, is no more than a simple case
+of systole, a cosmic contraction, tumultuous, but regulated, like the
+folding of the earth crust accompanied by destructive earthquakes.
+Humanity is tightening. And war is its _seismos_. Yesterday, in all
+countries, provinces were at war with each other. Before that, in each
+province, cities fought together. Now that national unity has been
+reached, a larger unity develops. It is certainly regrettable that it
+should take place by violence, but that is the natural method. Of the
+explosive mixture of conflicting elements in conflict, a new chemical
+body will be born. Will it be in the East, or in Europe? I cannot
+tell; but surely what results will have new properties, more valuable
+than its parts. The end is not yet. The war of which we are now
+witnesses is magnificent ... (I beg your pardon; I mean magnificent to
+the mind, where suffering does not exist) ... Greater, finer conflicts
+still are preparing. These poor childish peoples who imagine that they
+can disturb the peace of eternity with their cannon shots!... The
+whole universe must first pass through the retort. We shall have a war
+between the two Americas, one between the New World and the Yellow
+Continent, then the conquerors and the rest of the world.... That is
+enough to fill up a few centuries. And I may not have seen all, my
+eyes are not very good. Naturally each of these shocks will lead to
+social struggles.
+
+"It will all be accomplished in about a dozen centuries. (I am
+rather inclined to think that it will be more rapid than it seems by
+comparison with the past, for the movement becomes accelerated as
+it proceeds.) No doubt we shall arrive at a rather impoverished
+synthesis, for many constituent elements, some good, some bad, will
+be destroyed in the process, the one being too delicate to resist the
+hostile environment, the other injurious and impossible to assimilate.
+Then we shall have the celebrated United States of the whole world;
+and this union will be all the more solid, because, as is probable,
+man will be menaced by a common danger. The canals of Mars, the
+drying-up or cooling-off of the planet, some mysterious plague,
+the pendulum of Poe, in short, the vision of an inevitable death
+overwhelming the human race.... There will be great things to behold!
+The Genius of the race, stretched to the uttermost, in its last
+agonies.
+
+"There will be, on the other hand, very little liberty; human
+multiplicity when near its end will fuse itself into a Unity of Will.
+Do we not see the beginnings already? Thus, without abrupt mutations,
+will be effected the reintegration of the complex in the one, of old
+Empedocles' Hatred in Love."
+
+"And what then?"
+
+"After that? A rest, and then it will all begin over again, there can
+be no doubt. A young cycle. The new Kalpa. The world will turn once
+more, on the re-forged wheel."
+
+"And what is the answer to the riddle?"
+
+"The Hindoos would tell you Siva. Siva, who creates and destroys;
+destroys and creates."
+
+"What a hideous dream."
+
+"That is an affair of temperament. Wisdom liberates. To the Hindoos,
+Buddha is the deliverer. As for me, curiosity is a sufficient reward."
+
+"It would not be enough for me, and I cannot content myself either
+with the wisdom of a selfish Buddha, who sets himself free by
+deserting the rest. I know the Hindoos as you do, and I love them, but
+even among them, Buddha has not said the last word of wisdom. Do you
+remember that Bodhisattva, the Master of Pity, who swore not to become
+Buddha, never to find freedom in Nirvana, until he had cured all pain,
+redeemed all crimes, consoled all sorrows?"
+
+Perrotin smiled and patted Clerambault's hand affectionately as he
+looked at his troubled face.
+
+"Dear old Bodhisattva," he said, "what do you want to do? And whom
+would you save?"
+
+"Oh, I know well enough," said Clerambault, hanging his head. "I know
+how small I am, how little I can do, the weakness of my wishes and
+protestations. Do not think me so vain; but how can I help it, if I
+feel it is my duty to speak?"
+
+"Your duty is to do what is right and reasonable; not to sacrifice
+yourself in vain."
+
+"Do you certainly know what is in vain? Can you tell beforehand which
+seed will germinate and which will turn out sterile and perish? But
+you sow seed nevertheless. What progress would ever have been made,
+if those who bore the germ of it had stopped terrified before the
+enormous mass of accumulated routine which hung ready to crush them,
+above their heads."
+
+"I admit that a scholar is bound to defend the Truth that he has
+discovered, but is this social question your mission? You are a poet;
+keep to your dreams, and may they prove a defence to you!"
+
+"Before considering myself as a poet, I consider myself as a man, and
+every honest man has a mission."
+
+"A mind like yours is too precious and valuable to be sacrificed, it
+would be murder."
+
+"Yes, you are willing to sacrifice people who have little to lose." He
+was silent for a moment, and then went on:
+
+"Perrotin, I have often thought that we, men of thought, artists, all
+of us, we do not live up to our obligations. Not only now, but for a
+long time, perhaps always. We are custodians of the portion of Truth
+that is in us, a little light, which we have prudently kept for
+ourselves. More than once this has troubled me, but I shut my eyes
+to it then; now they have been unsealed by suffering. We are the
+privileged ones, and that lays duties upon us which we have not
+fulfilled; we are afraid of compromising ourselves. There is an
+aristocracy of the mind, which claims to succeed to that of blood; but
+it forgets that the privileges of the old order were first purchased
+with blood. For ages mankind has listened to words of wisdom, but it
+is rare to see the wise men offer themselves as a sacrifice, though
+it would do no harm if the world should see some of them stake their
+lives on their doctrines, as in the heroic days. Sacrifice is the
+condition of fecundity. To make others believe, you must believe first
+yourself, and prove it. Men do not see a truth simply because it
+exists, it must have the breath of life; and this spirit which
+is ours, we can and ought to give. If not, our thoughts are only
+amusements of dilettanti--a play, which deserves only a little
+applause. Men who advance the history of the world make
+stepping-stones of their own lives. How much higher than all our
+great men was the Son of the carpenter of Galilee. Humanity knows the
+difference between them and the Saviour."
+
+"But did He save it?
+
+  "'When Jahveh speaks: "'Tis my desire,"
+  His people work to feed the fire.'"
+
+"Your circle of flame is the last terror, and Man exists only to break
+through, that he may come out of it free."
+
+"Free?" repeated Perrotin with his quiet smile.
+
+"Yes, free! It is the highest good, but few reach it, although the
+name is common enough. It is as exceptional as real beauty, or real
+goodness. By a free man I mean one who can liberate himself from
+himself, his passions, his blind instincts, those of his surroundings,
+or of the moment. It is said that he does this in obedience to the
+voice of reason; but reason in the sense that you give it, is a
+mirage. It is only another passion, hardened, intellectualised, and
+therefore fanatical. No, he must put himself out of sight, in order to
+get a clear view over the clouds of dust raised by the flock on the
+road of today, to take in the whole horizon, so as to put events in
+their proper place in the scheme of the universe."
+
+"Then," said Perrotin, "he must accommodate himself to the laws of
+that universe."
+
+"Not necessarily," said Clerambault, "he can oppose them with a clear
+conscience if they are contrary to right and happiness. Liberty
+consists in that very thing, that a free man is in himself a conscious
+law of the universe, a counter-balance to the crushing machine, the
+automaton of Spitteler, the bronze _Ananké_. I see the universal
+Being, three parts of him still embedded in the clay, the bark, or the
+stone, undergoing the implacable laws of the matter in which he is
+encrusted. His breath and his eyes alone are free; "I hope," says his
+look. And his breath declares, "I will!" With the help of these he
+struggles to release himself. We are the look and the breath, that is
+what makes a free man."
+
+"The look is enough for me," said Perrotin gently.
+
+"And without the breath I should die!" exclaimed Clerambault.
+
+
+
+
+In a man of thought there is a wide interval between the word and the
+deed. Even when a thing is decided upon, he finds pretexts for putting
+it off to another day, for he sees only too clearly what will follow;
+what pains and troubles. And to what end? In order to calm his
+restless soul he pours out a flood of energetic language on his
+intimate friends, or to himself alone, and in this way gains the
+illusion of action cheaply enough. In the bottom of his heart he does
+not believe in it, but like Hamlet, he waits till circumstances shall
+force his hand.
+
+Clerambault was brave enough when he was talking to the indulgent
+Perrotin, but he had scarcely got home when he was seized again by his
+hesitations. Sharpened by his sorrow, his sensitiveness anticipated
+the emotions of those around him; he imagined the discord that his
+words would cause between himself and his wife, and worse, without
+exactly knowing why, he was not sure of his daughter's sympathy, and
+shrank from the trial. The risk was too great for an affectionate
+heart like his.
+
+Matters stood thus, when a doctor of his acquaintance wrote that he
+had a man dangerously wounded in his hospital who had been in the
+great Champagne offensive, and had known Maxime. Clerambault went at
+once to see him.
+
+On the bed he saw a man who might have been of any age. He lay still
+on his back, swathed like a mummy, his thin peasant-face all wrinkled
+and brown, with the big nose and grey beard emerging from the white
+bandages. Outside the sheet you could see his right hand, rough and
+work-worn; a joint of the middle-finger was missing--but that did not
+matter, it was a peace injury. His eyes looked out calmly under the
+bushy eyebrows; their clear grey light was unexpected in the burned
+face.
+
+Clerambault came close and asked him how he did, and the man thanked
+him politely, without giving details, as if it were not worth the
+trouble to talk about oneself.
+
+"You are very good, Sir. I am getting on all right." But Clerambault
+persisted affectionately, and it did not take long for the grey eyes
+to see that there was something deeper than curiosity in the blue eyes
+that bent over him.
+
+"Where are you wounded?" asked Clerambault.
+
+"Oh, a little of everywhere; it would take too long to tell you, Sir."
+But as his visitor continued to press him:
+
+"There is a wound wherever they could find a place. Shot up, all over.
+I never should have thought there would have been room enough on a
+little man like me."
+
+Clerambault found out at last that he had received about a score of
+wounds; seventeen, to be exact. He had been literally sprinkled--he
+called it "interlarded"--with shrapnel.
+
+"Wounded in seventeen places!" cried Clerambault.
+
+"I have only a dozen left," said the man.
+
+"Did they cure the others?"
+
+"No, they cut my legs off." Clerambault was so shocked that he almost
+forgot the object of his visit. Great Heaven! What agonies! Our
+sufferings, in comparison, are a drop in the ocean.... He put his
+hand over the rough one, and pressed it. The calm grey eyes took in
+Clerambault from his feet to the crape on his hat.
+
+"You have lost someone?"
+
+"Yes," said Clerambault, pulling himself together, "you must have
+known Sergeant Clerambault?"
+
+"Surely," said the man, "I knew him."
+
+"He was my son."
+
+The grey eyes softened.
+
+"Ah, Sir! I _am_ sorry for you. I should think I did know him, poor
+little chap! We were together for nearly a year, and a year like that
+counts, I can tell you! Day after day, we were like moles burrowing in
+the same hole.... We had our share of trouble."
+
+"Did he suffer much?"
+
+"Well, Sir, it _was_ pretty bad sometimes; hard on the boy, just at
+the first. You see he wasn't used to it, like us."
+
+"You come from the country?"
+
+"I was labourer on a farm. You have to live with the beasts, and you
+get to be like 'em. But it is the truth I tell you now, Sir, that men
+do treat each other worse than the beasts. 'Be kind to the animals.'
+That was on a notice a joker stuck up in our trench.... But what
+isn't good enough for them is good enough for us. All right; I'm not
+kicking. Things are like that. We have to take it as it comes. But
+you could see that the little Sergeant had never been up against it
+before; the rain and the mud, and the meanness; the dirt worst of all,
+everything that you touch, your food, your skin, full of vermin.... He
+came close to crying, I could see, once or twice, when he was new to
+it. I wouldn't let on that I noticed, for the boy was proud, didn't
+want any help, but I would jolly him, try to cheer him up, lend him
+a hand sometimes; he was glad to get it. You see you have to get
+together. But before long he could stick it out as well as anybody;
+then it was his turn to help me. I never heard him squeal, and we had
+gay times together--must have a joke now and then, no matter what
+happens. It keeps off bad luck."
+
+Clerambault sat and listened with a heavy heart.
+
+"Was he happier towards the last?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, Sir, I think he was what you call resigned, just like we all
+were. I don't know how it is, but you all seem to start out with the
+same foot in the morning. We are all different, but somehow, after a
+while it seems as if we were growing alike. It's better, too, that
+way. You don't mind things so much all in a bunch.... It's only when
+you get leave, and after you come back--it's bad, nothing goes right
+any more. You ought to have seen the little Sergeant that last time."
+
+Clerambault felt a pang as he said quickly:
+
+"When he came back?"
+
+"He was very low. I don't know as I ever saw him so bad before."
+
+An agonised expression came over Clerambault's face, and at his
+gesture, the wounded man who had been looking at the ceiling while he
+talked, turned his eyes and understood, for he added at once:
+
+"He pulled himself together again, after that."
+
+"Tell me what he said to you, tell me everything," said Clerambault
+again taking his hand.
+
+The sick man hesitated and answered.
+
+"I don't think I just remember what he said." Then he shut his eyes,
+and lay still, while Clerambault bent over him and tried to see what
+was before those eyes under their closed lids.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An icy moonless night. From the bottom of the hollow _boyau_ one could
+see the cold sky and the fixed stars. Bullets rattled on the hard
+ground. Maxime and his friend sat huddled up in the trench, smoking
+with their chins on their knees. The lad had come back that day from
+Paris. He was depressed, would not answer questions, shut himself up
+in a sulky silence. The other had left him all the afternoon to bear
+his trouble alone. Now here in the darkness he felt that the moment
+had come, and sat a little closer, for he knew that the boy would
+speak of his own accord. A bullet over their heads glanced off,
+knocking down a lump of frozen turf.
+
+"Hullo, old gravedigger," said the other, "don't get too fresh."
+
+"Might as well make an end of it now," said Maxime. "That's what they
+all seem to want."
+
+"Give the boche your skin for a present? I'll say you're generous!"
+
+"It's not only the boches; they all have a hand in it."
+
+"Who, all?"
+
+"All of them back there where I come from, in Paris, friends and
+relations; the people on the other side of the grave, the live
+ones.--As for us, we are as good as dead."
+
+In the long silence that followed they could hear the scream of a
+shell across the sky. Maxime's comrade blew out a mouthful of smoke.
+"Well, youngster," he said, "it didn't go right, back there this time,
+did it?--I guessed as much!"
+
+"I don't know why."
+
+"When one is hurt, and the other isn't, they haven't much to say to
+one another."
+
+"Oh, they suffer too."
+
+"Not the same. You can't make a man know what a toothache is unless he
+feels it. Can't be done. Go to them all snuggled up in their beds, and
+make them understand how it is out here!... It's nothing new to me. I
+didn't have to wait for the war. Always have lived like this. But do
+you believe when I was working in the soil, sweating all the fat off
+my bones, that any of them bothered their heads about me? I don't mean
+that there's any harm in them, nor much good, either, but like anybody
+else, they don't see how it is. To understand a thing properly you've
+got to take hold of it yourself, take the work, and the hurt. If not,
+and that's what it is, you know--might as well make up your mind--no
+use trying to explain. That's the way things are, and we can't do
+anything about it."
+
+"Life would not be worth living, if it were as bad as that."
+
+"Why not, by gosh? I've stuck it out all this time, and you're just
+as good as me, better, because you've got more brains and can learn.
+That's the way to get on, the harder it is the more it teaches you.
+And then when you're together, like us here, and things are rocky,
+it's not a pleasure, exactly, but it ain't all pain. The worst is to
+be off by yourself; and you're not lonesome, are you, boy?" Maxime
+looked him in the face, as he answered:
+
+"I was back there, but I don't feel it here with you."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The man who lay on the bed said nothing of what had been passing
+before his closed eyes. He turned them tranquilly on the father,
+whose agonised look seemed to implore him to speak. And then, with an
+awkward kindness, he tried to explain that if the boy was down-hearted
+it was probably because he had just left home, but _they_ had cheered
+him up as well as they could; they knew how he felt. He had never
+known what it was to have a father himself, but when he was a kid he
+used to think what luck it would be to have one.... "So I thought I
+might try. I spoke to him, Sir, like you would yourself,... and he
+soon quieted down. He said, all the same, there was one thing we got
+out of this blooming war; that there were lots of poor devils in the
+world who don't know each other, but are all made alike. Sometimes we
+call 'em our brothers, in sermons and places like that, but no one
+takes much stock in it. If you want to know it's true, you have to
+slave together like us--He kissed me then, Sir."
+
+Clerambault rose, and bending over the bandaged face, kissed the
+wounded man's rough cheek.
+
+"Tell me something that I can do for you," he said.
+
+"You are very good, Sir, but there's not much you can do now. I am so
+used up. No legs, and a broken arm. I'm no good,--what could I work
+at? Besides, it's not sure yet that I shall pull through. We'll have
+to leave it at that. If I go out, good-bye. If not, can't do anything
+but wait. There are plenty of trains."
+
+As Clerambault admired his patience, he repeated his refrain: "I've
+got the habit. There's no merit in being patient when there's nothing
+else to do.... A little more or less, what does it matter?... It's
+like life, this war is."
+
+Clerambault saw that in his egotism he had asked the man nothing about
+himself. He did not even know his name.
+
+"My name? It's a good fit for me,--Courtois Aimé is what they call
+me--Aimé, that's the Christian name, fine for an unlucky fellow like
+me, and Courtois on the top of it. Queer enough, isn't it?... I never
+had a family, came out of an Orphan Asylum; my foster-father, a farmer
+down in Champagne, offered to bring me up; and you can bet he did it!
+I had all the training I wanted; but anyhow it learned me what I had
+to expect. I've had all that was coming to me!"
+
+Thereupon he told in a few brief dry phrases, without emotion, of the
+series of bad luck which had made up his life. Marriage with a girl as
+poor as himself--"hunger wedding thirst," as they say, sickness and
+death, the struggle with nature,--it would not be so bad if men would
+only help.... _Homo, homini ... homo_.... All the social injustice
+weighs on the under dog. As he listened Clerambault could not keep
+down his indignation, but Aimé Courtois took it as a matter of course;
+that's the way it always has been, and always will be; some are born
+to suffer, others not. You can't have mountains without valleys. The
+war seemed perfectly idiotic to him, but he would not have lifted a
+finger to prevent it. He had in his way the fatalist passivity of the
+people, which hides itself, on Gallic soil, behind a veil of ironic
+carelessness. The "no use in getting in a sweat about it," of the
+trenches. Then there is also that false pride of the French, who fear
+nothing so much as ridicule, and would risk death twenty times over
+for something they know to be absurd, rather than be laughed at for
+an act of unusual common-sense. "You might as well try to stop the
+lightning as talk against war." When it hails there is nothing to do
+but to cover over your cold-frames if you can, and when it's over go
+round and see how much is left of your crop. And they will keep on
+doing this until the next hailstorm, the next war, to the end of time.
+"No use getting in a sweat." ... It would never occur to them that Man
+can change Man.
+
+This stupid heroic resignation irritated Clerambault profoundly.
+The upper classes are charmed with it, no doubt, for they owe their
+existence to it,--but it makes a Danaïd's sieve of the human race,
+and its age-long effort, since all its courage, its virtues, and its
+labours, are spent in learning how to die.... But when he looked
+at the fragment of a man before him, his heart was pierced with an
+infinite pity. What could this wretched man do, symbol as he was, of
+the mutilated, sacrificed people? For so many centuries he has bled
+and suffered under our eyes, while we, his more fortunate brothers,
+have only encouraged him to persevere, throwing him some careless word
+of praise from a distance, which cost us nothing. What help have we
+ever given him? Nothing at all in action, and little enough in words.
+We owe to his sacrifices the leisure to think; but all the fruit of
+our thought we have kept for ourselves; we have not given him a taste
+of it. We are afraid of the light, of impudent opinion and the rulers
+of the hour who call to us saying: "Put it out! You who have the
+Light, hide it, if you wish to be pardoned...." Oh, let us be cowards
+no more. For who will speak, if we do not? The others are gagged and
+must die without a word.
+
+A wave of pain passed over the features of the wounded man. With eyes
+fixed on the ceiling, his big mouth twisted, his teeth obstinately
+clenched, he could say no more.--Clerambault went away, his mind was
+made up. The silence of this soldier on his bed of agony had brought
+him to a decision. He would speak.
+
+
+
+
+PART THREE
+
+
+
+
+Clerambault came back from the hospital, shut himself into his room,
+and began to write. His wife tried to come in, to discover what he was
+doing; it seemed as if the good woman had a suspicion, an intuition,
+rare with her, which gave her a sort of obscure fear of what her
+husband might be about to do, but he succeeded in keeping her away
+until he had finished. Ordinarily not a line of his was spared to his
+family; it was a pleasure to his simple-hearted, affectionate vanity,
+and a duty towards their love also, which none of them would have
+neglected. This time, however, he did neglect it, for reasons which he
+would not admit to himself, for though he was far from imagining the
+consequences of his act, he was afraid of their objections, he did
+not feel sure enough to expose himself to them, and so preferred to
+confront them with the accomplished fact.
+
+His first word was a cry of self-accusation:
+
+  "_FORGIVE US, YE DEAD_!"
+
+This public confession began with an inscription; a musical phrase of
+David's lament over the body of his son Absalom:
+
+"_Oh! Absalom my son, my son_!"
+
+_I had a son whom I loved, and sent to his death. You Fathers of
+mourning Europe, millions of fathers, widowed of your sons, enemies or
+friends, I do not speak for myself only, but for you who are stained
+with their blood even as I am. You all speak by the voice of one of
+you,--my unhappy voice full of sorrow and repentance_.
+
+_My son died, for yours, by yours.--How can I tell?--like yours. I
+laid the blame on the enemy, and on the war, as you must also have
+done, but I see now that the chief criminal, the one whom I accuse, is
+myself. Yes, I am guilty; and that means you, and all of us. You must
+listen while I tell you what you know well enough, but do not want to
+hear_.
+
+_My son was twenty years old when he fell in this war. Twenty years I
+had loved him, protected him from hunger, cold, and sickness; saved
+him from darkness of mind, ignorance, error, and all the pitfalls that
+lie in the shadows of life. But what did I do to defend him against
+this scourge which was coming upon us_?
+
+_I was never one of those who compounded with the passions of jealous
+nationalities. I loved men, and their future brotherhood was a joy to
+me. Why then did I do nothing against the impending danger, against
+the fever that brooded within us, against the false peace which made
+ready to kill with a smile on its lips_?
+
+_I was perhaps afraid to displease others, afraid of enmities; it is
+true I cared too much to love, above all to be loved. I feared to lose
+the good-will of those around me, however feeble and insipid such a
+feeling may be. It is a sort of play acted by ourselves and others.
+No one is deceived by it, since both sides shrink from the word which
+might crack the plaster and bring the house about our ears. There is
+an inward equivocation which fears to see clearly in itself, wants
+to make the best of everything, to reconcile old instincts and new
+beliefs, mutually destructive forces, like the ideas of Country and
+Humanity, War and Peace.... We are not sure which side to take; we
+lean first one way and then the other, like a see-saw; afraid of
+the effort needed to come to a decision and choose. What slothful
+cowardice is here! All whitewashed over with a comfortable faith in
+the goodness of things, which will, we think, settle themselves. And
+we continue to look on, and glorify the impeccable course of Destiny,
+paying court to blind Force_.
+
+_Failing us, other things--and other men--have chosen; and not till
+then did we understand our mistake, but it was so dreadful to admit
+it, and we were so unaccustomed to be honest, that we acted as if we
+were in sympathy with the crime. In proof of this sympathy we have
+given up our own sons whom we love with all our hearts, more than
+life--if we could but give our lives for theirs!--but not more than
+our pride, with which we try to veil the moral confusion, the empty
+darkness of mind and heart_.
+
+_We will say nothing of those who still believe in the old idol; grim,
+envious, blood be-spattered as she is--the barbarous Country. These
+kill, sacrificing themselves and others, but at least they know what
+they do. But what of those who have ceased to believe (like me, alas!
+and you)? Their sons are sacrificed to a lie, for if you assert what
+you doubt, it is a falsehood, and they offer up their own children to
+prove this lie to themselves; and now that our beloved have died for
+it, far from confessing it, we hide our heads still deeper not to see
+what we have done. After our sons will come others, all the others,
+offered up for our untruth_.
+
+_I for my part can bear it no longer, when I think of those who still
+live. Does it soothe my pain to inflict injury on others? Am I a
+savage of Homer's time that I should believe that the sorrow of my
+dead son will be appeased, and his craving for light satisfied, if
+I sprinkle the earth which covers him with the blood of other men's
+sons?--Are we at that stage still?--No, each new murder kills my son
+again, and heaps the heavy mud of crime over his grave. He was the
+future; if I would save the future, I must save him also, and rescue
+fathers to come from the agony that I endure. Come then, and help me!
+Cast out these falsehoods! Surely it is not for our sakes that men
+wage these combats between nations, this universal brigandage? What
+good is it to us? A tree grows up straight and tall, stretching out
+branches around it, full of free-flowing sap; so is a man who labours
+calmly, and sees the slow development of the many-sided life in his
+veins fulfil itself in him and in his sons. Is not this the first law,
+the first of joys? Brothers of the world, which of you envies the
+others or would deprive them of this just happiness? What have we to
+do with the ambitions and rivalries, covetousness, and ills of the
+mind, which they dignify with the name of Patriotism? Our Country
+means you, Fathers and Sons. All our sons.--Come and save them_!
+
+
+
+
+Clerambault asked no one's advice but as soon as he had written these
+pages he took them to the editor of a small socialist paper nearby. He
+came back much relieved, as he thought:
+
+"That is off my mind. I have spoken out, at last." But in the
+following night, a weight on his heart told him that the burden was
+still there, heavier than ever. He roused himself.
+
+"What have I done?"
+
+He felt that he had been almost immodest to show his sacred sorrow to
+the public; and though he did not foresee the anger his article would
+provoke, he knew the lack of comprehension, the coarse comments, which
+are in themselves a profanation.
+
+Days passed, and nothing happened. Silence. The appeal had fallen on
+the ear of an inattentive public, the publisher was little known, the
+pamphlet carelessly issued. There are none so deaf as those who will
+not hear, and the few readers who were attracted by Clerambault's
+name, merely glanced at the first lines, and threw it aside, thinking:
+
+"The poor man's head has been turned by his sorrow,"--a good pretext
+for not wishing to upset their own balance.
+
+A second article followed, in which Clerambault took a final leave of
+the bloody old fetish falsely called Country; or rather in opposition
+to the great flesh-eater, the she-wolf of Rome, on whose altar men are
+now offered up, he set the august Mother of all living, the universal
+Country:
+
+_TO HER WHOM WE HAVE LOVED_
+
+_There can be nothing more bitter than to be parted from her whom one
+has loved. I lacerate my own heart when I tear Country from it;--dear,
+beautiful, and good, as she seemed! There are some ardent lovers so
+blinded that they can forget all the joy and love of former days, and
+see only the change in the loved one, and the harm that she has done
+them. If it were only possible for me to be like that! But I cannot;
+it is impossible for me to forget. I must see thee always as I
+loved thee, when I trusted, and saw in thee my guide and my best
+friend.--Oh, my Country! why hast thou deserted and betrayed me? If I
+were the only one to suffer, I could hide the sad disenchantment under
+the memory of my former affection; but I behold thy victims, these
+trusting devoted youths.--I see myself in them, as I was.--And how
+greatly thou hast deceived us! Thine was as the voice of fraternal
+love, thou calledst us, that we might all be united, all brothers,--no
+more isolation. To each was lent the strength of millions of others,
+and we were taught to love our sky, our soil, and the work of our
+hands, that in them we should love each other more, for thy sake. Now
+where have we been led? Did we unite to increase, and grow stronger to
+hate and destroy? We had known too much of these isolated hatreds in
+the past. Each had his load of evil thoughts, but at least we knew
+them to be evil. But now our souls are poisoned, since thou hast
+called these things sacred...._
+
+_Why these combats? To set us free? But thou hast made slaves of
+us. Our conscience is outraged, our happiness gone, our prosperity
+destroyed. What need have we of further conquests, when the land of
+our fathers has grown too wide for their children? Is it to satisfy
+the greed of some among us, and can it be that the Country will fill
+their maw at the cost of public misfortune_?
+
+_Patriotism, sold to the rich, to those who traffic in the blood of
+souls and of nations! Partner and accomplice, covering your villainies
+with an heroic mantle, look to thyself! The hour is coming when the
+peoples will shake off the vermin, the gods and masters by whom they
+have been deceived. They will drive out the guilty from among them. I
+shall strike straight at the Head whose shadow is over us all.--Thou
+who sittest impassively on thy throne, while multitudes slaughter
+each other in thy name, thou whom they worship while they hate their
+fellow-man, thou who hast pleasure in the bloody orgies of the
+nations, Goddess of prey, Anti-Christ, hovering over these butcheries
+with thy spread wings, and hawk's talons;--who will tear thee from
+our heaven? Who will give us back the sun, and our love for our
+brothers?... I am alone, and have but my voice, which will soon be
+silent, but before I disappear, hear my cry: "Thou wilt fall, Tyrant,
+for humanity must live. The time will come when men will break this
+yoke of death and falsehood;--that time is near, it is at hand_."
+
+
+_THE LOVED ONE'S REPLY_
+
+
+_My son, your words are like stones that a child throws at the sky
+which he cannot reach; they will fall back on your own head. She whom
+you insult, who has usurped my name, is an idol carved by yourself, in
+your own image, not in mine. The true Country is that of the Father.
+She belongs to all, and embraces everyone.--It is not her fault if you
+have brought her down to your own level.... Unhappy creatures,
+who sully your gods; there is not a lofty idea that you have not
+tarnished. You turn the good that is brought you, into poison, and
+scorch yourselves with the very light that shines on you. I came among
+you to bring warmth to your loneliness; I brought your shivering souls
+together in a flock, and bound your scattered weakness in sheaves of
+arrows. I am brotherly love, the great Communion; and you destroy your
+fellows in my name, fools that you are!..._
+
+_For ages I have toiled to deliver you from the chains of bestiality,
+to free you from your hard egotism. On the road of Time you advance
+by toil and sweat; provinces and nations are the military milestones
+which mark your resting-places. Your weakness alone created them.
+Before I can lead you farther, I must wait till you have taken breath;
+you have so little strength of lungs or heart, that you have made
+virtues of your weaknesses. You admire your heroes for the distance
+they went before they dropped exhausted; not because they were the
+first to reach those limits. And when you have come without difficulty
+to the spot where these forerunners stopped, you think yourselves
+heroes in your turn_.
+
+_What have these shadows of the past to do with us today? Bayard, Joan
+of Arc, we have no further need of heroism like theirs, knights and
+martyrs of a dead cause. We want apostles of the future, great hearts
+that will give themselves for a larger country, a higher ideal.
+Forward then; cross the old frontiers, and if you must still use these
+crutches, to help your lameness, thrust the barriers back to the doors
+of the East, the confines of Europe, until at last step by step you
+reach the end, and men encircle the globe, each holding by the other's
+hand. Before you insult me, poor little author, descend into your own
+heart, examine yourself. The gift of speech was given you to guide
+your people, and you have used it to deceive yourself and lead them
+astray. You have added to their error instead of saving them, even to
+the point that you have laid your own son whom you loved on the altar
+of your untruth_.
+
+_Now at least dare to show to others the ruin that you are, and say:
+"See what I am, and take warning!" ...Go! And may your misfortunes
+save those that come after from the same fate! Dare to speak, and cry
+out to them: "You are mad, peoples of the earth; instead of defending
+your Country, you are killing her_. You _are your Country and the
+enemies are your brothers. Millions of God's creatures" love one
+another_.
+
+
+
+
+The same silence as before seemed to swallow up this last cry.
+Clerambault lived outside of popular circles where he would have found
+the warm sympathy of simple, healthy minds. Not the slightest echo of
+his thought came to him.
+
+He knew that he was not really alone, though he seemed so. Two
+apparently contradictory sentiments--his modesty and his faith--united
+to say to him: "What you thought, others have thought also; you are
+too small, this truth is too great, to exist only in you. The light
+that your weak eyes have seen has shone also for others. See where now
+the Great Bear inclines to the horizon,--millions of eyes are looking
+at it, perhaps; but you cannot see them, only the far-off light makes
+a bond between their sight and yours."
+
+The solitude of the mind is only a painful delusion; it has no real
+existence, for even the most independent of us are members of a
+spiritual family. This community of spirit has no relation to time
+or space; its elements are dispersed among all peoples and all ages.
+Conservatives see them in the past, but the revolutionists and the
+persecuted look to the future for them. Past and future are not less
+real than the immediate present, which is a wall beyond which the calm
+eyes of the flock can see nothing. The present itself is not what the
+arbitrary divisions of states, nations, and religions would have us
+believe. In our time humanity is a bazaar of ideas, unsorted and
+thrown together in a heap, with hastily constructed partitions between
+them, so that brothers are separated from brothers, and thrown in with
+strangers. Every country has swallowed up different races, not formed
+to think and act together; so that each one of these spiritual
+families, or families-in-law, which we call nations, comprises
+elements which in fact form part of different groups, past, present,
+or future. Since these cannot be destroyed, they are oppressed; they
+can escape destruction only by some subterfuge, apparent submission,
+inward rebellion, or flight and voluntary exile. They are _Heimatlos_.
+To reproach them for lack of patriotism is to blame Irishmen and Poles
+for their resistance to English and Prussian absorption. No matter
+where they are, men remain loyal to their true country. You who
+pretend that the object of this war is to give the right of
+self-determination to all peoples, when will you restore this right to
+the great Republic of free souls dispersed over the whole world?
+
+However cut off from the world, Clerambault knew that this Republic
+existed. Like the Rome of Sertorius, it dwelt in him, and though they
+may be unknown each to the other, it dwells in every man to whom it is
+the true Country.
+
+
+
+
+The wall of silence which surrounded Clerambault's words fell all at
+once. But it was not a friendly voice which answered his. It seemed
+rather as if stupidity and blind hatred had made a breach where
+sympathy had been too weak to find a way.
+
+Several weeks had passed and Clerambault was thinking of a new
+publication, when, one morning, Leo Camus burst noisily into his room.
+He was blue with rage, as with the most tragic expression he held up a
+newspaper before Clerambault's eyes:
+
+"Read that!" he commanded, and standing behind his brother-in-law as
+he read, he went on:
+
+"What does the beastly thing mean?"
+
+Clerambault was dismayed to find himself stabbed by what he had
+believed to be a friendly hand. A well-known writer, a colleague of
+Perrotin's, a serious honourable man, and one always on good terms
+with him, had denounced him publicly and without hesitation. Though he
+had known Clerambault long enough to have no doubt as to the purity
+of his intentions, he held him up as a man dishonoured. An historian,
+well used to the manipulation of text, he seized upon detached phrases
+of Clerambault's pamphlet and brandished them as an act of treason. A
+personal letter would not have satisfied his virtuous indignation; he
+chose a loud "yellow journal," a laboratory of blackmail despised by a
+million Frenchmen, who nevertheless swallowed all its humbug with open
+mouths.
+
+"I can't believe it," stammered Clerambault, who felt helpless before
+this unexpected hostility.
+
+"There is no time to be lost," declared Camus, "you must answer."
+
+"Answer? But what can I say?"
+
+"The first thing, of course, is to deny it as a base invention."
+
+"But it is not an invention," said Clerambault, looking Camus in the
+face. It was the turn of the latter to look as if he had been struck
+by lightning.
+
+"You say it is not,--not?" he stammered.
+
+"I wrote the pamphlet," said Clerambault, "but the meaning has been
+distorted by this article."
+
+Camus could not wait for the end of the sentence, but began to howl:
+"You wrote a thing like that!... You, a man like you!"
+
+Clerambault tried to calm his brother-in-law, begging him not to judge
+until he knew all; but Camus would do nothing but shout, calling him
+crazy, and screaming: "I don't know anything about all that. Have you
+written against the war, or the country. Yes, or no?"
+
+"I wrote that war is a crime, and that all countries are stained by
+it...."
+
+Without allowing Clerambault to explain himself farther, Camus sprang
+at him, as if he meant to shake him by the collar; but restraining
+himself, he hissed in his face that he was the criminal, and deserved
+to be tried by court-martial at once.
+
+The raised voices brought the servant to listen at the door, and
+Madame Clerambault ran in, trying to appease her brother, in a high
+key. Clerambault volunteered to read the obnoxious pamphlet to Camus,
+but in vain, as he refused furiously, declaring that the papers had
+told him all he wanted to know about such filth. (He said all papers
+were liars, but acted on their falsehoods, none the less.) Then, in a
+magisterial tone, he called on Clerambault to sit down and write on
+the spot a public recantation. Clerambault shrugged his shoulders,
+saying that he was accountable to nothing but his own conscience--that
+he was free.
+
+"No!" roared Camus.
+
+"Do you mean that I am not free to say what I think?"
+
+"You are not free, you have no right to say such things," cried the
+exasperated Camus. "Your country has claims on you, and your family
+first of all. They ought to shut you up."
+
+He insisted that the letter should be written that very moment, but
+Clerambault simply turned his back on him. So he left, banging the
+door after him, and vowing that he would never set foot there again,
+that all was over between them.
+
+After this poor Clerambault had to submit to a string of questions
+from his wife who, without knowing what he had done, lamented his
+imprudence and asked with tears: "Why, why he had not kept silent? Had
+they not trouble enough? What was this mania he had for talking? And
+particularly for talking differently from other people?"
+
+While this was going on, Rosine came back from an errand, and
+Clerambault appealed to her, telling her in a confused manner of the
+painful scene that had just taken place, and begging her to sit down
+there by his table and let him read the article to her. Without even
+taking off her hat and gloves, Rosine did sit down near him, and
+listened sensibly, sweetly, and when he had done, kissed him and said:
+
+"Yes, I think it's fine,--but, dear Papa, why did you do it?"
+Clerambault was completely taken aback.
+
+"What? You ask why I did it? Don't you think it is right?"
+
+"I don't know. Yes, I believe it must be right since you say so....
+But perhaps it was not necessary to write it...."
+
+"Not necessary? But if it is right, it must be necessary."
+
+"But if it makes such a fuss!"
+
+"That is no reason against it."
+
+"But why stir people up?"
+
+"Look here, my little girl, you think as I do about this, do you not?"
+
+"Yes, Papa, I suppose so...."
+
+"You only suppose?... Come now, you detest the war, as I do, and wish
+it were over; everything that I wrote there I have said to you, and
+you agreed...."
+
+"Yes, Papa."
+
+"Then you think I am right?"
+
+"Yes, Papa." She put her arms around his neck, "but we don't have to
+write everything that we think."
+
+Clerambault, much depressed, tried to explain what seemed so evident
+to him. Rosine listened, and answered quietly, but it was clear that
+she did not understand. When he had finished, she kissed him again and
+said:
+
+"I have told you what I think, Papa, but it is not for me to judge.
+You know much better than I."
+
+With that she went into her room, smiling at her father, and not
+in the least suspecting that she had just taken away from him his
+greatest support.
+
+This abusive attack was not the only one, for when the bell was once
+tied on the cat it never ceased to ring. However, the noise would
+have been drowned in the general tumult, if it had not been for
+a persistent voice which led the chorus of malignity against
+Clerambault.
+
+Unhappily it was the voice of one of his oldest friends, the author
+Octave Bertin; for they had been school-fellows at the Lycée Henri IV.
+Bertin, a little Parisian, quick-witted, elegant, and precocious, had
+welcomed the awkward enthusiastic advances of the overgrown youth
+fresh from the country,--ungainly in body and mind, his clothes
+always too short for his long legs and arms, a mixture of innocence,
+simplicity, ignorance, and bad taste, always emphatic, with
+overflowing spirits, yet capable of the most original sallies, and
+striking images. None of this had escaped the sharp malicious eye of
+young Bertin; neither Clerambault's absurdities nor the treasures of
+his mind, and after thinking him over he had decided to make a friend
+of him. Clerambault's unfeigned admiration had something to do with
+this decision. For several years they shared the superabundance of
+their youthful ideas. Both dreamed of being artists; they read
+their literary attempts to each other, and engaged in interminable
+discussions, in which Bertin always had the upper hand. He was apt to
+be first in everything. Clerambault never thought of contesting his
+superiority; he was much more likely to use his fists to convince
+anyone who denied it. He stood in open-mouthed admiration before his
+brilliant friend, who won all the University prizes without seeming to
+work for them, and whom his teachers thought destined to the highest
+honours--official and academic, of course.
+
+Bertin was of the same mind as his teachers; he was in haste to
+succeed, and believed that the fruit of triumph has more flavour when
+one's teeth are young enough to bite into it. He had scarcely left the
+University when he found means to publish in a great Parisian review
+a series of essays which immediately brought him to the notice of the
+general public. And without pausing to take breath, he produced
+one after another a novel in the style of d'Annunzio, a comedy
+in Rostand's vein, a book on love, another on reforms in the
+Constitution, a study of Modernism, a monograph on Sarah Bernhardt,
+and, finally, the "Dialogues of the Living." The sarcastic but
+measured spirit of this last work obtained for him the position of
+column writer on one of the leading dailies. Having thus entered
+journalism he stayed in the profession, and became one of the
+ornaments of the Paris of Letters, while Clerambault's name was still
+unknown. The latter had been slow in gaining the mastery over his
+inward resources, and was so occupied in struggles with himself that
+he had no time for the conquest of the public. His first works, which
+were published with difficulty, were not read by more than a dozen
+people. It is only fair to Bertin to say that he was one of the dozen,
+and that he appreciated Clerambault's talents. He was even ready
+to say so, when opportunity served, and as long as Clerambault was
+unknown, he took pleasure in defending him. It is true that he would
+sometimes add a friendly and patronising piece of advice to his
+praises, which, if Clerambault did not always follow, he received with
+the old affectionate respect.
+
+In a little while Clerambault became known, and even celebrated.
+Bertin, somewhat surprised, sincerely pleased by his friend's
+success--the least bit vexed by it, perhaps--intimated that he thought
+it exaggerated, and that the better Clerambault was the obscure
+Clerambault before his reputation was made. He would even undertake to
+prove this to Clerambault himself, sometimes, who neither agreed nor
+disagreed. For how could he tell, who thought very little about it,
+his head being always full of some new work? The two old comrades
+remained on excellent terms, but little by little they began to see
+less of one another.
+
+The war had made Bertin a furious jingo. In the old days at school
+he used to scandalise Clerambault's provincial mind by his impudent
+disrespect for all values, political and social--country, morality,
+and religion. In his literary works he continued to parade his
+anarchism, but in a sceptical, worldly, bored sort of manner which was
+to the taste of his rich clientèle. Now, before this clientèle and the
+rest of those who purveyed to it, his brethren of the popular press
+and theatres, the contemptible Parny's and Crebillon Jr.'s of the day,
+he suddenly assumed the attitude of Brutus immolating his sons. It is
+true he himself had none, but perhaps that was a regret to him.
+
+Clerambault did not dream of finding fault with him for these
+opinions; but he did not dream either that his old friend and
+amoralist would come out against him as the defender of his outraged
+country. But was it a question simply of his country?
+
+There was a personal note in the furious diatribe that Bertin hurled
+at him that Clerambault could not understand. In the general mental
+confusion, Bertin, naturally shocked by Clerambault's ideas, might
+have remonstrated with him frankly, face to face; but without any
+warning, he began by a public denunciation. On the first page of his
+paper appeared an article of the utmost virulence; he attacked, not
+only his ideas, but his character, speaking of Clerambault's tragic
+struggle with his conscience as an attack of literary megalomania,
+brought on by undeserved success. It seemed as if he expressly chose
+words likely to wound Clerambault, and he ended by summoning him to
+retract his errors in a tone of the most insulting superiority.
+
+The violence of this article, from so well-known an author, made an
+event in Paris of the "Clerambault Case." It occupied the reporters
+for more than a week, a long time for these feather-headed gentry.
+Hardly anyone read what Clerambault had actually written; it was not
+worth while. Bertin had read it, and newspaper men do not make a
+practice of taking unnecessary trouble; besides it was not a question
+of reading, but of judgment. A strange sort of Sacred Union was formed
+over Clerambault; clericals and Jacobins came together to condemn him,
+and the man whom they admired yesterday was dragged in the mud today.
+The national poet became at once a public enemy, and all the myrmidons
+of the press attacked him with heroic invective. The greater number
+of them united bad faith with a remarkable ignorance. Very few knew
+Clerambault's works, they scarcely knew his name or the titles of his
+books, but that no more kept them from disparaging him now than it had
+hindered them from praising him when he was the fashion. Now, in their
+eyes, everything that he had written was tainted with "bochism,"
+though all their quotations were inexact. In the excitement of his
+investigation, one of them foisted upon Clerambault the authorship of
+another man's book, the author of which, pale with fright, protested
+with indignation, dissociating himself entirely from his dangerous
+fellow-author. Uneasy at their intimacy with Clerambault, some of his
+friends did not wait to have it recalled, but met it halfway, writing
+"open letters," to which the papers gave a conspicuous place. Some,
+like Bertin, coupled their public censure with a demand that he should
+confess himself in the wrong, and others, less considerate, cast him
+off in the bitterest and most insulting terms. Clerambault was crushed
+by all this animosity; it could not arise solely from his articles,
+it must have been long dormant in the hearts of these men. And why so
+much hidden hatred?--What had he done to them?... A successful artist
+does not suspect that besides the smiles of those around there are
+also teeth, only waiting for the opportunity to bite.
+
+Clerambault did his best to conceal the insults in the papers from his
+wife. Like a schoolboy trying to spirit away his bad marks he watched
+for the post so as to suppress the obnoxious sheets, but at last their
+venom seemed to poison the very air. Among their friends in society,
+Madame Clerambault and Rosine had to bear many painful allusions,
+small affronts, even insults. With the instinct of justice which
+characterises the human beast, and especially the female, they were
+held responsible for Clerambault's ideas, though his wife and daughter
+knew little of them and disapproved what they knew. (Their critics did
+not understand them either.) The more polite were reticent, taking
+pains not to mention Clerambault's name, or ask after him,--you
+don't speak of ropes, you know, in the house of a man who has been
+hanged.... And this calculated silence was worse than open abuse.
+You would have said that Clerambault had done something dishonest or
+immodest. Madame Clerambault would come back full of bitterness, and
+Rosine suffered too, though she pretended not to mind. One day, a
+friend, whom they met in the street, crossed to the other side,
+turning away her head so as to avoid bowing to them; and Rosine was
+excluded from a benevolent society where she had worked hard for
+years.
+
+Women were particularly active in this patriotic reprobation.
+Clerambault's appeal for reconciliation and pardon had no more violent
+opponents--and it was the same everywhere. The tyranny of public
+opinion is an engine of oppression, invented by the modern State, and
+much more despotic than itself. In times of war certain women have
+proved, its most ferocious instruments. Bertrand Russell cites the
+case of an unfortunate man, conductor on a tramway, married, with
+children, and honourably discharged from the army, who killed himself
+on account of the insults and persecutions of the women of Middlesex.
+In all countries, poor wretches like him have been pursued, crazed,
+driven to death, by these war-maddened Bacchantes. This ought not to
+surprise us; if we have not foreseen this madness, it is because we,
+like Clerambault hitherto, have lived on comfortable accepted opinions
+and idealisations. In spite of the efforts of woman to approximate the
+fallacious ideal imagined by man for his pleasure and tranquillity,
+the woman of the present day, weak, cut-off, trimmed into shape as she
+is, comes much closer than man to the primitive earth. She is at the
+source of our instincts, and more richly endowed with forces, which
+are neither moral nor immoral but simply animal. If love is her chief
+function, it is not the passion sublimated by reason but love in the
+raw state, splendidly blind, mingling selfishness and sacrifice,
+equally irresponsible, and both subservient to the deep purposes of
+the race. The tender, flowery embellishments with which the couple
+always try to veil the forces that affright them, are like arches of
+tropical vines over a rushing stream; their object is to deceive. Man
+could not bear life if his feeble soul saw the great forces, as they
+are, that carry him along.
+
+His ingenious cowardice strives to adapt them mentally to his
+weakness; he lies about love, about hatred, about his gods, and above
+all he is false about woman and about Country. If the naked truth
+were shown to him, he would fear to fall into convulsions, and so
+he substitutes the pale chromos of his idealism. The war had broken
+through the thin disguise, and Clerambault saw the cruel beast without
+the mantle of feline courtesy in which civilisation drapes itself.
+
+Among Clerambault's former friends, the most tolerant were those
+belonging to the political world. Deputies, Ministers, past or future;
+accustomed to drive the human flock, they know just what it is worth.
+Clerambault's daring seemed merely foolish to them. What they thought
+in their hearts was twenty times worse, but they thought it silly to
+speak it, dangerous to write it, more dangerous still to answer it.
+You make a thing known when you attack it, and condemnation only gives
+it greater importance. Their best advice would have been to keep
+silent about these unlucky articles, which the sleepy, stumbling
+public would have neglected if left to itself. This was the course
+usually followed by Germany during the war; if the authorities did
+not see their way clear to suppress rebellious writers, they hid them
+under some flowery humbug.
+
+The political spirit of the French Democracy, however, is more
+outspoken and more narrow-minded; silence is unknown to it, and far
+from concealing its hatreds, it spits them forth from the house-tops.
+Like that of Rude, French liberty opens her mouth and bawls. Anyone
+who differs from her opinion of the moment is declared a traitor
+forthwith; there are always some yellow journals to tell at what price
+the independent voice was bought, and twenty fanatics to stir up the
+crowd against it. Once started, there is nothing to do but wait until
+the fit has passed off; but in the meantime, look out for yourself!
+Prudent folks join in the hue and cry from a safe distance.
+
+The editor of the magazine which had been proud to publish
+Clerambault's poems for years whispered to him that all this row was
+absurd--that there was really nothing in his "case," but that on
+account of his subscribers he should have to scuttle him. He was
+awfully sorry ... hoped there was no hard feeling?... In short,
+without being rude, he made the whole thing look ridiculous.
+
+Alas for human nature! Even Perrotin laughed at Clerambault in a
+brilliantly sarcastic interview, and considered himself to be still
+his friend at bottom.
+
+In his own house Clerambault now found himself without support. His
+old helpmate, who for thirty years had seen only through his eyes,
+repeating his words without even understanding them, was now afraid,
+indignant at what he had written, reproaching him bitterly for the
+scandal, the harm done to the name of the family, to the memory of his
+dead son, to the sacred cause of vengeance, to his Country.
+
+Rosine was always loving, but she had ceased to understand him. A
+woman's mind makes but few demands, if her heart is satisfied; so it
+was enough for her that her father was no longer one of the haters,
+that he remained compassionate and kind. She did not want him to
+translate his sentiments into theories, nor above all, to proclaim
+them. She had much affectionate common-sense, and as long as matters
+of feeling were safe, she did not care for the rest, not understanding
+the inflexible exigence of logic which pushes a man to the utmost
+consequences of his faith.
+
+She had ceased to understand, and her hour had passed--the time when,
+without knowing it, she had accepted and fulfilled a maternal mission
+towards her father. When he was weak, broken, and uncertain, she had
+sheltered him under her wing, rescued his conscience, and given back
+to him the torch which he had let fall from his hand. Now her part was
+accomplished, she was once more the loving "little daughter" somewhat
+in the shade, who looks on at the great events of life with eyes
+that are almost indifferent, and in the depths of her soul treasured
+devoutly the afterglow of the wonderful hour through which she had
+lived--all uncomprehending.
+
+It was about this time that a young man home on leave came to see
+Clerambault. Daniel Favre was a friend of the family, an engineer like
+his father before him. He had long been an admirer of Clerambault, for
+his keen intelligence was not limited to his profession; indeed the
+extended flights of modern science have brought his domain close to
+that of poetry, it is itself the greatest of poems. Daniel was an
+enthusiastic reader of Clerambault's writings. They corresponded
+affectionately, knew each other's families, and the young man was a
+frequent visitor, perhaps not solely for the pleasure of conversing
+with the poet. He was a nice fellow, about thirty years old, tall,
+well set-up, with good features, a timid smile, and eyes which looked
+startlingly light in his sunburnt face. They were all glad to see him,
+and Clerambault was not the only member of the family who enjoyed his
+visits. David might easily have been assigned to duty in a munitions
+factory, but he had applied for a dangerous post at the Front, where
+he had quickly been promoted to the rank of Lieutenant. Having a few
+days in town, he went to see Clerambault.
+
+Madame Clerambault and Rosine were out, so the poet was alone,
+and welcomed his young friend with delight, but Daniel responded
+awkwardly, answering questions somewhat at random, and at last
+abruptly brought up the subject which he had at heart. He said that
+he had heard talk at the front of Clerambault's articles, and he felt
+very badly. People said--they made out that--well, he had heard severe
+things about them; he knew people were often unjust, but he had
+come--here he pressed Clerambault's hand in a timid friendly way--he
+had come to entreat him not to desert all those who loved him. He
+reminded him of the devotion that had inspired the poet who had
+celebrated the traditions of French soil and the glories of the
+race.... "In this hour of trial," he implored, "stand by us."
+
+"I have never been closer to you than now," answered Clerambault, and
+he added:
+
+"You say that people blame what I have written. Dear boy, what do you
+think of it yourself?"
+
+"I confess I have not read it," said Daniel. "I did not want to, for
+fear that it might disturb my affection for you, or hinder me in my
+duty."
+
+"Your faith cannot be very strong, if a few lines of print can shake
+it."
+
+"My convictions are firm enough," said Daniel, a little miffed, "but
+there are certain things which it is wisest not to discuss."
+
+"That is something that I should not have expected to hear from a
+scientific man," said Clerambault. "The truth can lose nothing by
+discussion."
+
+"Truth, no, but love--love of country."
+
+"My dear Daniel, you go farther than I. I do not place truth in
+opposition to love of country, on the contrary I endeavour to
+reconcile them."
+
+Daniel tried to cut the matter short.
+
+"The country is not a subject for discussion."
+
+"Is it an article of faith?"
+
+"You know I do not believe in religions," protested Daniel. "I have no
+faith in any of them. But that is the very reason. What should we have
+left on earth if it were not for our country?"
+
+"I think that there are many great and beautiful things in the world,
+and Country is only one of them; but I am not discussing the love, but
+the way of loving."
+
+"There is only one," said Daniel.
+
+"And what is that?"
+
+"We must obey."
+
+"The ancient symbol, Love with bandaged eyes; I only want to open
+them."
+
+"No, no, let us alone. It is hard enough already. Don't make it any
+worse for us." In a few phrases, temperate, yet broken by emotion,
+Daniel brought up the terrible picture of the weeks that he had spent
+in the trenches; the disgust and the horror of what he had borne
+himself, the suffering he had seen in others, had inflicted on them.
+
+"But, my dear fellow, if you see this shameful thing, why not try to
+prevent it?"
+
+"Because it is impossible."
+
+"To be sure of that, you might at least make the attempt."
+
+"The conflict between men is the law of Nature. Kill or be killed. So
+be it."
+
+"And can it never be changed?"
+
+"No, never," said Daniel, in a tone of sad obstinacy, "it is the law."
+
+There are some scientific men from whom science seems to hide the
+truth it contains, so that they cannot see reality at the bottom of
+the net. They embrace the whole field that has been discovered, but
+would think it impossible and even ridiculous to enlarge it beyond the
+limits already traced by reason. They only believe in a progress that
+is chained to the inside of the enclosure. Clerambault knew only too
+well the supercilious smile with which the ideas of inventors are put
+aside by learned men from the official schools. There are certain
+forms of science which accord perfectly with docility. David's manner
+showed no irony; it expressed rather a stoical, baffled kind of
+melancholy. In abstract questions he did not lack courage of thought,
+but when faced with the facts of life he was a mixture, or rather a
+succession, of timidity and stiffness, diffident modesty, and firmness
+of conviction. In short he was a man, like other men, complex and
+contradictory, not all in one piece. The trouble is that, in an
+intellectual and a man of science, the pieces lap over one another and
+the joinings show.
+
+Clerambault sat silent for a few moments, and then began to utter the
+thoughts that had passed through his mind. "Nevertheless," said he,
+"the results of science itself are changeful. For the last twenty
+years all our conceptions of chemistry and physiology have been going
+through a crisis which has altered and made them much more fruitful.
+Why should not the so-called laws which regulate human society--or
+rather the state of chronic brigandage among nations--why should not
+they also be changed? Is there no place in your mind for the hope of a
+higher future?"
+
+"We could not go on at all," said Daniel, "if we had not the hope of
+establishing a new order more just and humane. Many of my comrades
+hope through this war to put an end to all wars. I have not that
+confidence, and do not go so far as that; but I do know certainly that
+our France is in danger, and that if she is conquered, humanity will
+fall with her."
+
+"The defeat of any people is that of humanity, for we are all
+necessary, and the union of all nations would be the only true
+victory. Any other ruins the victors as well as the vanquished. Every
+day that this war lasts the precious blood of France is shed, and she
+runs great risk of permanent exhaustion."
+
+Daniel stopped him with a gesture of irritation and pain. Oh, he knew
+too well ... no one better than he, that France was dying each day
+from her heroic effort. That the pick of her youth, her strength, her
+intelligence, the vital sap of the race, was pouring out in torrents,
+and with it the wealth, the labour, the credit of the people of
+France. France, bleeding at every vein, would follow the path that
+Spain had trod four centuries ago, the path that led to the deserts of
+the Escurial. Yes, but let no one speak to him of a peace that would
+put an end to this agony until the adversary was totally crushed;
+no one ought to respond to the advances that Germany was then
+making--they ought not to be considered, or even mentioned. And then,
+like the politicians, the generals, the journalists, and millions of
+poor creatures who repeat at the top of their voices the lesson taught
+them, David cried: "To the last man!"
+
+Clerambault looked at him with affectionate pity. Poor boy! brave, yet
+so timid that he shrank from the thought of discussing the dogmas of
+which he was the victim. His scientific mind dared not revolt against
+the stupidity of this bloody game, where death for France as well as
+for Germany--perhaps more than for Germany, was the stake.
+
+Yes, he did revolt, but would not admit it to himself. He tried again
+to influence Clerambault: "Your ideas perhaps are right and true, but
+this is not the time ... not now. In twenty, or even fifty years. We
+must first conquer, finish our task, found the freedom of the world,
+the brotherhood of men, on the enduring victory of France."
+
+Poor Daniel! Can he not see that, even at the best, the victory is
+doomed to be tarnished by excesses, and that then it will be the turn
+of the vanquished to set their minds on a frantic revenge and a just
+victory? Each nation desires the end of wars through its own triumph,
+and from one such victory to another humanity will go down to its
+defeat.
+
+As Daniel stood up to go he pressed Clerambault's hands and reminded
+him with much feeling of his poem where, in the heroic words of
+Beethoven, he exalted the suffering out of which joy is born...."
+_Durch Leiden Freude_." He sighed.
+
+"Ah! how well they understand.... We sing of suffering and our
+deliverance, but they are enamoured of it. And now our hymn of
+deliverance will become a song of oppression for other men...."
+
+Clerambault could not answer, he had a real love for this young man,
+one of those who sacrificed themselves for the war, knowing well
+that they had nothing to gain; and the greater their sacrifices,
+the stronger their faith. Blessings on them! But if only they would
+consent not to immolate all mankind on the same altar....
+
+
+
+
+Rosine came in just as Clerambault and Daniel reached the door of the
+apartment; she started with pleasure at the sight of the visitor, and
+Daniel's face lighted up also. Clerambault could not help noticing the
+sudden gaiety of the two young people. Rosine urged Daniel to come in
+again for a few moments and talk to her a little; Daniel hesitated,
+did come back, but refused to sit down, and in a constrained way made
+a vague excuse for going away. Clerambault, who guessed what was
+passing in his daughter's heart, begged him to promise that he would
+come at least once more before the end of his leave. Daniel, much
+embarrassed, said no, at first, then yes, without fixing a time, and
+at last, on being urged by Clerambault, he did say when they might
+expect him, and took leave, but his manner was still rather cool.
+Rosine stood there, absorbed. She looked troubled, but when her father
+smiled at her, she came quickly and kissed him.
+
+The day he had fixed came and went, but no Daniel appeared; they
+waited for him the next day and the one after that. He had gone back
+to the Front. A few days later, Clerambault persuaded his wife to go
+with Rosine to see Daniel's parents. The icy coldness with which they
+were received just stopped short of offence. Madame Clerambault came
+home, vowing that as long as she lived she would never set foot again
+in that house; it was all Rosine could do to restrain her tears.
+
+The following week a letter arrived from Daniel to Clerambault. Though
+he seemed a little shamefaced about his attitude and that of his
+parents, he tried rather to explain, than to apologise for it. He
+spoke of the ties of admiration, respect and friendship which united
+him to Clerambault, and alluded discreetly to the hope that he had
+formed of one day becoming closer yet; but he added that Clerambault
+had disturbed these dreams of the future by the regrettable position
+that he had seen fit to adopt in the life and death crisis through
+which the country was now passing, a position rendered worse by the
+wide publicity given to Clerambault's words. These words, little
+understood perhaps, but certainly imprudent, had raised a storm of
+opposition on account of their almost sacrilegious character; the
+feeling of indignation was unanimous among the men at the front, as
+well as in the circle of friends at home. His parents knew what his
+hope had been, but they now absolutely refused to allow it, and
+in spite of the pain this caused him, he did not feel it right to
+disregard these scruples, springing as they did from a profound
+devotion to the wounded country. An officer who had the honour to
+offer his life for France could not think of a union which would be
+regarded as his adhesion to these unfortunate theories; public opinion
+would condemn it. Such a view would be unjust, undoubtedly, but it
+is a thing that must always be reckoned with; the opinion of a whole
+people is respectable, no matter how extreme and unfair it may appear,
+and Clerambault had made a grave mistake in trying to brave it. Daniel
+entreated him to acknowledge this mistake, and try to rectify, if
+possible efface, the deplorable effect produced by articles written in
+a different key. He urged this upon him as a duty--towards his country
+and himself--letting it be understood that it was also a duty towards
+one dear to both of them. In ending his letter he brought forward
+other considerations where the word opinion constantly recurred, so as
+at last to take the place of reason and conscience.
+
+As Clerambault read he smiled, recalling a scene of Spitteler's. The
+king Epimetheus was a man of firm conscience, but when the time came
+to put it to the proof, he could not lay his hand upon it, saw it
+trying to escape, ran after it, and finally threw himself flat on his
+stomach to look for it under the bed. Clerambault reflected that one
+might be a hero under the fire of the enemy, but a timid small boy
+before the opinion of his fellow-citizens.
+
+He showed the letter to Rosine, and in spite of the partiality of
+love, she was hurt that her friend should have wished to do violence
+to her father's convictions. Her conclusion was that Daniel did
+not love her enough; and she said that her own feeling was not
+sufficiently strong to endure such exactions; even if Clerambault
+had been willing to yield, she would not have consented to such an
+injustice; whereupon she kissed her father, tried to laugh bravely,
+and to forget her cruel disappointment.
+
+A glimpse of happiness, however, is not so easily forgotten,
+especially if there remains a faint chance of its renewal. She thought
+of it constantly, and after a time Clerambault felt that she was
+growing away from him. It is difficult not to feel bitterly towards
+those for whom we sacrifice ourselves, and in spite of herself Rosine
+held her father responsible for her lost happiness.
+
+
+
+
+A strange phenomenon now made itself apparent in Clerambault's mind;
+he was cast down but strengthened at the same time. He suffered
+because he had spoken, and yet he felt that he should speak again,
+for he had ceased to belong to himself. His written word held and
+constrained him; he was bound by his thought as soon as it was
+published. "That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the
+fountain." Born in an hour of mental exaltation, his work prolonged
+and reproduced itself in his mind, which would otherwise have fallen
+exhausted. An artist's thought is the ray of light from the depths,
+the best of himself, the most enduring; it supports his lower nature.
+Man, whether he likes it or not, leans on his works and is led by
+them. They have an existence outside of his own, and so restore
+his lost vigour, recall him to his duty, guide and command him.
+Clerambault would have preferred to remain silent, but he wrote once
+more.
+
+This time he did not go very far. "Tremble, poor carcass, you know
+where I am going to drag you," said Turenne to his body before the
+battle. The carcass of Clerambault was not more courageous, though the
+conflict to which it was driven was of a humbler sort. It was none the
+less hard, for he was alone with no army at his back. As he watched by
+his arms, he was a pitiable spectacle in his own eyes. He saw himself,
+an ordinary man, of a timid, rather cowardly, disposition, depending
+greatly on the affection and approval of others. It was terribly
+painful to break these ties, to meet the hatred of others halfway....
+Was he strong enough to resist?... All his doubts came back upon
+him.... What forced him to speak? Who would listen to him, and what
+good would it do? Did not the wisest people set him the example of
+silence?
+
+Nevertheless his brain was firm, and continued to dictate to him what
+he should write; his hand also wrote it down without the alteration of
+a word. There seemed to be two men in him; one who threw himself on
+the ground in terror, and cried: "I will not fight," and the other
+who dragged him along by the collar, without trying to persuade him,
+saying simply: "Yes, you will."
+
+It would be praising him too highly to say that he acted in this
+manner through bravery; he felt that he could not act otherwise, even
+if he had wished to stop; something forced him to go on, to speak....
+It was his "mission." He did not understand it, did not know why he
+was chosen, he, the poet of tenderness, made for a calm, peaceful
+life, free from sacrifices; while other men--strong, war-like, good
+fighters with the souls of athletes--remained unemployed. But it
+was of no use to dispute it; the word had gone forth, and there was
+nothing for it but to obey.
+
+When the stronger of his two souls had once asserted itself, the
+duality of his nature led him to yield to it entirely. A more normal
+man would have tried to unite them, or combine them, or find some kind
+of compromise to satisfy the demands of the one and the prudence of
+the other; but with Clerambault it was everything or nothing. Whether
+he liked it or not, once he had chosen his road, he followed it
+straight before him; and the same causes that had made him accept
+absolutely the views of those around him, drove him to cast off every
+consideration now that he had begun to see the falsehoods which had
+deceived him. If he had been less misted, he would not have unmasked
+them.
+
+Thus the brave-man-in-spite-of-himself set off like Oedipus for the
+fight with the Sphinx, Country, who awaited him at the crossroads.
+
+
+
+
+Bertin's attack drew the attention of several politicians to
+Clerambault; they belonged to the extreme Left, and found it difficult
+to conciliate the opposition to the Government--their reason for
+existence--with the Sacred Union formed against the enemies' invasion.
+
+They republished the first two articles in a socialist paper which was
+then balancing itself between contradictions; opposing the war, and at
+the same time voting for credits. You could see in its pages eloquent
+statements of internationalism side by side with the appeals of
+ministers who were preaching a nationalist policy. In this seesaw
+Clerambault's lightly lyrical pages, where the attack on the idea
+of Country was made with caution, and the criticism covered up by
+devotion, would have been taken as a harmless platonic protestation.
+Unfortunately, the teeth of censure had fastened themselves upon some
+phrases, with the tenacity of ants; they might have escaped notice in
+the general distraction of thought, if it had not been for this.
+
+In the article addressed "_To Her whom We have Loved_," the word
+country appears the first time coupled with an invocation to love.
+The critics kept this, but cut it out when it occurred further on
+dissociated from such flattering expressions. The word, awkwardly
+concealed under this extinguisher, shone all the more brightly in the
+mind of the reader--but this they were too dull to perceive, and
+great importance was thus given to writings which had not much in
+themselves. It must be added that all minds were then in a passive
+state, in which the slightest word of liberal humanitarianism took on
+an extraordinary importance, particularly if signed by a well-known
+name.
+
+The "_Pardon Asked of the Dead_," was more effective than the other
+ever could be; its sadness touched the mass of simple hearts, to whom
+the war was agony. The authorities had been indifferent up to now, but
+at the first hint of this they tried to put a stop to it. They had
+sense enough to know that rigorous measures against Clerambault
+would be a mistake, but they could put pressure on the paper through
+influence behind the scenes. An opposition to the writer showed
+itself on the staff of the paper. Naturally they did not blame
+the internationalism of his views; they merely stigmatised it as
+_bourgeois_ sentimentality.
+
+Clerambault furnished them with fresh arguments by a new article,
+where his aversion to war seemed incidentally to condemn revolution as
+well. Poets are proverbially bad politicians.
+
+It was a reply to "_The Appeal to the Dead_," that Barrès, like an owl
+perched on a cypress in a graveyard, had wailed forth.
+
+
+_TO THE LIVING_
+
+
+_Death rules the world. You that are living, rise and shake off the
+yoke! It is not enough that the nations are destroyed. They are bidden
+to glorify Death, to march towards it with songs; they are expected to
+admire their own sacrifice ... to call it the "most glorious, the most
+enviable fate" ... but how untrue this is! Life is the great, the holy
+thing, and love of life is the first of virtues. The men of today have
+it no longer; this war has shown that, and even worse. It has proved
+that during the last fifteen years, many have hoped for these horrible
+upheavals--you cannot deny it! No man loves life who has no better use
+for it than to throw it into the jaws of Death. Life is a burden to
+many--to you rich of the middle-class, reactionary conservatives,
+whose moral dyspepsia takes away your appetite, everything tastes flat
+and bitter. Everything bores you. It is a heavy burden also to you
+proletarians, poor, unhappy, discouraged by your hard lot. In the dull
+obscurity of your lives, hopeless of any change for the better,--Oh,
+Ye of little faith!--your only chance of escape seems to be through
+an act of violence which lifts you out of the mire for one moment at
+least, even if it be the last. Anarchists and revolutionists who have
+preserved something of the primitive animal energy rely on these
+qualities to liberate themselves in this way; they are the strong. But
+the mass of the people are too weary to take the initiative, and that
+is why they eagerly welcome the sharp blade of war which pierces
+through to the core of the nations. They give themselves up to it,
+darkly, voluptuously. It is the only moment of their dim lives when
+they can feel the breath of the infinite within them,--and this moment
+is their annihilation_....
+
+_Is this a way to make the best of life?... Which we can only
+maintain, it would seem, by renouncing it; and for the sake of what
+carnivorous gods?... Country, Revolution ... who grind millions of men
+in their bloody jaws_.
+
+_What glory can be found in death and destruction? It is Life that we
+need, and you do not know it, for you are not worthy. You have never
+felt the blessing of the living hour, the joy that circulates in the
+light. Half-dead souls, you would have us all die with you, and when
+we stretch out our hands to save you, our sick brothers, you seek to
+drag us down with you into the pit_.
+
+_I do not lay the blame on you, poor unfortunates, but on your
+masters, our leaders of the hour, our intellectual and political
+heads, masters of gold, iron, blood, and thought!... You who rule the
+nations, who move armies; you who have formed this generation by your
+newspapers, your books, your schools and your churches, and who have
+made docile sheep of the free souls of men!... All this enslaving
+education, whether lay or Christian, though it dwells with an
+unhealthy joy on military glory and its beatitude, still shows its
+utter hollowness, for both Church and State bait their hook with
+Death_....
+
+_Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites, politicians, and
+priests, artists, authors, dancers of death; inwardly you are all full
+of decay and dead men's bones. Truly you are the sons of them that
+slew Christ, and like them you lay on men's shoulders burdens grievous
+to be borne, which you yourselves would not touch with the end of your
+fingers. Crucifiers are you like them, and those who come among you to
+help the suffering peoples, bringing blessed peace in their hands, you
+imprison and insult them, and as the Scripture says, persecute them
+from city to city until all the righteous blood shed upon the earth
+shall fall upon your heads_.
+
+_You work only to provide food for Death; your countries are made to
+subdue the future to the past, and bind the living to the putrifying
+corpses of the dead. You condemn the new life to perpetuate the empty
+rites of the tomb.... Let us rise! The resurrection, the Easter of the
+living, is at hand_!
+
+_Sons of men, it is not true that you are, the slaves of the dead and
+are chained by them like serfs to the earth. Let the dead past bury
+its dead, and itself with them; you are children of the living, and
+live in your turn. Souls who are bound to the countries of the past,
+shake off the neurasthenic torpor, wracked by outbursts of frenzy,
+which weighs you down. Shake it off, my brothers, you who are young
+and strong; be masters of the present and the past, fathers and sons
+of your works. Set yourselves free! Each one of you is Man;--not flesh
+that rots in the tomb, but the blazing fire of life which purifies
+corruption and renews long-dead corpses, the flame ever new and young
+which circles the earth with its burning arms. Be free! Conquerors
+of the Bastille, you have not yet opened the dungeon within you,
+the falsely called Fatality. It was built as a prison-house for you
+centuries ago, by slaves or tyrants. They were all convicts of the
+same stamp, who were afraid that you would discover that you were
+free. Religions, races, countries, materialistic science, the heavy
+shadows of the past, are between you and the sun; but go forward!
+Liberty is there, behind those ramparts and towers, built of
+prejudices, dead laws, and consecrated falsehoods. They are guarded by
+the interests of some, the opinion of the drilled masses, and your own
+doubting spirit. Dare to will; and behind the crumbling walls of
+this spurious Destiny, you will once more behold the sun and the
+illimitable horizon_.
+
+Insensible to the revolutionary heat of this appeal, the staff of
+the newspaper only fastened its attention on the few lines where
+Clerambault seemed to lump all violences together, those of the "left"
+along with those of the "right." What did this poet mean by giving
+lessons to the socialists in a party paper? In the name of what
+theory? He was not even a socialist. He was nothing but a Tolstoyian
+anarchist; let him go back to his exercises in style, and his
+middle-class where he belonged. Some larger-minded spirits
+remonstrated in vain, that, with or without any label, liberal ideas
+ought to be welcomed, and that those of Clerambault, however ignorant
+he might be of the party doctrines, were more truly socialistic than
+those of members of the party who joined in the work of national
+slaughter. These views were over-ruled; Clerambault's article was
+returned to him, after spending some weeks in the bottom of a drawer,
+on the pretext that there were so many current items that they took up
+all the space, and that the paper had too much copy already.
+
+Clerambault took his article to a small review, which was more
+attracted by his name than by his ideas. The upshot was that the
+review was called down, and suspended by police order the day after
+the article appeared, though it had been whitewashed through and
+through.
+
+Clerambault, however, persisted. The most rebellious people in the
+world are those who are forced to rebellion after a lifetime of
+submission. I remember once to have seen a big sheep so worried by a
+dog that he finally threw himself upon him. The dog was overcome by
+this unexpected reversal of the laws of nature and ran away, howling
+with surprise and terror. The Dog-State is too sure of its own fangs
+to feel afraid of a few mutinous sheep; but the lamb Clerambault no
+longer calculated the danger; he simply put his head down and butted.
+Generous and weak natures are prone to pass without transition from
+one extreme to another; so from an intensely gregarious feeling
+Clerambault had jumped at one bound to the extreme of individual
+isolation. Because he knew it so well, he could see nothing around
+him but the plague of obedience, that social suggestion of which the
+effects are everywhere manifest. The passive heroism of the armies
+excited to frenzy, like millions of ants absorbed in the general mass,
+the servility of Assemblies, despising the head of their Government,
+but sustaining him by their votes, even at the risk of an explosion
+brought about by one "bolter," the sulky but well-drilled submission
+of even the liberal Parties, sacrificing their very reason for
+existence to the absurd fetish of abstract unity. This abdication,
+this passion, represented the true enemy in Clerambault's eyes. And it
+was his task, he thought, to break down its great suggestive power by
+awakening doubt, the spirit that eats away all chains.
+
+
+
+
+The chief seat of the disease was the idea of Nation; this inflamed
+point could not be touched without howls from the beast. Clerambault
+attacked it at once, without gloves.
+
+_What have I to do with your nations? Can you expect me to love or
+hate a nation? It is men that I love or hate, and in all nations
+you will find the noble, the base, and the ordinary man. Yes, and
+everywhere are few great or low, while the ordinary abound. Like or
+dislike a man for what he is, not for what others are; and if there
+is one man who is dear to me in a whole nation, that prevents me from
+condemning it. You talk of struggles and hatred between races? Races
+are the colours of life's prism; it binds them together, and we have
+light. Woe to him who shatters it! I am not of one race, I belong to
+life as a whole; I have brothers in every nation, enemy or ally, and
+those you would thrust upon me as compatriots are not always the
+nearest. The families of our souls are scattered through the world.
+Let us re-unite them! Our task is to undo these chaotic nations, and
+in their place to bind together more harmonious groups. Nothing can
+prevent it; on the anvil of a common suffering, persecution will forge
+the common affection of the tortured peoples_.
+
+Clerambault did not pride himself on his logic, but only tried to get
+at the popular idol through the joints of his armour. Often he did not
+deny the nation-idea, but accepted it as natural, at the same time
+attacking national rivalries in the most forcible manner. This
+attitude was by no means the least dangerous.
+
+_I cannot interest myself in struggles for supremacy between nations;
+it is indifferent which colour comes up, for humanity gains, no matter
+who is the winner. It is true, that in the contests of peace, the most
+vital, intelligent, and hard-working people, will always excel. But if
+the defeated competitors, or those who felt themselves falling behind,
+were to resort to violence to eliminate their successful rivals, it
+would be a monstrous thing. It would mean the sacrifice of the welfare
+of mankind to a commercial interest, and Country is not a business
+firm. It is of course unfortunate that when one nation goes up,
+another is apt to go down. But when "big business" in my country
+interferes with smaller trade, we do not say that it is a crime of
+lèse-patriotism, despite the fact that it may be a fight which brings
+ruin and death to many innocent victims_.
+
+_The existing economic system of the world is calamitous and bad; it
+ought to be remedied; but war, which tries to swindle a more fortunate
+and able competitor for the benefit of the inexpert or the lazy,
+makes this vicious system worse; it enriches a few, and ruins the
+community_.
+
+_All peoples cannot walk abreast on the same road; they are always
+passing each other, and being outstripped in their turn. What does it
+matter, since we are all in the same column? We should get rid of
+our silly self-conceit. The pole of the world's energy is constantly
+changing, often in the same country. In France it has passed from
+Roman Provence to the Loire of the Valois; now it is at Paris, but it
+will not stay there always. The entire creation swings in alternate
+rhythm from germinating spring to dying autumn. Commercial methods
+are not immutable, any more than the treasures beneath the earth are
+inexhaustible. A people spends itself for centuries, without counting
+the cost; its very greatness will lead to its decline. It is only by
+renouncing the purity of its blood and mixing with other nations that
+it can subsist. Our old men today are sending the young ones to death;
+it does not make them younger, and they are killing the future_.
+
+_Instead of raging against the laws of life, a wholesome people will
+try to understand them and see its real progress, not in a stupid
+obstinacy which refuses to grow old, but in a constant effort to
+advance with the age, changing and becoming greater. To each epoch its
+own task. It is merely sloth and weakness if we cling all our lives
+to the same one. Learn to change, for in that is life. The factory of
+humanity has work for all of us. Labour for all, peoples of the world,
+each man taking pride in the work of all the rest, for the travail,
+the genius of the whole earth is ours also!_
+
+These articles appeared here and there, whenever possible, in some
+little sheet of advanced literary and anarchistic views, in which
+violent attacks on persons took the place of a reasoned-out campaign
+against the order of things. They were nearly illegible, defaced as
+they were by the censor. Besides, when an article was reprinted in
+another paper, he would let pass with a capricious forgetfulness what
+he had cut out the day before, and cut what he had passed then. It
+took close study to make out the sense of the article after this
+treatment, but the remarkable thing was that the adversaries of
+Clerambault, not his friends, went to this trouble. Ordinarily, at
+Paris, these squalls do not last long. The most vindictive enemies,
+trained to wars of the pen, know that silence is a sharper weapon than
+insult, and get more out of their animosity by keeping it quiet; but
+in the hysterical crisis in which Europe was struggling, there was no
+guide, even for hatred. Clerambault was continually being recalled
+to the public mind by the violent attacks of Bertin, though he never
+failed to conclude each one in which he had discharged his venom, with
+a disdainful: "He is not worth speaking of."
+
+Bertin was only too familiar with the weaknesses, defects of mind,
+and small absurdities of his former friend; he could not resist the
+temptation to touch them with a sure hand, and Clerambault, stung
+and not wise enough to hide it, let himself be drawn into the fight,
+retaliated, and proved that he too could draw blood from the other.
+Thus a fierce enmity arose between the two.
+
+The result might have been foreseen. Up to this time Clerambault
+had been inoffensive, confining himself on the whole to moral
+dissertations. His polemic did not step outside the circle of ideas.
+It might as well have been applied to Germany, England, or ancient
+Rome, as to the France of today. To tell the truth, like nine-tenths
+of his class and profession, he was ignorant of the political facts
+about which he declaimed, so that his trumpetings could hardly disturb
+the leaders of the day. In the midst of the tumult of the press,
+the noisy passage of arms between Clerambault and Bertin had two
+consequences; in the first place it forced Clerambault to play with
+more care, and choose a less slippery ground than logomachy, and on
+the other it brought him in contact with men better informed as to the
+facts who furnished him with the necessary information. A short
+time before there had been formed in France a little society,
+semi-clandestine, for independent study and free criticism on the war,
+and the causes that had led up to it. The Government, always vigilant
+and ready to crush any attempt at freedom of thought, nevertheless
+did not consider this society dangerous. Its members were prudent and
+calm, men of letters before all, who avoided notoriety, and contented
+themselves with private discussion; it was thought better policy to
+keep them under observation, and between four walls.
+
+These calculations proved to be wrong, for truth modestly and
+laboriously discovered, though known only to five or six, cannot be
+uprooted; it will spring from the earth with irresistible force.
+Clerambault now learned for the first time of the existence of these
+passionate seekers after truth, who recalled the times of the Dreyfus
+case. In the general oppression, their apostolate behind closed doors
+took on the appearance of a little early-Christian group in the
+catacombs. Thanks to them, he discovered the falsehoods as well as the
+injustices of the "Great War." He had had a faint suspicion of them,
+but he had not dreamed how far the history that touches us most
+closely had been falsified, and the knowledge revolted him. Even in
+his most critical moments, his simplicity would never have imagined
+the deceptive foundations on which reposes a Crusade for the Right,
+and as he was not a man to keep his discovery to himself, he
+proclaimed it loudly, first in articles which were forbidden by the
+censor, and then in the shape of sarcastic apologues, or little
+symbolic tales, touched with irony. The Voltairian apologues slipped
+through sometimes, owing to the inattention of the censor, and in this
+way Clerambault was marked out to the authorities as a very dangerous
+man.
+
+Those who thought they knew him best were surprised. His adversaries
+had called him sentimental, and assuredly so he was, but he was aware
+of it, and because he was French he could laugh at it, and at himself.
+It is all very well for sentimental Germans to have a thick-headed
+belief in themselves; deep down in an eloquent and sensitive creature
+like Clerambault, the vision of the Gaul--always alert in his thick
+woods--observes, lets nothing escape, and is ready for a laugh at
+everything. The surprising thing is that this under-spirit will emerge
+when you least expect it, during the darkest trials and in the most
+pressing danger. The universal sense of humour came as a tonic to
+Clerambault, and his character, scarcely freed from the conventions in
+which it had been bound, took on suddenly a vital complexity. Good,
+tender, combative, irritable, always in extremes--he knew it, and that
+made him worse--tearful, sarcastic, sceptical, yet believing, he was
+surprised when he saw himself in the mirror of his writings. All his
+vitality, hitherto prudently shut into his _bourgeois_ life, now burst
+forth, developed by moral solitude and the hygiene of action.
+
+Clerambault saw that he had not known himself; he was, as it were,
+new-born, since that night of anguish. He learned to taste a joy of
+which he had never before had an idea--the giddy joy of the free
+lance in a fight; all his senses strung like a bow, glad in a perfect
+well-being.
+
+
+
+
+This improved state, however, brought no advantage to Clerambault's
+family; his wife's share of the struggle was only the unpleasantness,
+a general animosity that finally made itself felt even among the
+small tradespeople of the neighbourhood. Rosine drooped; her secret
+heart-ache wore upon her all the more because of her silence; but if
+she said nothing her mother complained enough for two. She made no
+distinction between the fools who affronted her and the imprudent
+Clerambault who caused all the trouble; so that at every meal there
+were awkward remarks meant to induce him to keep still. All this was
+of no use, reproaches whether spoken or silent, passed over his head;
+he was sorry, of course, but he had thrown himself into the thick
+of the fight, and with a somewhat childish egotism he thrust aside
+anything that interfered with this new interest.
+
+Circumstances, however, came to Madame Clerambault's assistance; an
+old relation who had brought her up died, leaving her little property
+in Berry to the Clerambaults. The mourning was a good excuse for
+quitting Paris, which had now become detestable, and for tearing the
+poet from his dangerous surroundings. There was also the question
+of money and of Rosine, who would be better for change of air.
+Clerambault gave in, and they all three went to take possession of
+their small inheritance, and remained in Berry during the rest of the
+summer and autumn. It was in the country, a respectable old house just
+outside a village. From the agitation of Paris Clerambault passed at
+once to a stagnant calm, and in the long silent days all that broke
+the monotony was a cock crowing in a farm-yard or a cow lowing in the
+meadow. Clerambault was too much wrought up to adapt himself to the
+slow and placid rhythm of nature; formerly he had adored it and was in
+harmony with the country people from whom his family had come. Now,
+however, the peasants with whom he tried to talk seemed to him
+creatures from another planet. Certainly, they were not infected by
+the virus of war; they showed no emotion, and no hatred for the enemy;
+but then they had no animosity either against war, which they accepted
+as a fact. Certain keen, good-natured observations showed that they
+were not taken in as to the merits of the case, but since the war was
+there they made the most they could out of it. They might lose
+their sons, but they did not mean to lose money; not that they were
+heartless, grief had marked them deeply, though they spoke little of
+it; but after all, men pass away,--the land is always there. They at
+least had not, like the _bourgeois_ in cities, sent their children to
+death through national fanaticism. Only they knew how to get something
+in exchange for what they gave; and it is probable that their sons
+would have thought this perfectly natural. Because you have lost
+someone you love, must you lose your head too? Our peasants did not
+lose theirs; it is said that in the country districts of France more
+than a million new proprietors have been made by the war.
+
+The mind of Clerambault was alien to all this; he and these people did
+not speak the same language. They exchanged some vague condolences,
+but when he is talking to a _bourgeois_ a peasant always complains; it
+is a habit, a way of defending himself against a possible appeal
+to his pocketbook; they would have talked in the same way about an
+epidemic of fever. Clerambault was always the Parisian in their eyes;
+he belonged to another tribe, and if they had thoughts, they would not
+tell them to him.
+
+This lack of response stifled Clerambault's words; impressionable
+as he was, he could no longer hear himself. All was silence; he had
+friends unknown, and at a distance, who tried to communicate with
+him, but their voices were intercepted by postal spies--one of
+the disgraces of our time. On the pretext of suppressing foreign
+espionage, our Government made spies of its own citizens, and not
+content with a watch on politics, it violated a man's thoughts, and
+taught its agents how to listen at doors like lackeys. The premium
+thus put on baseness filled this country--and all the others--with
+volunteer detectives, gentlemen, men of letters, many of them
+slackers, who bought their own security with the safety of others,
+calling their denunciations by the name of patriotism.
+
+Thanks to these informers, those of liberal opinions could not get in
+touch with one another; that great monster, the State--pricked by
+its bad conscience--suspected and feared half a dozen liberal-minded
+people, alone, weak, and destitute; and each one of these liberals
+surrounded by spies, ate his heart out in his jail, and ignorant that
+others suffered with him, felt himself slowly dying, freezing in the
+polar ice of his despair.
+
+Clerambault was too hot-blooded to let himself be buried under this
+snowy shroud; but the soul is not all, the body is a plant which
+needs human soil, Deprived of sympathy, reduced to feed on itself,
+it perishes. In vain did Clerambault try to prove to himself that
+millions of other minds were in agreement with his own; it could not
+replace the actual contact with one living heart. Faith is sufficient
+for the spirit, but the heart is like Thomas, it must touch to be
+convinced.
+
+Clerambault had not foreseen this physical weakness; he felt stifled,
+his body seemed on fire, his skin burning, his life seemed to be
+drying up at the source. It was as if he were under an exhausted
+vacuum-bell. A wall kept him from the air.
+
+One evening, like a consumptive after a bad day, he had been wandering
+about the house from room to room, as if in search of a breath of
+fresh air, when a letter came that had somehow slipped through the
+meshes of the net. An old man like himself, a village schoolmaster in
+a remote valley of Dauphiny wrote thus:
+
+"The war has taken everything from me; of those whom I used to know,
+some have been killed, and the rest are so altered that I hardly
+recognise them. They have trampled on all that made life worth having
+to me; my hope of progress, my faith in a future of brotherly reason.
+
+"I was ready to die in my despair, when a paper in which you were
+spoken of insultingly, drew my attention to your articles: _To the
+Dead_ and _To Her Whom We Loved_. I wept with joy as I read them; I
+am not then left alone to suffer? I am not solitary?--You do believe;
+then, my dear Sir, tell me that you still have faith in these things.
+They really exist, and cannot be destroyed? I must tell you how much
+good it does me to know that; for I had begun to doubt. You must
+forgive me, but I am old and alone and very weary.... God bless you,
+Sir! I can die in peace, now that, thanks to you, I know that I have
+not been deceived."
+
+Instantly it was as if a window had been opened to the air;
+Clerambault's lungs were filled, his heart beat strongly again, life
+seemed to be renewed, and to flow once more in a full channel. How
+deep is the need we have of love from one another!... A hand stretched
+out in the hour of my agony makes me feel that I am not a branch torn
+from the tree, but a living part of it; we save each other. I give my
+strength, which would be nothing if it were not taken. Truth alone is
+like a spark struck from a stone; dry, harsh, ephemeral. Will it die
+out? No, for it has kindled another soul, and a new star has risen on
+the horizon.
+
+
+
+
+The new star was seen but for a few moments, then a cloud covered it,
+and it vanished forever.
+
+Clerambault wrote the same day to his unknown friend, telling him
+effusively of all his trials and dangerous opinions, but no answer
+came. Some weeks later, Clerambault wrote again, but without success.
+Such was his longing for a friend with whom to share his troubles and
+his hopes that he took the train to Grenoble, and from there made his
+way on foot to the village of which he had the address; but when,
+joyful with the surprise he brought, he knocked at the door of the
+schoolhouse, the man who opened it evidently understood nothing of his
+errand. After some explanation it appeared that this was a newcomer
+in the village; that his predecessor had been dismissed in disgrace a
+month before and ordered to a distance, but that the trouble of the
+journey had been spared him, for he had died of pneumonia the day
+before he was to have left the place where he had lived for thirty
+years. He was there still, but under the ground. Clerambault saw the
+cross over the newly-made mound, but he never knew if his lost friend
+had at least received his words of sympathy. It was better for him to
+remain in doubt, for the letters had never reached their destination;
+even this gleam of light had been denied to the poor old schoolmaster.
+
+The end of this summer in Berry was one of the most arid periods in
+Clerambault's life. He talked with no one, he wrote nothing and he
+had no way of communicating directly with the working people. He had
+always made himself liked on the rare occasions on which he had
+come into contact with them--in a crowd, on holidays, or in the
+workingmen's schools; but shyness on both sides held him back. Each
+felt his inferiority; with pride on the one hand, and awkwardness on
+the other, for Clerambault knew that in many essential respects he
+was inferior to the intelligent workman. He was right; for from their
+ranks will be recruited the leaders of the future. The best class of
+these men contained many honest and virile minds able to understand
+Clerambault. With an untouched idealism they still kept a firm hold on
+reality, and though their daily life had accustomed them to struggles,
+disappointments, and treachery, they were trained to patience; young
+as some of them were, they were veterans of the social war, and there
+was much that they could have taught Clerambault. They knew that
+everything is for sale, that nothing is to be had for nothing, that
+those who desire the future happiness of men must pay the price now,
+in their own sufferings; that the smallest progress is gained step by
+step and is lost often twenty times before it is finally conquered.
+There is nothing final in this world. These men, solid and patient as
+the earth, would have been of great use to Clerambault, and his vivid
+intelligence would have been like a ray of sunshine to them.
+
+Unfortunately both he and they had to bear the results of the archaic
+caste system; injurious as it is and fatal to the community not less
+than to the individual, raising between the pretended equals of
+our so-called "democracies" the excessive inequality of fortune,
+education, and life. Journalists supply the only means of
+communication between caste and caste, and they form a caste by
+themselves, representing neither the one side nor the other. The
+voice of the newspapers alone now broke the silence that surrounded
+Clerambault, and nothing could stop their "Brekekekex, coax, coax."
+
+The disastrous results of a new offensive found them, as always,
+bravely at their post. Once more the optimist oracles of the pontiffs
+of the rear-guard were proved to be wrong, but no one seemed to notice
+it. Other prophecies succeeded, and were given out and swallowed with
+the same assurance. Neither those who wrote, nor those who read, saw
+that they had deceived themselves; in all sincerity they did not know
+it; they did not remember what they had written the day before. What
+can you expect from such feather-headed creatures who do not know if
+they are on their heads or their heels? But it must be allowed that
+they know how to fall on their feet after one of their somersaults.
+One conviction a day is enough for them; and what does the quality
+matter, since they are fresh every hour?
+
+Towards the end of the autumn, in order to keep up the morale which
+sank before the sadness of the coming winter, the press started a new
+propaganda against German atrocities; it "went across" perfectly, and
+the thermometer of public opinion rose to fever heat. Even in the
+placid Berry village for several weeks all sorts of cruel things
+were said; the curé took part and preached a sermon on vengeance.
+Clerambault heard this from his wife at breakfast and said plainly
+what he thought of it before the servant who was waiting at table. The
+whole village knew that he was a boche before night; and every morning
+after that he could read it written up on his front door. Madame
+Clerambault's temper was not improved by this, and Rosine, who had
+taken to religion in the disappointment of her young love, was too
+much occupied with her unhappy soul and its experiences to think of
+the troubles of others. The sweetest natures have times when they are
+simply and absolutely selfish.
+
+
+
+
+Left to himself alone, deprived of the means of action, Clerambault
+turned his heated thoughts back on himself. Nothing now held him from
+the path of harsh truth; there was nothing between him and its cold
+light. His soul was shrivelled like those _fuorusciti_ who, thrown
+from the walls of the cruel city, gaze at it from without with
+faithless eyes. It was no longer the sad vision of the first night of
+his trials, when his bleeding wounds still linked him with other men;
+all ties were now broken, as with open eyes his spirit sank down
+whirling into the abyss; the slow descent into hell, from circle to
+circle, alone in the silence.
+
+"I see you, you myriads of herded peoples, hugging together perforce
+in shoals to spawn and to think! Each group of you, like the bees, has
+a special sacred odour of its own. The stench of the queen-bee makes
+the unity of the hive and gives joy to the labour of the bees. As with
+the ants, whosoever does not stink like me, I kill! O you bee-hives of
+men! each of you has its own peculiar smell of race, religion, morals
+and approved tradition; it impregnates your bodies, your wax, the
+brood-comb of your hives; it permeates your entire lives from birth to
+death; and woe to him who would wash himself clean of it.
+
+"He who would sense the mustiness of this swarm-thinking, the
+night-sweat of a hallucinated people, should look back at the rites
+and beliefs of ancient history. Let him ask the quizzical Herodotus
+to unroll for him the film of human wanderings, the long panorama of
+social customs, sometimes ignoble or ridiculous, but always venerated;
+of the Scythians, the Gatae, the Issedones, the Gindares, the
+Nasamones, the Sauromates, the Lydians, the Lybians, and the
+Egyptians; bipeds of all colours, from East to West and from North to
+South. The Great King, who was a man of wit, asked the Greeks, who
+burn their dead, to eat them; and the Hindoos, who eat them, to burn
+them, and was much amused by their indignation. The wise Herodotus
+who doffs his cap, though he may grin behind it, will not judge them
+himself and does not think it fair to laugh at them. He says: 'If it
+were proposed to all men to choose between the best laws of different
+nations, each one would give the preference to his own; so true it is
+that every man is convinced that his own country is the best. Nothing
+can be truer than the words of Pindar: _Custom is the Sovereign of all
+men_.'
+
+"It is true everyone must drink out of his own trough, but you would
+at least think that we would allow others to do likewise; but not
+at all, we cannot enjoy our own without spitting in that of our
+neighbours. It is the will of God,--for a god we must have in some
+shape, in that of man or beast, or even of a thing, a black or red
+line as in the Middle Ages,--a blackbird, a crow, a blazon of some
+kind; we must have something on which to throw the responsibility of
+our insanities.
+
+"Now that the coat-of-arms has been superseded by the flag, we declare
+that we are freed from superstitions! But at what time were they
+darker than they are now? Under our new doctrine of equality we are
+all obliged to smell exactly alike. We are not even free to say that
+we are not free; that would be sacrilege! With the pack on our back we
+must bawl out: 'Liberty forever!' Under the orders of her father, the
+daughter of Cheops made herself a harlot that she might contribute by
+her body to the building of the pyramid. And now to raise the pyramids
+of our massive republics, millions of citizens prostitute their
+consciences and themselves, body and soul, to falsehood and hate.
+We have become past masters in the great art of lying. True, it was
+always known, but the difference between us and our forefathers is
+that they knew themselves to be liars, and were not far from admitting
+it in their simple way; it was a necessity of nature--they relieved
+themselves before the passers-by, as you see men do today in the
+South.... 'I shall lie,' said Darius, innocently. One should not be
+too scrupulous when it is useful to tell a lie. Those who speak the
+truth want the same thing as those who tell falsehoods. We do so in
+the hope of gaining some advantage, and we are truthful for the same
+reason and that people may feel confidence in us. Thus, though we may
+not follow the same road, we are all aiming at the same thing, for if
+there were naught to gain, a truth-teller would be equally ready to
+lie, and a liar to tell the truth.'--We, my dear contemporaries, are
+more modest; we do not look on at each other telling falsehoods on the
+curb. It must be done behind four walls. We lie to ourselves, and we
+never confess it, not even to our innermost selves. No, we do not
+lie, we 'idealise.' ... Come, let us see your eyes, and let them see
+clearly, if you are free men!
+
+"Free! What are you free from, and which of you is free in your
+countries today? Are you free to act? No, since the State disposes of
+your life, so that you must either assassinate others or be yourselves
+assassinated. Are you free to speak or to write? No, for they imprison
+you if you dare to speak your mind. Can you even think for yourselves?
+Not unless it is _sub rosa_--and the bottom of a cellar is none too
+secure.
+
+"Be silent and wary, for there are sharp eyes on you.... To keep you
+from action there are sentries, corporals with stripes on their arms,
+and sentries, too, over your minds; churches and universities that
+prescribe what you may believe, and what you may not.... What do you
+complain of, they say, even if you are not complaining. You must not
+fatigue your mind by thinking; repeat your catechism!
+
+"Are we not told that this catechism was freely agreed to by the
+sovereign people?--A fine sovereignty, truly! Idiots, who puff out
+your cheeks over the word Democracy! Democracy is the art of usurping
+the people's place, of shearing their wool off closely, in this holy
+name, for the benefit of some of Democracy's good apostles. In peace
+times the people only know what goes on through the press, which is
+bought and told what to say by those whose interest it is to hoodwink
+the public, while the truth is kept under lock and key. In war time it
+is even better, for then it is the people themselves who are locked
+up. Allowing that they have ever known what they wanted, it is no
+longer possible for them to speak above their breath. Obey. _Perinde
+ac cadaver_.... Ten millions of corpses.... The living are hardly
+better off, depressed as they are by four years of sham patriotism,
+circus-parades, tom-toms, threats, braggings, hatreds, informers,
+trials for treason, and summary executions. The demagogues have called
+in all the reserves of obscurantism to extinguish the last gleams
+of good sense that lingered in the people, and to reduce them to
+imbecility.
+
+"It is not enough to debase them; they must be so stupefied that they
+wish to be debased. The formidable autocracies of Egypt, Persia, and
+Syria, made playthings of the lives of millions of men; and the secret
+of their power lay in the supernatural light of their pseudo-divinity.
+From the extreme limit of the ages of credulity, every absolute
+monarchy has been a theocracy. In our democracies, however, it
+is impossible to believe in the divinity of humbugs, shaky and
+discredited, like some of our moth-eaten Ministers; we are too close
+to them, we know their dirty tricks, so they have invented the idea of
+concealing God behind their drop-curtain; God means the Republic,
+the Country, Justice, Civilisation; the names are painted up on
+the outside. Each booth at the fair displays in huge many-coloured
+posters, the picture of its Beautiful Giantess; millions crowd around
+to see it, but they do not tell us what they think when they come out.
+Perhaps they found it difficult to think at all! Some stay inside and
+others have seen nothing. But those who stand in front of the stage
+gaping, they know God is there for they have seen His picture. The
+wish that we have to believe in Him--that is the god of each one of
+us.
+
+"Why does this desire flame up so furiously? Because we do not want to
+see the truth--and therefore _because we do see it_. Therein lies the
+tragedy of humanity; it refuses to see and know. As a last resort, it
+is forced to find divinity in the mire. Let us, on our part, dare to
+look the truth in the face.
+
+"The instinct of murder is deeply engraved in the heart of nature. It
+is a truly devilish instinct, since it seems to have created beings
+not only to eat, but to be eaten. One species of cormorants eats
+fishes. The fishermen exterminate the birds. And the fish disappear,
+because they fed on the excrement of the birds who devoured them. Thus
+the chain of beings is like a serpent eating his own tail.... If only
+we were not sentient beings, did not witness our own tortures, we
+might escape from this hell. There are two ways only: that of Buddha,
+who effaced within himself the painful illusion of life; and the
+religious way, which throws the veil of a dazzling falsehood over
+crime and sorrow. Those who devour others are said to be the chosen
+people who work for God. The weight of sin, thrown into one of the
+scales of life, finds its counterpoise beyond in the dream where all
+wounds and sorrows are to be cured. The form of the beyond varies
+from people to people and from time to time, and these variations are
+called Progress, though it is always the same need of illusion. Our
+terrible consciousness insists on seeing and reckoning with the unjust
+law; for if we do not give it something to bite on, fill its maw
+somehow, it will howl with hunger and fear, crying out: 'I must have
+belief or death!' And that is why we go in flocks; for security, to
+make a common certainty out of our individual doubts.
+
+"What have we to do with truth? Most men think that truth is the
+Adversary. Of course they do not say this, but by a tacit agreement
+what they call truth is a sickening mixture of much falsehood and very
+little truth, which serves to paint over the lie so that we get deceit
+and eternal slavery. Not the monuments of faith and love are the most
+durable, those of servitude last much longer. Rheims and the Parthenon
+fall to ruins, but the Pyramids of Egypt defy the ages; all about them
+is the desert, its mirages and its moving sand. When I think of the
+millions of souls swallowed up by the spirit of slavery in the course
+of centuries--heretics, revolutionists, rebels lay and clerical,--I am
+no longer surprised at the mediocrity that spreads like greasy water
+over the world.
+
+"We who have so far kept our heads above the gloomy surface, what
+are we to do in face of the implacable universe, where the stronger
+eternally crushes the weaker, and is crushed by a stronger yet, in his
+turn? Shall we resign ourselves to a voluntary sacrifice through pity
+or weariness? Or shall we join in and cut the throats of the weak,
+without the shadow of an illusion as to the blind cosmic cruelty?
+What choice is left, but to try to keep out of the struggle through
+selfishness--or wisdom, which is another form of the same thing?"
+
+In the crisis of acute pessimism which had seized upon Clerambault
+during these months of inhuman isolation, he could not contemplate
+even the possibility of progress; that progress in which he had once
+believed, as men do in God. The human species now appeared to him as
+devoted to a murderous destiny. After having ravaged the planet and
+exterminated other species, it was now to be destroyed by its own
+hands. It is the law of justice. Man only became ruler of the world by
+treachery and force (above all by treachery). Those more noble than he
+have perhaps--or certainly--fallen under his blows; he has destroyed
+some, degraded and brutalised others. During the thousands of years
+in which he has shared life with other beings, he has
+feigned--falsely--not to comprehend them, not to see them as brothers,
+suffering, loving, and dreaming like himself. In order to exploit
+them, to torture them without remorse, his men of thought have told
+him that these creatures cannot think, that he alone possesses
+this gift. And now he is not far from saying the same thing of his
+fellow-men whom he dismembers and destroys. Butcher, murderer, you
+have had no pity, why should you implore it for yourself today?...
+
+
+
+
+Of all the old friendships that had once surrounded Clerambault, one
+only remained, his friendship with Madame Mairet, whose husband had
+been killed in the Argonne.
+
+François Mairet was not quite forty years old when he met with an
+obscure death in the trenches. He was one of the foremost French
+biologists, an unpretending scholar and hard worker, a patient spirit.
+But celebrity was assured to him before long, though he was in no
+haste to welcome the meretricious charmer, as her favours have to be
+shared with too many wire-pullers. The silent joys that intimacy with
+science bestows on her elect were sufficient for him, with only
+one heart on earth to taste them with him. His wife shared all his
+thoughts. She came of a scholarly family, was rather younger than he;
+one of those serious, loving, weak, yet proud hearts, that must give
+but only give themselves once. Her existence was bound up in Mairet's
+interests. Perhaps she would have shared the life of another man
+equally well, if circumstances had been different, but she had married
+Mairet with everything that was his. Like many of the best of women,
+her intelligence was quick to understand the man whom her heart had
+chosen. She had begun by being his pupil, and became his partner,
+helping in his work and in his laboratory researches. They had
+no children and had every thought in common, both of them being
+freethinkers, with high ideals, destitute of religion, as well as of
+any national superstition.
+
+In 1914 Mairet was mobilised, and went simply as a duty, without any
+illusions as to the cause that he was called upon to serve by the
+accidents of time and country. His letters from the front were clear
+and stoical; he had never ceased to see the ignominy of the war. But
+he felt obliged to sacrifice himself in obedience to fate, which
+had made him a part of the errors, the sufferings, and the confused
+struggles of an unfortunate animal species slowly evolving towards an
+unknown end.
+
+His family and the Clerambaults had known each other in the country,
+before either of them were transplanted to Paris; this acquaintance
+formed the basis of an amicable intercourse, solid rather than
+intimate--for Mairet opened his heart to no one but his wife--but
+resting on an esteem that nothing could shake.
+
+They had not corresponded since the beginning of the war; each had
+been too much absorbed by his own troubles. Men who went to fight
+did not scatter their letters among their friends, but generally
+concentrated on one person whom they loved best, and to whom they told
+everything. Mairet's wife, as always, was his only confidante. His
+letters were a journal in which he thought aloud; and in one of the
+last he spoke of Clerambault. He had seen extracts from his first
+articles in some of the nationalist papers which were the only ones
+allowed at the front, where they were quoted with insulting comments.
+He spoke of them to his wife, saying what comfort he had found in
+these words of an honest man driven to speak out, and he begged her to
+let Clerambault know that his old friendship for him was now all
+the warmer and closer. He also asked Madame Mairet to send him the
+succeeding articles, but he died before they could reach him.
+
+When he was gone the woman, who had lived only for him, tried to draw
+nearer to the people who had been near to him in the last days of his
+life. She wrote to Clerambault, and he, who was eating his heart
+out in his provincial retreat, lacking even the energy to get away,
+welcomed her letter as a deliverance. He returned at once to Paris;
+and they both found a bitter joy in evoking together the image of the
+absent. They formed the habit of meeting on one evening in the week,
+when they would, so to speak, immerse themselves in recollections of
+him. Clerambault was the only one of his friends who could understand
+the tragedy, hidden under a sacrifice gilded by no patriotic illusion.
+
+At first Madame Mairet seemed to find comfort in showing all that she
+had received; she read his letters, full of disenchanted confidences;
+they reflected on them with deep emotion, and she brought them into
+the discussion of the problems that had caused the death of Mairet
+and of millions of others. In this keen analysis, nothing stopped
+Clerambault; and she was not a woman to hesitate in the search for
+truth. But nevertheless....
+
+Clerambault soon became aware that his words made her uneasy, though
+he was only saying aloud things that she knew well and that were
+strongly confirmed by Mairet's letters, namely, the criminal futility
+of these deaths, and the sterility of all this heroism. She tried to
+take back her confidences, or even to minimise the meaning of them,
+with an eagerness that did not seem perfectly sincere. She brought
+to mind sayings of her husband's which apparently showed him more in
+sympathy with general opinion, and implied that he approved of it. One
+day Clerambault was listening while she read a letter which she had
+read to him before. He noticed that she skipped a phrase in which
+Mairet expressed his heroic pessimism, and when he remarked on it
+she appeared vexed. After this her manner became more distant, her
+annoyance passed into coldness, then irritation, till it even grew
+into a sort of smothered hostility, and finally she avoided him,
+though without an open rupture. Clerambault felt that she had a grudge
+against him and that he should see no more of her.
+
+The truth was that, at the same time that Clerambault pursued his
+relentless analysis which struck at the foundations of current
+beliefs, an inverse process of reconstruction and idealisation was
+going on in the mind of Madame Mairet. Her grief longed to convince
+itself that after all there had been a holy cause, and the dead man
+was no longer there to help her to bear the truth. Where two stand
+together there may be joy in the most terrible truths, but when one is
+alone they are mortal.
+
+Clerambault understood it all, and his quick sympathies warned him of
+the pain he caused and shared; for he made the suffering of this woman
+his own. He nearly reached the point of approving her revolt against
+himself, for he knew her deep hidden sorrow, and that the truth that
+he brought was powerless to help it--still worse, it added one evil
+more....
+
+Insoluble problem! Those who are bereaved cannot dispense with the
+murderous delusions of which they are the victims, and if these are
+torn away their suffering becomes intolerable. Families that have lost
+sons, husbands, and fathers, must needs believe that it was for a
+just and holy cause, and statesmen are forced to continue to deceive
+themselves and others. For if this were to cease, life would be
+insupportable to themselves and to those whom they govern. How
+unfortunate is Man; he is the prey of his own ideas, has given up
+everything to them, and finds that each day he must continue to give
+more, lest the gulf open under his feet and he be swallowed up in it.
+After four years of unheard-of pain and ruin, can we possibly admit
+that it was all for nothing? That not only our victory will be more
+ruinous still, but that we ought not to have expected anything else;
+that the war was absurd, and we, self-deceivers?... Never! we would
+rather die to the last man. When one man finds that he has thrown away
+his life, he sinks down in despair. What would it be in the case of a
+nation, of ten nations, or of civilisation as a whole?...
+
+Clerambault heard the cry that went up from the multitude: "Life, at
+any cost! Save us, no matter how!"
+
+"But, you do not know how to save yourselves. The road you follow only
+leads on to fresh catastrophes, to an infinite mass of suffering."
+
+"No matter how frightful they are, not as bad as what you offer us.
+Let us die with our illusions, rather than live without them. Such a
+life as that, is a death in life!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"_He who has deciphered the secret of life and found the answer_,"
+says the disenchanted, but harmonious voice of Amiel, "_is no longer
+bound on the great wheel of existence, he has quitted the world of the
+living. When illusion vanishes, nothingness resumes its eternal reign,
+the bright bubble has burst in infinite space, and our poor thought is
+dissolved in the immutable repose of the limitless void_."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Unluckily this repose in the void is the worst torture for a man of
+the white race. He would rather endure any torment that life may
+bring. "Do not tear them from me," he cries, "you kill me when you
+destroy the cruel falsehoods by which I live."
+
+Clerambault bitterly adopted the name that a nationalist paper had
+given him in derision: "The one against all." Yes, he was the common
+enemy, the destroyer of our life-giving illusions.
+
+He could not bear this; the thought of making others suffer was
+too painful to him. How then was he to get out of this tragic
+no-thoroughfare? Wherever he turned, he found the same insolvable
+dilemma; either a fatal illusion, or death without it.
+
+"I will accept neither the one nor the other."
+
+"Whether you accept it or no, you must yield--for the way is barred."
+
+"Nevertheless, I shall pass through...."
+
+
+
+
+PART FOUR
+
+
+
+
+Clerambault was passing through a new danger-zone. His solitary
+journey was like a mountain ascension, where a man finds himself
+suddenly enveloped in fog, clinging to a rock, unable to advance a
+step. He could see nothing in front of him, and, no matter to which
+side he turned, he could hear beneath him the roar of the torrent of
+suffering. Even so, he could not stand still; though he hung over the
+abyss and his hold threatened to give way.
+
+He had reached one of these dark turnings, and to make it worse, the
+news that day, as barked out by the press, made the heart ache by its
+insanity. Useless hecatombs, which the induced egotism of the world
+behind the lines thought natural; cruelties on all sides, criminal
+reprisals for crimes--for which these good people clamoured, and
+loudly applauded. The horizon that surrounded the poor human creatures
+in their burrow had never seemed so dark and pitiless.
+
+Clerambault asked himself if the law of love that he felt within
+himself had not been designed for other worlds, and different
+humanities. The mail had brought him letters full of fresh threats;
+and knowing that, in the tragic absurdity of the time, his life was
+at the mercy of the first madman who happened to turn up, he hoped
+secretly that he might not have long to wait. But being of good
+stock, he kept on his way, his head up as usual, working steadily and
+methodically at his daily task so as to gain the end, no matter what
+that might be, of the path whereon he had set his feet.
+
+He remembered that on this day he had promised to go and see his niece
+Aline, who had just been confined. She was the daughter of a sister
+who had died, and who had been very dear to him. A little older than
+Maxime, she had been brought up with him. As she grew into girlhood
+she developed a complicated character. Restless and discontented,
+always thinking of herself, she wanted to be loved and to tyrannise.
+She had also too much curiosity; dangerous experiences were an
+attraction to her, and with all this she was rather dry, but
+emotional, vindictive and high-tempered. Still, when she chose she
+could be tender and attractive. Maxime and she had played the game
+together, and carried it pretty far; so that it had been necessary to
+watch them closely. In spite of his irony, Maxime had been caught by
+the dark eyes that pierced through him with their electric thrill; and
+Aline was irritated and attracted by Maxime's mockery. They had loved
+and quarrelled furiously, and then they had both gone on to something
+else. She had shot arrows into several other hearts; and then, when
+she thought the right time had come,--there is always a time
+for everything,--she had married, in the most reasonable way, a
+successful, prosperous man of business, head of a firm which sold
+artistic and ecclesiastical furniture in the Rue Bonaparte. She was
+about to have a child when her husband was ordered to the front. There
+could be no doubt of her ardent patriotism; for self-love includes
+one's country. Clerambault would never have expected to find any
+sympathy in her for his theories of fraternal pity. She had little
+enough for her friends, but none at all for her enemies. She would
+have ground them in a mortar with the same cold satisfaction that she
+felt when she tormented hearts or teased insects because something or
+somebody had vexed her.
+
+As the fruit within her ripened, her attention was concentrated upon
+it; all the strength of her heart seemed to flow inward. The war
+receded; the cannon of Noyon sounded no longer in her ears. When she
+spoke of the war,--which she did less and less every day,--you would
+have thought that she was talking of some distant colonial expedition.
+Of course she remembered the dangers that threatened her husband, and
+pitied him naturally:--"Poor dear boy!" with a little smile as much as
+to say, "He has not much luck. Not very clever, you know." ... But she
+did not dwell on the subject, and, thank Heaven! it left no traces on
+her mind. She had paid her score, she thought, and her conscience was
+at rest; now she was in haste to go back to the world's most serious
+task. One really would have supposed that the whole world hung on the
+egg that she was about to lay.
+
+Clerambault had been so absorbed by his struggles that he had not seen
+Aline for months, and had therefore been unable to follow the change
+in her mood. Rosine might have spoken of it before him, but he had
+paid no attention. Within the last twenty-four hours he had heard in
+quick succession of the birth of the baby and of the fact that Aline's
+husband was missing, like Maxime, and he immediately pictured to
+himself the suffering of the young mother. He thought of her as he
+had always known her--vibrating between pleasure and pain, but always
+feeling the latter more keenly, giving herself up to it, and even when
+she was happy, finding reasons for distress. She was violent too,
+bitter, agitated, fighting against fate, and apt to be vexed with
+everyone around her. He was not sure that she was not angry with him
+personally, on account of his ideas about reconciliation now that
+she must be breathing out vengeance. He knew that his attitude was
+a scandal in the family, and that no one would be less disposed to
+tolerate it than Aline. But no matter how she received him, he felt
+that he must go to her and help her in any way that his affection
+could suggest. Expecting a storm, but resigned to it, he climbed up
+the stairs and rang the bell at his niece's door.
+
+He found her lying in bed with the infant, which she had had placed
+by her side. She looked calm and young, with a sweet expression of
+beaming happiness on her face. She was like the blooming older sister
+of the tiny baby, at whom she looked with adoring laughter, as he lay
+there waving his little spidery legs, his mouth open, hardly alive as
+yet, still dreaming of the dark warm place from which he had come. She
+greeted Clerambault with a cry of triumph:
+
+"Oh, Uncle dear, how sweet of you to come! Do look at him! Did you
+ever see such a darling?"
+
+She was so proud of her wonderful masterpiece that she was positively
+grateful to anyone who would look at him. Clerambault had never seen
+her so pretty and so sweet. He hardly saw the child, though he went
+through all the antics that politeness required, making inarticulate
+admiring noises which the mother expected and snapped up like a bird.
+He saw only her happy face, her lovely smiling eyes, and heard her
+charming childish laughter. How good it is to see anyone so happy! All
+the things that he had come prepared to say to her went clean out of
+his head--all useless and out of place. The only thing necessary was
+to gaze on the infant wonder, and share the delight of the hen over
+her chick, joining in her delicious cluck of innocent vanity.
+
+The shadow of the war, however, did pass before his eyes for a moment,
+the thought of the brutal, useless carnage, the dead son, the missing
+husband; and as he bent over the child he could not help thinking with
+a sad smile:
+
+"Why bring children into the world, if it is to butcher them like
+this? I wonder what will happen to this poor little chap twenty years
+hence?"
+
+Thoughts like these did not trouble the mother. They could not dim her
+sunshine. All cares seemed far away. She could see nothing but the
+"joy that a man was born into the world."
+
+This man-child is to each mother in turn the incarnation of all the
+hope of humanity. The sadness and folly of the present day, what do
+they matter? It is _he_ perhaps who will put an end to them. He is for
+every mother the miracle, the promised Messiah!...
+
+Just as he was going, Clerambault ventured a word of sympathy as to
+her husband. She sighed deeply:
+
+"Poor Armand! I'm sure that he was taken prisoner."
+
+"Have you had any news?" asked Clerambault.
+
+"No, no, but it is more than probable.... I am almost certain. If not,
+you know, I should have heard...."
+
+She seemed to brush away the disagreeable thought, as if it were a
+fly. (Go away! How did it get in here?)
+
+Then she added, the smile coming back into her eyes:
+
+"It will be much better for him, he can rest. I am easier about him
+there, than when he was in the trenches...." And then, her mind
+springing back to her world's wonder:
+
+"Won't he be glad when he sees the treasure the good God has sent
+me?"...
+
+It was when Clerambault stood up to go that she condescended to
+remember that there were sorrows still in the world. She thought of
+Maxime's death, and did drop a word of pretty sympathy. But how clear
+it was that at bottom she was completely indifferent! Absolutely so
+... though full of good-will, which was something with her. More
+surprising still, softened by her new happiness, she had a glimpse
+of the tired face and sad heart of the old man. She had a vague
+recollection that he had done something foolish, and had trouble in
+consequence. And instead of scolding him as he deserved, she forgave
+him tacitly, with a magnanimous smile, like a little princess. "Dear
+Uncle," she said, with an affectionate if slightly patronising tone:
+"you must not worry yourself, it will all come out right.... Give me a
+kiss!"
+
+As Clerambault went away he was amused by the consolation he had
+received from her whom he had gone to console. He realised how slight
+our suffering must appear in the eyes of indifferent Nature. All her
+concern is for the bloom of the coming spring. Let the dead leaves
+fall now to the ground, the tree will grow all the better and put
+forth fresh foliage in due season.... Lovely, beloved Spring!
+
+
+
+
+Those who can never bloom again find you very cruel, gentle Spring!
+Those who have lost all that they loved, their hopes, their strength,
+their youth--everything that made life worth living to them....
+
+The world was full of mutilated bodies and souls; some bitterly
+lamenting their lost happiness, and some, yet more miserable,
+sorrowing for what had been denied them, the cup dashed from their
+lips, in the full bloom of love, and of their twenty years.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Clerambault came home one evening at the end of January, wet and
+chilled through with the fog, after standing at a wood-yard. He had
+stood for hours in line waiting his turn in the crowd, and after all
+they had been told that there would be no distribution that day. As he
+came near the house where he lived he heard his name, and a young man
+who was talking to the janitor turned and held out a letter, looking
+rather embarrassed as Clerambault came forward. The right sleeve of
+his coat was pinned up to the shoulder, and there was a patch over his
+right eye; he was pale, and evidently had been laid up for months.
+Clerambault spoke pleasantly to him and tried to take the letter, but
+the man drew it back quickly, saying that it was of no consequence
+now. Clerambault then asked if he would not come up and talk to him
+a little while, but the other hesitated, and the poet might have
+perceived that he was trying to get away, but not being very quick at
+seeing into other people's minds, he said good-naturedly: "My flat is
+rather high up...."
+
+This seemed to touch the visitor on a tender point, and he answered:
+"I can get up well enough," and turned towards the staircase.
+Clerambault now understood that besides his other wounds, the heart
+within him had been wounded to the quick.
+
+They sat down in the fireless study, and like the room, it was some
+time before the conversation thawed out. All that Clerambault could
+get out of the man were short stiff answers, not very clear, and given
+in rather an irritated tone. He learned that his name was Julian
+Moreau, that he had been a student at the Faculty of Letters, and
+had just passed three months at Val-de-Grace. He was living alone in
+Paris, in a room over in the Latin Quarter, though he had a widowed
+mother and some other relations in Orleans; he did not explain at
+first why he was not with them.
+
+All at once after a short silence he decided to speak, and in a
+low voice, hoarse at first, but softening as he went on, he told
+Clerambault that his articles had been brought into his trench by a
+man just back from leave, and handed about from one to the other; to
+him they had been a real blessing. They answered to the cry of his
+inmost soul: "Thou shalt not lie." The papers and reviews made him
+furious; they had the impudence to show the soldier a false picture of
+the armies, trumped-up letters from the front, a cheap comedy style of
+courage, and inappropriate joking; all the abject boasting of actors
+safe at home, speechifying over the death of others. It was an insult
+to be slobbered over with the disgusting kisses of these prostitutes
+of the press. As if their sufferings were a mockery!
+
+Clerambault's writings found an echo in their hearts; not that he
+understood them, no one could understand who had not shared their
+hardships. But he pitied them, and spoke humanely of the unfortunates
+in all camps. He dared to speak of the injustices, common to all
+nations, which had led to the general suffering. He could not take
+away their trouble, but he did raise it into an atmosphere where it
+could be borne.
+
+"If you only knew how we crave a word of real sympathy; it is all very
+well to be hardened, or old,--there are grey-haired, bent men among
+us--but after what we have seen, suffered, and done to others, there
+are times when we are like lost children, looking for their mother to
+console them. Even our mothers seem far away. At times we get strange
+letters from home, as if we were deserted by our own flesh and blood."
+
+Clerambault hid his face in his hands with a groan.
+
+"What is the matter?" said Moreau, "are you ill?"
+
+"You remind me of all the harm that I did."
+
+"You? No, it was other people that did the harm."
+
+"Yes, I, as much as the others. You must try to forgive us all."
+
+"You are the last who ought to say so."
+
+"If the truth were known, I should be among the first. For I am one of
+the few who see clearly how wicked I was." He began to inveigh against
+his generation, but broke off with a discouraged gesture:
+
+"None of that does any good.... Tell me about yourself."
+
+His voice was so humble that Moreau was really touched to see the
+older man blame himself so severely. All his distrust melted away, and
+he threw wide the door of his bitter, wounded spirit, confessing that
+he had come several times as far as the house, but could not make up
+his mind to leave his letter. He never did consent to show it. Since
+he came out of the hospital he had not been able to talk to anyone;
+these people back here sickened him with their little preoccupations,
+their business, their pleasures, the restrictions to their pleasures,
+their selfishness, their ignorance and lack of comprehension. He felt
+like a stranger among them, more than if he were with African
+savages. Besides,--he stopped, the angry words seemed to stick in his
+throat--it was not only these people--he felt a stranger to all the
+world, cut off from normal life, from the pleasures and work of other
+men by his infirmities. He was a mere wreck, blind and maimed. The
+poor fellow was absurdly ashamed of it; he blushed at the pitying
+glances that people threw at him in passing--like a penny that you
+give, turning away your head at the same time from the unpleasant
+sight. For in his sensitiveness he exaggerated his ugliness and was
+disgusted by his deformity. He dwelt on his lost joys and ruined
+youth; when he saw couples in the street, he could not help feeling
+jealous; the tears would come into his eyes.
+
+Even this was not all, and when he had poured out the bitterness
+of his heart--and Clerambault's compassion encouraged him to speak
+further--he got down to the worst of the trouble, which he and his
+comrades felt like a cancer that one does not dare to look at. Through
+his obscure, violent, and miserable talk, Clerambault at last made out
+what it was that tore the hearts of these young men. It is easy enough
+for dried-up egotists, withered intellectuals, to sneer at this love
+of life in the young, and their despair at the loss of it; but it
+was not alone their ruined, blasted youth that pressed on these poor
+soldiers,--though that was terrible enough--the worst was not to know
+the reason for this sacrifice, and the poisonous suspicion that it was
+all in vain. The pain of these victims could not be soothed by the
+gross appeal of a foolish racial supremacy, nor by a fragment of
+ground fought for between States. They knew now how much earth a man
+needs to die on, and that the blood of all races is part of the same
+stream of life.
+
+Clerambault felt that he was a sort of elder brother to these young
+men; the sense of this and his duty towards them gave him a strength
+that he would not otherwise have had, and he charged their messenger
+with words of hope and consolation.
+
+"Your sufferings are not thrown away," he said. "It is true that they
+are the fruit of a cruel error, but the errors themselves are not
+all lost. The scourge of today is the explosion of evils which
+have ravaged Europe for ages; pride and cupidity. It is made up of
+conscienceless States, the disease of capitalism, and is become the
+monstrous machine called Civilisation, full of intolerance, hypocrisy,
+and violence. Everything is breaking up; all must be done over again;
+it is a tremendous task, but do not speak of discouragement, for yours
+is the greatest work that has ever been offered to a generation. The
+fire of the trenches and the asphyxiating gases that blind you come as
+much from agitators in the rear as from the enemy; you must strive to
+see clearly, to see where the real fight lies. It is not against a
+people but against an unhealthy society founded on exploitation and
+rivalry between nations, on the subordination of the free conscience
+to the Machine-State. The peoples, resigned or sceptical, would not
+have seen this with the tragical clearness in which it now appears,
+without the painful disturbance of the war. I do not bless this pain;
+leave that to the bigots of our old religions! We do not love sorrow
+and we all want happiness, but if sorrow must come, at least let it be
+of some use! Do not let your sufferings add to those of others. You
+must not give way. You are taught in the army that when the order to
+advance is once given in a battle it is more dangerous to fall back
+than to go on; so do not look back; leave your ruins behind you, and
+march on towards the new world."
+
+As he spoke the eyes of his young auditor seemed to say: "Tell me
+more, more yet, more even than hopes, give me certainties, tell of the
+victory which will come soon."
+
+Men need to be tempted and decoyed, even the best of them. In exchange
+for any sacrifice they make for an ideal, you have to promise them, if
+not immediate realisation, at least an eternal compensation, as all
+the religions do. Jesus was followed because they thought that He
+would give them victory here or hereafter.--But he who would speak the
+truth cannot promise or assure men of victory; the risks are not to
+be ignored; perhaps it will never come, in any case it will be a long
+time. To disciples, such a thought is crushingly pessimistic; not so
+for the master, who has the serenity of a man who, having reached the
+mountain top, can see over all the surrounding country, while they
+can only see the steep hill-side which they must climb. How is he to
+communicate his calm to them? If they cannot look through the eyes of
+the master, they can always see his eyes from which are reflected the
+vision denied to them; there they can read the assurance that he who
+knows the truth (as they believe) is delivered from all their trials.
+
+The eyes of Julian Moreau sought in Clerambault's eyes for this
+security of soul, this inward harmony; and poor anxious Clerambault
+had it not. But was he sure that it was not there?... Looking at
+Julian humbly, he saw,... he saw that Julian had found it in him.
+And as a man climbing up through a fog suddenly finds himself in the
+light, he saw that the light was in him, and that it had come to him
+because he needed it to shine upon another.
+
+After the wounded man had gone away, somewhat comforted, Clerambault
+felt slightly dazed, and sat drinking in the strange happiness that
+the heart feels when, however unfortunate itself, it has been able to
+help another now or in the future. How profound is the instinct for
+happiness, the plenitude of being! All aspire to it, but it is not the
+same for all. There are some that wish only to possess; to others,
+sight is possession, and to others yet, faith is sight. We are links
+of a chain and this instinct unites us; from those who only seek their
+own good, or that of their family, or their country, up to the being
+which embraces millions of beings and desires the good of all. There
+are those who, having no joy of their own, can almost unconsciously
+bestow it on others, as Clerambault had done; for they can see the
+light on his face while his own eyes are in shadow.
+
+The look of his young friend had revealed an unknown treasure to poor
+Clerambault, and the knowledge of the divine message with which he was
+entrusted re-established his lost union with other men. He had
+only contended with them because he was their hardy pioneer, their
+Christopher Columbus forcing his way across the desert ocean, that he
+might open the road to the New World. They deride, but follow him; for
+every true idea, whether understood or not, is a ship under weigh, and
+the souls of the past are drawn after in its wake.
+
+From this day onward he averted his eyes from the irreparable present
+of the war and its dead, and looked towards the living, and the future
+which is in our hands. We are hypnotised, obsessed by the thought of
+those that we have lost, and the morbid temptation to bury our hearts
+in their graves, but we must tear ourselves away from the baleful
+vapours that rise, as in Rome, from The Way of the Tombs. March on!
+This is no time to halt. We have not yet earned the right to rest with
+them, for there are others who need us. There, like the wrecks of the
+Grand Army, you can see in the distance those who drag themselves
+along, searching on the dreary plain for the half-effaced path.
+
+The thought of the sombre pessimism which threatened to overwhelm
+these young men after the war was a grave anxiety to Clerambault.
+The moral danger was a serious one, of which the Governments took no
+notice at all. They were like bad coachmen who flog their horses up a
+steep hill at a gallop; it is true that the horse reaches the top, but
+as the road goes on he stumbles and falls, foundered for life. With
+what a gallant spirit our young men rushed to the assault in the
+beginning of the war! And then their ardour gradually diminished.
+But the horse was still in harness, and the shafts held him up. A
+factitious excitement was kept up all around him, his daily ration was
+seasoned with glittering hopes; and though the strength went out of
+it little by little, the poor creature could not fall down, could not
+even complain, he had not the strength to think. The countersign all
+about these victims was to hear nothing, to stop the ears and to lie.
+
+Day after day the battle-tide ebbed, and left wrecks on the sand, men
+wounded and maimed; and through them the depths of this human ocean
+were brought to the light. These poor wretches, ruthlessly torn
+from life, moved helplessly in the void, too feeble to cling to the
+passions of yesterday or dreams of tomorrow. Some asked themselves
+blindly, and others with a cruelly clear insight, why they had been
+born, what life meant....
+
+"_Since he who is destroyed, suffers, and he who destroys has
+no pleasure, and is shortly destroyed himself, tell me what no
+philosopher can explain; whom does it please, and to whose profit is
+this unfortunate life of the universe, which is only preserved by the
+injury or death of all the creatures which compose it_?"[1] ...
+
+[Footnote 1: Leopardi.]
+
+It is necessary to answer these men, to give them a reason for living,
+but there is no such need for a man of Clerambault's age; his life
+is over, and all he requires is to free his conscience as a sort of
+public bequest.
+
+To young people who have all their life before them, it is not enough
+to contemplate truth across a heap of corpses; whatever the past may
+have been, the future alone counts for them. Let us clear away the
+ruins!
+
+What causes them the most pain? Their own suffering?
+
+No, it is their lack of faith in the altar on which this suffering was
+laid--(does a man regret if he sacrifices himself for the woman he
+loves, or for his child?)--This doubt poisons them, takes away the
+courage to pursue their way, because they fear to find only despair
+at the end. This is why people say to you: "Never shake the ideal of
+Country, it ought rather to be built up." What a derision! As if it
+were possible to restore a lost faith by force of will! We deceive
+ourselves; we know it in the bottom of our hearts, and this
+consciousness kills courage and joy.
+
+Let us be brave enough to reject that in which we no longer believe.
+The trees drop their leaves in the autumn in order that they may put
+forth new leaves in the spring. Out of your past illusions, make fires
+as the peasants do with the fallen leaves; the fresh grass, the new
+faith, will grow all the more thickly, for it is there waiting. Nature
+does not die, it changes shape continually; like her, let us cast off
+the garment of the past.
+
+Look carefully, and reckon up these hard years. You have fought and
+suffered for your country, and what have you gained by it? You have
+discovered the brotherhood of the men who fight and suffer. Is the
+price too high? No, if you will listen to your heart, if you will
+dare to open it to the new faith which has come to you when you least
+expected it.
+
+The thing that disappoints and drives us to despair is that we cling
+to what we had at the beginning; and when we no longer trust that, we
+feel that all is lost. A great nation has never reached the object
+sought; and so much the better, for almost always what is reached is
+superior to what was sought, though different. It is not wise to start
+out with our wisdom ready made, but to gather it sincerely as we go
+along.
+
+You are not the same men that you were in 1914. If you dare admit it,
+then dare to act it also! That will be the chief gain--perhaps the
+only one--of the war. But do you really care? So many things conspire
+to intimidate you; the weariness of these years, old habits, dread of
+the effort needed to examine yourself, to throw away what is dead, and
+stand for what is living. We have, we do not know what respect for the
+old, a lazy preference for what we are accustomed to, even if it is
+bad, fatal. Then there is the indolent need for what is easy which
+makes us take a trodden path rather than hew out a new one for
+ourselves. Is it not the ideal of most Frenchmen to accept their plan
+of life ready-made in childhood and never change it? If only this war,
+which has destroyed so many of your hearths, could force you to come
+out from your ashes, to found other healths, to seek other truths!
+
+
+
+
+The wish to break with the past, and adventure themselves in unknown
+regions was not lacking to these young men. They would rather have
+preferred to go ahead without stopping, and they had scarcely left
+the Old World when they expected to take possession of the New.--No
+hesitation, no middle course; they wanted absolute solutions, either
+the docile servitude of the past, or revolution.
+
+These were Moreau's views; he looked upon Clerambault's hope of
+social revolution as a certainty, and in the exhortation to win truth
+patiently step by step he heard an appeal to violent action which
+would conquer it at once.
+
+He introduced Clerambault to two or three groups of young
+intellectuals with revolutionary tendencies. They were not very
+numerous, for here and there you would see the same faces, but they
+gained an importance which they would not otherwise have had, from
+the watch which was kept on them by the authorities. Silly people in
+power, armed to the teeth with millions of bayonets, police and courts
+of justice at their command, yet uneasy and afraid to let a dozen
+freethinkers meet to discuss them!
+
+These circles had not the air of conspiracies, and though they rather
+invited persecution, their activities were confined to words. What
+else was there for them to do but talk? They were separated from the
+mass of their fellow thinkers, who had been drawn into the army or
+the war-machine, which would only give them up when they were past
+service. What of the youth of Europe remained behind the lines?
+There were the slackers, who often descended to the lowest depths of
+meanness to make others fight, so that it should be forgotten
+that they did not fight themselves. Setting these aside, the
+representatives--_rari nantes_--of the younger generation in civil
+life were those discharged from the army for physical incapacity, and
+a few broken-down wrecks of the war, like Moreau. In these mutilated
+or diseased bodies the spirit was like a candle lighted behind broken
+windows. Twisted and smoky, it seemed as if a breath would extinguish
+it. But it was all the more ardent for knowing what to expect from
+life.
+
+Sudden changes from extreme pessimism to an equally extreme optimism
+would occur, and these violent oscillations of the barometer did not
+always correspond with the course of events. Pessimism was easily
+explained, but its contrary was more remarkable, and it would have
+been difficult to account for it. They were just a handful of people
+without means of action, and every day seemed to give the lie to their
+ideas, but they appeared more contented as things grew worse. Their
+hope was in the worst, that mad belief proper to fanatical and
+oppressed minorities; Anti-Christ was to bring back Christ; the new
+order would rise when the crimes of the old had brought it to ruin;
+and it did not disturb them that they and their dreams might be swept
+away also. These young irreconcilables wished above all to prevent the
+partial realisation of their dreams in the old order of things. All
+or nothing! How foolish to try to make the world better; let it be
+perfect, or go to pieces. It was a mysticism of the Great Overturning,
+of the Revolution, and it affected the minds of those least religious;
+they even went farther than the churches. Foolish race of man! Always
+this faith in the absolute, which leads ever to the same intoxication,
+but the same disasters. Always mad for the war between nations, for
+the war of classes, for universal peace. It seems as if when humanity
+stuck its nose out of the boiling mud of the Creation, it had a
+sun-stroke from which it has never recovered, and which, at intervals,
+subjects it to a recurrence of delirium.
+
+Perhaps these mystical revolutionaries are forerunners of mutations
+that are brooding in the race--which may brood for centuries
+and perhaps never burst forth. For there are millions of latent
+possibilities in nature, for one realised in the time allotted to our
+humanity. And it is perhaps this obscure sentiment of what might be,
+but will not come to pass, which sometimes gives to this sort of
+mysticism another form, rarer, more tragical--an exalted pessimism,
+the dangerous attraction of sacrifice. How many of these
+revolutionists have we seen secretly convinced of the overwhelming
+force of evil, and the certain defeat of their cause, and yet
+transported with love for a lost cause "... _sed victa Catoni_"
+... and filled with the hope of dying for her, destroying or being
+destroyed. The crushed Commune gave rise to many aspirations, not for
+its victory, but for a similar annihilation!--In the hearts of the
+most materialistic there burns forever a spark of that eternal fire,
+that hope so often buffeted and denied, but still maintained, of an
+imperishable refuge for all the oppressed in some better Hereafter.
+
+These young people welcomed Clerambault with great affection and
+esteem, hoping to make him one of themselves. Some of them read in
+his ideas a reflection of their own, while others saw in him just
+a sincere old _bourgeois_ whose heart had been hitherto his only
+guide--a rather insufficient, though generous one. They hoped that he
+would let himself be taught by their science, and like them, would
+follow to their extreme limits the logical consequences of the
+principles laid down. Clerambault resisted feebly, for he knew that
+nothing can be done to convince a young man who has made himself part
+of a system. Discussion is hopeless at that age. Earlier there is some
+chance to act on him, when, as it were, the hermit-crab is looking for
+his shell; and later something may be done when the shell begins to
+wear and be uncomfortable; but when the coat is new, the only thing is
+to let him wear it while it fits him. If he grows, or shrinks, he will
+get another. We will force no one, but let no one try to put force on
+us!
+
+No one in this circle, at least in the early days, thought of
+constraining Clerambault, but sometimes it seemed to him that his
+ideas were strangely habited in the fashion of his hosts. What
+unexpected echoes he heard on their lips! He let his friends talk,
+while he himself said but little, but when he had left them, he would
+feel troubled and rather ironical. "Are those my thoughts?" he would
+say to himself. It is terribly difficult for one soul to communicate
+with another, impossible perhaps, and who knows?... Nature is wiser
+than we ... it may be that this is for our good.
+
+Is it right, is it even possible for us to utter all our thoughts? We
+reach a conclusion slowly, painfully, through a series of trials;
+it is the formula of the delicate equilibrium between the inward
+elements. Change the elements, their proportions, their nature, the
+formula is no longer accurate and will produce different results, and
+if you suddenly communicate your whole thought to another, you run the
+risk of alarming, not helping him. There are cases in which, if he had
+understood, it might have killed him. Nature, however, is prudent and
+takes precautions. Your friend does not comprehend you, because he
+cannot, his instinct will not let him; all that he gets from your
+thought is the shock when it touches his; the ball glances off, but it
+is not so easy to tell in what direction.
+
+Men do not listen with their brains alone, but with their dispositions
+and their passions, and out of what you offer them, each chooses his
+own and rejects the rest, through a deep instinct of self-defence. Our
+minds do not throw open the door to every new idea, but rather keep a
+wary eye on new-comers through a peep-hole. The lofty thoughts of the
+sages, of Jesus, of Socrates; how were they received? In those days
+men who spoke such things were killed; twenty years later they were
+treated as gods--another way of killing them, in fact, by placing
+their thoughts at a distance, in the kingdom of heaven. The world
+would indeed come to an end if such ideas were to be put in practice
+here and now; and their authors knew this well. Perhaps they showed
+the greatness of their souls more by what they did not say than by
+what they did; how eloquent were the pathetic silences of Jesus! The
+golden veil of the ancient symbols and myths, made to shield our weak
+timid sight! Too often, what is for one the breath of life, is for
+another death, or worse, murder!
+
+What are we to do, if our hands are full of verities? Shall we spread
+them broadcast?--Suppose the seed of thought may spring up in weeds or
+poisonous plants ...?
+
+Poor thinker, there is no need to tremble, you are not the master of
+Fate, but you form part of it, you are one of its voices. Speak, then;
+that is the law of your being. Speak out your whole thought, but with
+kindness; be like a good mother. It may not be given to her to make
+men of her children, but she can patiently teach them how to make men
+of themselves if they will.
+
+You cannot set others free, in spite of them, and from the outside;
+and even if it were possible, what good would it do? If they do not
+free themselves, tomorrow they will fall back into slavery. All you
+can do is to set a good example, and say: "There is the road, follow
+it and you will find Freedom." ...
+
+
+
+
+In spite of his resolution to do the best he could and leave the rest
+to the gods, it was fortunate for Clerambault that he could not see
+all the consequences of his ideas. His thought aspired to the reign
+of Peace; and very probably it would contribute in some degree to
+the stirring up of social struggles, like all true pacifism, however
+paradoxical this may seem. For true pacifism is a condemnation of the
+present.
+
+Clerambault had no suspicion of the terrible forces that would one
+day make use of his name. With a wholly opposite effect, his spirit
+produced a harmony among his young associates by reacting against
+their violence. He felt the value of life all the more, because they
+held it in such light esteem; and in this respect they were not
+different from the Nationalists whom he opposed. Very few prefer
+life to their ideals--which is, we are told, one of Man's noblest
+qualities.
+
+In spite of all this, it was a pleasure to Clerambault when he met a
+man who loved life for its own sake. This was a comrade of Moreau's,
+who had also been severely wounded. His name was Gillot, and in civil
+life he had been an industrial designer. A shell had plastered him
+from head to foot; he had lost a leg and his ear-drum was broken, but
+he had re-acted more energetically against his fate than Moreau. He
+was small and dark, with bright eyes full of gaiety, in spite of all
+that he had gone through. Though he agreed with Moreau in general as
+to the war and the crimes of the social order, he viewed the same
+events and the same men with different eyes; from which arose many
+discussions between the two young men.
+
+One day Moreau had just been telling Clerambault of some gloomy
+experience of the trenches: "Yes," said Gillot, "it did happen like
+that and the worst of it was, that it had no effect on us, not the
+least little bit." And when Moreau protested indignantly: "Well,
+perhaps you, and one or two more may have minded a little,--but
+most of them did not even notice it." He kept on to stop further
+remonstrances from his friend: "I am not trying to make out that you
+were better than the rest, old man, there is no need for that; I only
+say it because it is so. Look here," he added, turning to Clerambault,
+"those who have come back and written about all this, they tell us,
+of course, what they felt. But they felt more than ordinary mortals
+because they were artists, and naturally everything got on their
+nerves, while the rest of us were tougher. Now that I think of it,
+that makes it more terrible; when you read these stories that sicken
+you, and make the hair stand up on your head, you don't get the full
+effect. Think of fellows looking on, smoking, chaffing, busy with
+something else. You have to, you know, or you would go all to pieces....
+All the same, it is astonishing what human creatures can get used
+to! I believe they could make themselves comfortable at the bottom of
+a sewer. It really disgusts a man, for I was just the same myself. You
+mustn't suppose that I was like this chap here, always staring at
+a death's head. Like everybody else, I thought the whole thing was
+idiotic; but life is like that, as far as I can see! ... We did what
+we had to do, and let it go at that;--the end? Well, one is as good as
+another, whether you lose your own skin or the war comes to an end, it
+finishes it up all the same; and in the meantime you are alive, you
+eat, you sleep, your bowels--excuse me, one must tell things as they
+are!... Do you want to know what is at the bottom of it all, Sir? The
+real truth is that we do not care for life, or not enough. In one of
+your articles you say very truly that life is the great thing;--only
+you wouldn't think so to see most people at this minute! Not much life
+about them; they all seem drowsy, waiting for the last sleep; it looks
+as if they said to themselves: 'We are flat on our backs now, no need
+to stir an inch.' No, we don't make enough out of life. And then
+people are always trying to spoil it for you. From the time you are
+a child they keep on telling you about the beauty of death, or about
+dead folks. In the catechism, in the history books, they are
+always shouting: '_Mourir pour la Patrie!_' It is either popery or
+patriotism, whichever you please; and then this life of the present
+day is a perfect nuisance; it looks as if it was made expressly to
+take the backbone out of a man. There is no more initiative. We are
+all nothing but machines, but with no real system; we only do pieces
+of work, never knowing where our work will fit in; most often it
+doesn't fit at all. It is all a mess, with no good in it for anyone;
+we are thrown in on top of one another like herrings in a barrel, no
+one knows why;--but then we don't know either why we live at all; it
+is not life, we are just there.
+
+"They tell us about some time in the dark ages when our grandfathers
+took the Bastille. Well, you would think to hear the fakers talk who
+run things now that there was nothing left to do, that we were all in
+heaven; you can see it carved on the monuments. We know that it is not
+so; there is another pot boiling, another revolution on the way; but
+the old one did not do such great things for us after all! It's hard
+to see plain, hard to trust anybody; there is no one to show us the
+way, to point to something grand and fine above all these swamps full
+of toads.... People are always doing something to confuse the issue,
+nowadays; talking about Right, Justice, Liberty. But that trick is
+played out. Good enough to die for, but you can't live for things like
+that."
+
+"How about the present?" asked Clerambault.
+
+"Now? There is no going, back, but I often think that if I had to
+begin over again--"
+
+"When did you change your mind about all these things?"
+
+"That was the funniest thing of all. It was as soon as I was wounded.
+It was like getting out of bed in the morning. I had hardly slipped a
+leg out of life than I wanted to draw it in again. I had been so well
+off, and never thought of it, ass that I was! I can still see myself,
+as I came to. The ground was all torn up around me, worse even than
+the bodies themselves lying in heaps, mixed pell-mell like a lot of
+jack-straws; the ground simply reeked, as if it was itself bleeding.
+It was pitch dark, and at first I did not feel anything but the cold,
+except that I knew I was hit, all right.... I didn't know exactly what
+piece of me was missing, but I was not in a hurry to find out; I was
+afraid to know, afraid to stir, there was only one thing I was sure
+of, that I was alive. If I had only a minute left, I meant to hold
+on to it.... There was a rocket in the sky; I never thought what it
+meant, I didn't care, but the curve it made, and the light, like a
+bright flower.... I can't tell you how lovely it seemed. I simply
+drank it in.... I remembered when I was a child, one night near La
+Samaritaine. There were fireworks on the river. That child seemed to
+be someone else, who made me laugh, and yet I was sorry for him; and
+then I thought that it was a good thing to be alive, and grow up, and
+have something, somebody, no matter who to love ... even that rocket;
+and then the pain came on, and I began to howl, and didn't know any
+more till I found myself in the ambulance. There wasn't much fun in
+living then; it felt as if a dog was gnawing my bones ... might as
+well have stayed at the bottom of the hole ... but even then how fine
+it seemed to live the way I used to, just live on every day without
+pain ... think of that! and we never notice it,--without any pain at
+all ... none!... it seemed like a dream, and when it did let up for a
+second, just to taste the air on your tongue, and feel light all over
+your body--God Almighty! to think that it was like that all the time
+before, and I thought nothing of it.... What fools we are to wait till
+we lose a thing before we understand it! And when we do want it, and
+ask pardon because we did not appreciate it before, all we hear is:
+'Too late!'"
+
+"It is never too late," said Clerambault.
+
+Gillot was only too ready to believe this; as an educated workman he
+was better armed for the fray than Moreau or Clerambault himself.
+Nothing depressed him for long; "fall down, pick yourself up again,
+and try once more," he would say, and he always believed he could
+surmount any obstacle that barred his way. He was ready to march
+against them on his one leg, the quicker the better. Like the others,
+he was devoted to the idea of revolution and found means to reconcile
+it with his optimism; everything was to pass off quietly according to
+him, for he was a man without rancour.
+
+It would not have been safe, however, to trust him too much in this
+respect; there are many surprises in these plebeian characters, for
+they are very easily moved and apt to change. Clerambault heard him
+one day talking with a friend named Lagneau on leave from the front;
+they said the poilus meant to knock everything to pieces when the war
+was over, maybe before. A man of the lower classes in France is often
+charming, quick to seize on your idea before you have had a chance to
+explain it thoroughly; but good Lord! how soon he forgets. He forgets
+what was said, what he answered, what he saw, what he believed, what
+he wanted; but he is always sure of what he says, and sees, and thinks
+now. When Gillot was talking to Lagneau, his arguments were exactly
+contrary to those he had advanced on the previous day to Clerambault.
+It was not only that his ideas had changed, but apparently his whole
+disposition. One morning there would be nothing violent enough for his
+thirst for action and destruction, and the next he would talk about
+going into a little business with lots of money, the best of food, a
+tribe of children to bring up, and to hell with the rest! Though they
+all called themselves sincere internationalists, there were few
+among these poilus who had not preserved the old French prejudice of
+superiority of race over the rest of the world, enemies or friends;
+and even in their own country over the other provinces, or if they
+were Parisians, over the rest of France. This idea was firmly embedded
+in their minds, and they boasted of it, not maliciously but by way of
+a joke. Uncomplaining, willing, always ready to go, like Gillot, they
+were certainly capable of making a revolution and then un-making it,
+starting another, and so on--tra-la-la--till all was upset and they
+were ready to be the prey of the first adventurer who happened along.
+Our political foxes know well enough that the best way to check a
+revolution is, at the right moment, to let it blow over while the
+people are amused.
+
+It looked then as if the hour was at hand. A year before the end of
+the war in both camps there were months and weeks when the infinite
+patience of the martyrised people seemed on the point of giving way;
+when a great cry was ready to go up, "Enough." For the first time
+there was the universal impression of a bloody deception. It is easy
+to understand the indignation of the people seeing billions thrown
+away on the war when before it their leaders had haggled over a few
+hundred thousand for social betterments. There were figures that
+exasperated them more than any speeches on the subject. Someone had
+calculated that it cost 75,000 francs to kill a man; that made ten
+millions of corpses, and for the same sum we could have had ten
+millions of stockholders. The stupidest could see the immense value of
+the treasure, and the horrible, the shameful, waste for an illusion.
+There were things more abject still; from one end of Europe to the
+other, there were vermin fattening on death, war-profiteers, robbers
+of corpses.
+
+"Do not talk to us any more," said these young men to themselves, "of
+the struggle of democracies against autocracies;--they are all tarred
+with the same brush. In all countries the war has pointed out the
+leaders to the vengeance of the people; that unworthy middle class,
+political, financial, intellectual, that in a single century of power
+has heaped on the world more exactions, crimes, ruins and follies,
+than kings and churches had inflicted in ten centuries."
+
+This is why when the axes of those heroic woodsmen, Lenine and
+Trotzky, were heard in the forest, many oppressed hearts thrilled with
+joy and hope, and in every country there was sharpening of hatchets.
+The leading classes rose up against the common danger, all over
+Europe, in both opposing camps. There was no negotiation needed for
+them to reach an agreement on this subject, for their instinct spoke
+loudly. The fiercest enemies of Germany, through the organs of the
+_bourgeoisie_, tacitly gave a free hand to the Kaiser to strangle
+Russian liberty which struck at the root of that social injustice on
+which they all lived. In the absurdity of their hatred, they could not
+conceal their delight when they saw Prussian Militarism--that monster
+who afterwards turned on them--avenge them on these daring rebels.
+Naturally this only increased the admiration for these excommunicated
+defiers of the world, on the part of the down-trodden masses and the
+small number of independent spirits.
+
+The pot began to boil with a vengeance, and to stop it the governments
+of Europe shut down the lid and sat on it. The stupid class in control
+kept throwing fuel on the flame, and then wondered at the alarming
+rumblings. This revolt of the elements was attributed to the wicked
+designs of some free speakers, to mysterious intrigues, to the enemy's
+gold, to the pacifists; and none of them saw--though a child would
+have known it--that, if they wanted to prevent an explosion, the first
+thing to do was to put out the fire. The god of all these powers was
+force; no matter what they were called, empires, or republics, it was
+the mailed fist, disguised, gloved but hard and sure of itself. It
+became also, like a rising tide, the law of the oppressed, a dark
+struggle between two contrary pressures. Where the metal had worn
+thin--in Russia first--the boiler had burst. Where there were cracks
+in the cover--as in neutral countries--the hissing steam escaped,
+but a deceitful calm reigned over the countries at war, kept down by
+oppression. To the oppressors this calm was reassuring; they were
+armed equally against the enemy or their own citizens. The machine of
+war is double-ended, the cover strong, made of the best steel, and
+firmly screwed down; that, at least, cannot be torn off--no, but
+suppose the whole thing blows up together!
+
+Repressed, like everyone else, Clerambault saw rebellion gathering
+around him. He understood it, thought it inevitable; but that was not
+a reason for loving it. He did not believe in the _Amor Fati_. It was
+enough to understand; the tyrant has no claim to be loved.
+
+
+
+
+Clerambault's young friends were not sparing of their ideas, and it
+surprised them to see how little warmth he showed towards the new idol
+from the North: the rule of the proletariat. They had no timorous
+scruples or half-measures, they meant to make the world happy in
+their way--perhaps not in its own. At one stroke they decreed the
+suppression of all liberties in opposition to theirs; the fallen
+middle classes were not to be allowed to meet, or to vote, or to have
+the freedom of the press.
+
+"This is all very well," said Clerambault, "but at this rate they will
+be the new proletariat, tyranny will merely change places."
+
+"Only for a time," was the answer, "the last oppression, which will
+kill tyranny."
+
+"Yes, the same old war for right and liberty; which is always going to
+be the war to end war; but in the meantime it is stronger than ever,
+and rights like liberty are trampled under foot."
+
+Of course they all protested indignantly against this comparison; in
+their eyes war and those who waged it were equally infamous.
+
+"None the less," said Clerambault gently, "many of you have fought,
+and nearly all of you have believed in it ... no, do not deny it!
+Besides, the feeling that inspired you had its noble side; a great
+wickedness was shown to you, and you threw yourselves upon it to root
+it out, in a very fine spirit. Only you seem to think that there is
+only one wickedness in the world, and, that when that has been purged
+away, we shall all return to the Golden Age. The same thing happened
+at the time of the Dreyfus Case; all the well-meaning people of
+Europe--I among them--seemed never to have heard before of the
+condemnation of an innocent man. They were terribly upset by it, and
+they turned the world inside out to wash off the impurity. Alas! this
+was done, but both washers and washed grew discouraged in the process,
+and when it was all over, lo,--the world was just as black as ever! It
+seems as if man were incapable of grasping the whole of human misery;
+he dreads to see the extent of the evil, and in order not to be
+overwhelmed by it, he fixes on some one point, where he localises all
+the trouble, and will see nothing further. All this is human nature,
+and easy enough to understand, my friends; but we should have more
+courage, and acknowledge the truth that the evil is everywhere; among
+ourselves, as well as with the enemy. You have found this out little
+by little in our own country, and seeing the tares in the wheat, you
+want to throw yourselves against your governments with the same fury
+that made you see incarnate evil in the person of the enemy. But if
+ever you recognise that the tares are in you also, then you may turn
+on yourselves in utter despair. Is not this much to be feared, after
+the revolutions we have seen, where those who came to bring justice
+found themselves, without knowing why, with soiled hands and hearts?
+You are like big children. When will you cease to insist on the
+absolute good?"
+
+They might have replied that you must will the absolute, in order to
+arrive at the real; the mind can dally with shades of meaning, which
+are impossible to action, where it must be all or nothing. Clerambault
+had the choice between them and their adversaries; there was no other.
+
+Yes, he knew it well enough; there was no other choice in the field of
+action, where all is determined in advance. Just as the unjust victory
+leads inevitably to the revenge which in its turn will be unjust, so
+capitalistic oppression will provoke the proletarian revolution, which
+will follow the bad example and oppress, when it has the power--an
+endless chain. Here is a stern Greek justice which the mind can accept
+and even honour as the rule of the universe. But the heart cannot
+submit, cannot accept it. Its mission is to break the law of universal
+warfare. Can it ever come to pass? Who can tell! But in any case it is
+clear that the hopes and wishes of the heart are outside the order
+of nature; her mission is rather above nature, and in its essence
+_religious_.
+
+Clerambault, who was filled with this spirit, did not as yet dare to
+avow it; or at least he did not venture to use the word "religious,"
+that word which the religions, that have so little of its spirit, have
+discredited in the eyes of today.
+
+
+
+
+If Clerambault himself could not see clearly into his own thought, it
+was hardly to be expected that his young friends should do so, and
+even if they had seen, they would never have understood. They could
+not bear the idea that a man who condemned the present state of things
+as bad and destructive, should hesitate at the most energetic methods
+for its suppression. They were not wrong from their point of view,
+which was that of immediate action, but the field of the mind is
+greater, its battles cover a wider space; it does not waste its
+energies in bloody skirmishes. Even admitting the methods advocated by
+his friends, Clerambault could not accept their axiom, that "the end
+justifies the means." For, on the contrary, he believed that the means
+are even more important to real progress than the end ... what end?
+Will there ever be such a thing?
+
+This idea was irritating and confusing to these young minds; it served
+to increase a dangerous hostility, which had arisen in the last five
+years among the working class, against the intellectuals. No doubt the
+latter had richly deserved it; how far away seemed the time when men
+of thought marched at the head of revolutions! Whereas now they were
+one with the forces of reaction. Even the limited number of those who
+had kept aloof, while blaming the mistakes of the ring, were, like
+Clerambault, unable to give up their individualism, which had saved
+them once, but now held them prisoners, outside the new movement of
+the masses. This conclusion once reached by the revolutionists, it was
+but one step to a declaration that the intellectuals must fall, and
+not a very long step. The pride of the working class already showed
+itself in articles and speeches, while waiting for the moment when,
+as in Russia, it could pass to action; and it demanded that the
+intellectuals should submit servilely to the proletarian leaders. It
+was even remarkable how some of the intellectuals were among the most
+eager in demanding this lowering of the position of their group. One
+would have thought that they did not wish it to be supposed that they
+belonged to it. Perhaps they had forgotten that they did.
+
+Moreau, however, had not forgotten it; he was all the more bitter in
+repudiating this class, whose shirt of Nessus still clung to his skin,
+and it made him extremely violent.
+
+He now began to display singularly aggressive sentiments towards
+Clerambault; during a discussion he would interrupt him rudely, with
+a kind of sarcastic and bitter irritation. It almost seemed as if he
+meant to wound him.
+
+Clerambault did not take offence; he rather felt great pity for
+Moreau; he knew what he suffered, and he could imagine the bitterness
+of a young life spoiled like his. Patience and resignation, the moral
+nourishment on which stomachs fifty years old subsist, were not suited
+to his youth.
+
+One evening Moreau had shown himself particularly disagreeable, and
+yet he persisted in walking home with Clerambault, as if he could not
+make up his mind to leave him. He walked along by his side, silent
+and frowning. All at once Clerambault stopped, and putting his hand
+through Moreau's arm with a friendly gesture said with a smile:
+
+"It's all wrong, isn't it, old fellow?"
+
+Moreau was somewhat taken aback, but he pulled himself together and
+asked drily what made anyone think that things were "all wrong."
+
+"I thought so because you were so cross tonight," said Clerambault
+good naturally, and in answer to a protesting murmur. "Yes, you
+certainly were trying to hurt me,--just a little ... I know of course
+that you would not really,--but when a man like you tries to inflict
+pain on others it is because he is suffering himself ... isn't that
+true?"
+
+"Yes, it is true," said Moreau, "you must forgive me, but it hurts me
+when I see that you are not in sympathy with our action."
+
+"And are you?" demanded Clerambault. Moreau did not seem to
+understand. "You yourself," repeated Clerambault, "do you believe in
+it?"
+
+"Of course I do! What a question!" said Moreau indignantly.
+
+"I doubt it," said Clerambault gently. Moreau seemed to be on the
+point of losing his temper, but in a moment he said more quietly: "You
+are mistaken." Clerambault turned to walk on. "All right," said he,
+"you know your own thoughts better than I do."
+
+For some minutes they continued in silence; then Moreau seized his old
+friend's arm, and said excitedly:
+
+"How did you know it?"--and his resistance having broken down, he
+confessed the despair hidden under his aggressive determination to
+believe and act. He was eaten up with pessimism, a natural consequence
+of his excessive idealism which had been so cruelly disappointed. The
+religious souls of former times were tranquil enough; they placed the
+kingdom of God so far away that no event could touch it; but those
+of today have established it on earth, by the work of human love and
+reason, so that when life deals a blow at their dream all life seems
+horrible to them. There were days when Moreau was tempted to cut his
+throat! Humanity seemed made of rotteness; he saw with despair the
+defeats, failures, flaws carved on the destiny of the race from the
+very beginning--the worm in the bud--and he could not endure the idea
+of this absurd and tragic fate, which man can never escape. Like
+Clerambault, he recognized the poison which is in the intelligence,
+since he had it in his veins, but unlike his elder, who had passed the
+crisis and only saw danger in the irregularity of thought and not in
+its essence, Moreau was maddened by the idea that the poison was a
+necessary part of intelligence. His diseased imagination tortured
+him by all sorts of bugbears; thought appeared to him as a sickness,
+setting an indelible mark on the human race; and he pictured to
+himself in advance all the cataclysms to which it led. Already,
+thought he, we behold reason staggering with pride before the forces
+that science has put at her disposal--demons of nature, obedient
+to the magical formulas of chemistry and distracted by this
+suddenly-acquired power, turning to self-destruction.
+
+Nevertheless Moreau was too young to remain in the grip of these
+terrors. He wanted action at any price, anything sooner than to be
+left alone with them. Why not urge him to act, instead of trying to
+hold him back?
+
+"My dear boy," said Clerambault, "it is not right to urge another man
+to a dangerous act, unless you are ready to share it. I have no use
+for agitators, even if they are sincere, who send others to the stake
+and do not set the example of martyrdom themselves. There is but one
+truly sacred type of revolutionary, the Crucified; but very few men
+are made for the aureole of the cross. The trouble is that we always
+assign duties to ourselves which are superhuman or inhuman. It is not
+good for the ordinary man to strive after the "_Uebermenschheit_," and
+it can only prove to him a source of useless suffering; but each man
+can aspire to shed light, order, peace, and kindness around him in his
+little circle; and that should be happiness enough."
+
+"Not quite enough for me," said Moreau. "Doubt would creep in; it must
+be all or nothing."
+
+"I know. Your revolution would leave no place for doubt. Your hearts
+are hard and burning; your brains like geometric patterns. Everything
+or nothing. No shading! But what would life be without it? It is
+its greatest charm and its chief merit as well; fragile beauty and
+goodness, weakness everywhere. We must offer love and help; day by
+day, and step by step. The world is not transformed by force, or by
+a miracle, in the twinkling of an eye; but second by second it
+moves forward in infinity and the humblest who feels it partakes of
+infinity. Patience, and let us not think that one wrong effaced will
+save humanity; it will only make one day bright, but other days and
+more light will come; each will bring its sun. You would not wish to
+stay its course?"
+
+"We have not the time to wait for all this," said Moreau. "Every day
+brings us frightful problems which must be decided on the spot. If we
+are not to be the masters, then we shall be victims; ... we, do I say?
+Not ourselves alone, we are already victimised, but all that is dear
+to us, all that holds us to life, hope in the future, the salvation of
+humanity. See the things that press upon us, the agonising questions
+as to those who will come after us, and those who have children. This
+war is not yet over, and it is only too evident that its crimes and
+falsehoods have sown the seeds of new wars, near at hand. Why do we
+have children? For what do they grow up? To be butchered like this?
+Look where you will, there is no answer. Are we to leave these crazy
+countries, this old continent, and emigrate? But where? Are their
+fifty acres of ground on the globe where independent honest people can
+take refuge? We must be on one side or the other; you see well enough
+that we have to choose between patriotism and revolution. If not, what
+remains? Non-resistance? Is that what you would have? But there is
+nothing in that unless you have religious faith; otherwise it is only
+the resignation of the lamb led to the slaughter. Unfortunately, the
+greater number decide on nothing, prefer not to think, turn their eyes
+away from the future, blinded by the hope that what they have seen and
+suffered will not recur. That is why we must decide for them, whether
+they want it or not, make them quicken their step, save them in spite
+of themselves. Revolution means a few men who will for all humanity."
+
+"I do not think that I should like it," said Clerambault, "if another
+decided for me. And on the other hand, I should not want to usurp
+another man's will; I should prefer to leave each one free, and not
+interfere with the liberty of others. But I know that I am asking too
+much."
+
+"Only what is impossible," said Moreau. "When you begin to will, you
+cannot stop halfway. There are just two sorts of men, those who have
+too great will-power--like Lenine, and a couple of dozen men in the
+whole course of history--and those who have too little, who can decide
+nothing, like us, me, if you like. It is clear enough, despair is all
+that drives me to will anything...."
+
+"Why despair?" said Clerambault. "A man's fate is made every day by
+himself, and none knows what it will be; it is what we are. If you are
+cast down, so also is your fate."
+
+"We shall never have strength enough," answered Moreau sadly. "Don't
+you believe that I see what infinitely small chances of success a
+revolution would have now in our country, under present conditions?
+Think of all the destruction, the economic losses, the demoralisation,
+the fatal lassitude caused by the war." And he added: "It was not true
+what I told you the first time we met, about all my comrades feeling
+as I did, rebelling against the suffering. Gillot told you there are
+only a few of us, and the others are good fellows for the most part
+but weak as water! They can see how things are, clearly enough, but
+sooner than run their heads against a wall they would rather not think
+about it, or pass it off with a joke. We French are always ready to
+laugh, it is our treasure and our ruin. It is a fine thing, but what
+a hold it gives to our oppressors. 'Let them sing as long as they are
+willing to pay,' as the Italian said. 'Let us laugh, so long as we
+are ready to die.' ... we might say. And then this terrible force of
+habit, that Gillot was talking about. A man will get used to no matter
+what ridiculous or painful conditions, provided they last long enough,
+and that he has company. He becomes habituated to cold, to heat,
+to death, and to crime. His whole force for resistance is used in
+adapting himself; and then he curls up in his corner and does not dare
+to stir, for fear that any change will bring back the pain. We are all
+so terribly tired! When the soldiers come back, they will have only
+one thought--to sleep and forget."
+
+"How about the excitable Lagneau, who talks about blowing everything
+to pieces?"
+
+"I have known Lagneau since the beginning of the war, and he has
+been in succession, royalist, "revanchard," annexationist,
+internationalist, socialist, anarchist, bolshevist, and I-don't-give-a
+damnist. He will finish as a reactionary, and will be sent to make
+food for cannon against the enemy that our government will pick out
+among our adversaries or our friends of today. Do you suppose that the
+people are of our way of thinking? Perhaps, or they may agree with the
+others. They will take up all opinions one after the other."
+
+"You are a revolutionary then because you are discouraged?" said
+Clerambault, laughing.
+
+"There are plenty like that among us."
+
+"Gillot came out of the war more optimistic than he went in."
+
+"Gillot is the forgetful sort, but I don't envy him that," said Moreau
+bitterly.
+
+"But you ought not to upset him," said Clerambault.
+
+"Gillot needs all the help you can give him."
+
+"Help from me?" said Moreau incredulously.
+
+"He is not naturally strong, and if you would make him so, you must
+let him see that you believe in him."
+
+"Do you think belief comes by willing to have it?"
+
+"You know whether that is true! No, I think, is the answer. Belief
+comes through love."
+
+"By love of those who believe?"
+
+"Is it not always through love, and only in that way, that we learn to
+trust?"
+
+Moreau was touched; he had been a clever youth, eaten up by the
+craving for knowledge, and like the rest of his class, he had suffered
+for lack of brotherly affection. True human intercourse is banished
+from the education of today, but this vital sentiment, hitherto
+repressed, had revived in the trenches, filled with living, suffering
+flesh thrown together. At first it was hard to let oneself go; the
+general hardening, the fear of sentimentality or of ridicule, tended
+to put barriers between hearts; but when Moreau was laid up, his
+sheath of pride began to give way, and Clerambault had little
+difficulty in breaking through it. The best thing about this man was
+that false pride melted before him, for he had none of his own; people
+showed to him as he to them their real selves, their weakness and
+their troubles, which we are taught to hide from a silly idea of
+self-respect. Moreau had unconsciously learned to recognise at
+the front the superiority of men who were his social inferiors,
+brother-soldiers or "Non-Coms." Among these he had been much drawn to
+Gillot. He was glad that Clerambault should have appealed to him on
+behalf of his friend, for his secret wish always was to be of some use
+to another man.
+
+At the next opportunity Clerambault whispered to Gillot that he ought
+to be optimistic for two, and cheer Moreau up; and thus each found
+help in the need of helping the other, according to the great
+principle of life: "Give, and it shall be given unto you."
+
+No matter in what time one lives, nor what misfortunes overtake one,
+all is not lost as long as there remains in the heart of the race a
+spark of manly friendship. Blow it into a flame! Draw closer these
+cold solitary hearts! If only one of the fruits of this war of nations
+could be the fusion of the best among all classes, the union of the
+youth of many countries--of the manual labourers and the thinkers--the
+future would be re-born through their mutual aid.
+
+
+
+
+But if unity is not one wanting to dominate the other, neither is it
+that one prefers to be dominated. But this was precisely, however,
+what these young revolutionaries thought, and insisted upon, with a
+curious sort of self-will. They snubbed Clerambault, on the principle
+that intelligence should be at the service of the proletariat ...
+"Dienen, dienen ..." which was the last word even of the proud Wagner.
+More than one lofty spirit brought low has said the same; if they
+could not rule supreme, they would serve.
+
+Clerambault reflected: "The rarest thing is to find honest people
+who want to be simply my equals; but if we must choose, tyranny for
+tyranny, I prefer that which held the bodies of Aesop and Epictetus
+in slavery but left their minds free, to that which promises only
+material liberty and enslaves the soul."
+
+This intolerance made him feel that he could never attach himself
+to any party, no matter what it was. Between the two sides, war or
+revolution, he could frankly state his preference for one, revolution.
+For it alone offered some hope for the future, which the war could
+only destroy. But to prefer a party does not mean that you yield to it
+all independence of thought. It is the error and abuse of democracies
+that they wish that all should have the same duties, and impose the
+same tasks on all; but in an advancing community there are multiple
+tasks. While the main body fights to gain an immediate advantage in
+progress, there are others who should maintain eternal values far
+above the victors of tomorrow or yesterday and which are beyond
+all the rest and throw light on the way above the smoke of battle.
+Clerambault had allowed himself to be too long blinded by this smoke;
+he could not plunge into a fresh fight; but in this short-sighted
+world it is an impropriety, almost a fault to see more clearly than
+your neighbours.
+
+This sardonic truth was brought home to him in a discussion with these
+young St. Justs. They pointed out his mistakes, impertinently enough,
+by comparing him to the "Astrologer who fell into the Pit":
+
+  ... "They said, poor creature, if your eye
+  What lies beneath can hardly spy,
+  Think you your gaze can pierce the sky?"
+
+
+He had enough sense of humour to see the justice of the comparison;
+yes, he was of the number of:
+
+  "Those whom phantoms alarm
+  While some serious harm
+  Threatens them or their farm."
+
+
+"Even so," he said, "do you think that your republic will have no
+need of astronomers, just as the first one could get along without
+chemists? Or are they all to be mobilised? In that case there would be
+a good chance of your all finding yourselves together at the bottom
+of the well! Is that what you want? I should not object so much if
+it were only a question of sharing your fate, but when it comes to
+joining in your hatreds!"
+
+"You have some of your own, from what I have heard," said one of the
+young men. Just at this moment another man came in with a newspaper in
+his hand and called to Clerambault:
+
+"Congratulations, old boy, I see your enemy Bertin is dead."
+
+The irascible journalist had died in a few hours from an attack of
+pneumonia. For the last six months he had pursued with fury anyone
+whom he suspected of working for peace, or even of wishing for it.
+From one step to another he had come to look upon, not only the
+country, as sacred, but the war also, and among those whom he attacked
+most fiercely, Clerambault had a foremost place. Bertin could not
+pardon the resistance to his onslaughts; Clerambault's replies had at
+first only irritated him, but the disdainful silence with which his
+latest invectives had been met drove him beside himself. His swollen
+vanity was deeply wounded, and nothing would have satisfied him but
+the total annihilation of his adversary. To him Clerambault was not
+only a personal enemy, but a foe to the public; and in the endeavour
+to prove this, he made him the centre of a great pacifist plot. At any
+other time, this would have seemed absurd in everyone's eyes, but now
+no one had eyes to see with. During the last weeks Bertin's fury and
+violence had gone beyond anything that he had written before; they
+were a threat against anyone who was convicted or suspected of the
+dangerous heresy of Peace.
+
+In this little reunion the news of his death was received with noisy
+satisfaction; and his funeral oration was preached with an energy
+that yielded nothing in this line to the efforts of the most famous
+masters. But Clerambault, absorbed in the newspaper account, scarcely
+seemed to hear. One of the men standing near, tapped him on the
+shoulder, and said:
+
+"This ought to be a pleasure to you."
+
+Clerambault started: "Pleasure," he said, "pleasure?"--he took his hat
+and went out. It was pitch dark in the street outside, all the lights
+having been out on account of an air-raid. Before his mind there
+flowered the fine clear-cut face of a boy of sixteen, with its warm
+pale skin and dark soft eyes, the curling hair, the mobile, smiling
+mouth, the tone of the sweet voice--Bertin, as he was when they first
+met at about the same age. Their long evening talks, the tender
+confidences, the discussions, the dreams ... for in those days Bertin
+too was a dreamer, and even his common-sense, his precocious irony did
+not protect him from impossible hopes and generous schemes for the
+renovation of the human race. How fair the future had appeared to
+their youthful eyes! And in those moments of ecstatic vision how their
+hearts had seemed to melt together in loving friendship ...
+
+And now to see what life had made of them both! This rancorous
+struggle, Bertin's insane determination to trample under foot those
+early dreams, and the friend who still cherished them;--and he, too,
+Clerambault, who had let himself be carried away by the same murderous
+impulse, trying to render blow for blow, to draw blood from his
+adversary. Could it be that at the first moment, when he heard of the
+death of his former friend--he was horrified at himself--but did he
+not feel it as a relief? What is it that possesses us all? What wicked
+insanity that turns us against our better selves?...
+
+Lost in these thoughts, he had wandered from the road, and now
+perceived that he was walking in the wrong direction. He could see the
+long arms of the search-lights stretching across the sky, hear the
+tremendous explosions of the Zeppelin bombs over the city, and the
+distant growlings of the forts in the aerial fight. The enraged people
+tearing each other to pieces! And to what end? That they all might be
+as Bertin was now, reach the extinction which awaited all men, and all
+countries. And those rebels who were planning more violence, other
+sanguinary idols to set up against the old ones, new gods of carnage
+that man carves for himself, in the vain hope of ennobling his deadly
+instincts!
+
+Good God! Why do they not see the imbecility of their conduct, in face
+of the gulf that swallows up each man that dies, all humanity with
+him? These millions of creatures who have but a moment to live, why
+do they persist in making it infernal by their atrocious and absurd
+quarrels about ideas; like wretches who cut each other's throats for
+a handful of spurious coins thrown to them? We are all victims, under
+the same sentence, and instead of uniting, we fight among ourselves.
+Poor fools! On the brow of each man that passes I can see the sweat of
+agony; efface it by the kiss of peace!
+
+As he thought this, a crowd of people rushed by--men and women,
+shrieking with joy. "There's one of them down! One gone! The brutes
+are burning up!"
+
+And the birds of prey, in the air, rejoiced in their turn over every
+handful of death that they scattered on the town, like gladiators
+dying in the arena for the pleasure of some invisible Nero.
+
+Alas, my poor fellow-prisoners!
+
+
+
+
+PART FIVE
+
+
+
+
+  _They also serve who only stand and wait_.
+
+  MILTON.
+
+
+Once more Clerambault found himself wrapt in solitude; but this time
+she appeared to him as never before, calm and beautiful, kindness
+shining from her face, with eyes full of affection and soft cool hands
+which she laid on his fevered forehead. He knew that now she had
+chosen him for her own.
+
+It is not given to every man to be alone; many groan under it, but
+with a secret pride. It is the complaint of the ages; and proves,
+without those who complain being aware of it, that solitude has not
+marked them for her own; that they are not her familiars. They have
+passed the outer door, and are cooling their heels in the vestibule;
+but they have not had patience to wait their turn to go in, or else
+their recriminations have kept them at a distance.
+
+No one can penetrate to the heart of friendly solitude unless they
+have the gift of God's grace, or have gained the benefit of trials
+bravely accepted. Outside the door you must leave the dust of the
+road, the harsh voices and mean thoughts of the world, egotism,
+vanity, miserable rebellions against disappointments in love or
+ambition.--It must be that, like the pure Orphic shades whose golden
+tablets have transmitted to us their dying voices, "_The soul flees
+from the circle of pain_" and presents itself alone and bare "_to the
+chill fountain which flows from the lake of Memory_."
+
+This is the miracle of the resurrection; he who has cast off his
+mortal coil and thinks that he has lost everything, finds that he is
+only just entering on his true life. Not only are others as well as
+himself restored to him, but he sees that up to now he has never
+really possessed them. Outside in the throng, how can he see over the
+heads of those who press about him? And it is not possible for him to
+look long into the eyes of those who influence him, even though they
+are his dearest, for they are pressed too close against him. There
+is no time; no perspective. We feel only that our bodies are crushed
+together, closely entwined by our common destiny, and tossed on the
+muddy torrent of multitudinous existence. Clerambault felt that he
+had not seen his son in any real sense until after his death; and the
+brief hour in which he and Rosine had recognised each other was one in
+which the bonds of a baleful delusion had been broken by the force of
+suffering.
+
+Now that by means of successive eliminations, he had arrived at
+solitude, he felt withdrawn from the passions of the living, but they
+stood out all the more to him in a kind of lucid intimacy. All, not
+only his wife and children, but the millions of beings whom he had
+thought to embrace in an oratorical affection; they all painted
+themselves on the dark background. On the sombre river of destiny
+which sweeps humanity away, and which he had confounded with it,
+appeared millions of struggling living fragments--men; and each had
+his own personality, each was a whole world of joy and sorrow, dreams
+and efforts and each was I. I bend over him and it is myself I see;
+"I," say the eyes, and the heart repeats "I." My brothers, at last I
+understand you, for your faults are also mine, even to the fury with
+which you pursue me; I recognise that also, for it is once more I.
+
+
+
+
+From this time onward Clerambault began to see men, not with the eyes
+in his head, but with his heart;--no longer with ideas of pacifism,
+or Tolstoïsm _(another folly)_, but by seizing the thoughts of his
+fellows and putting himself in their place. He began to discover
+afresh the people around him, even those who had been most hostile to
+him, the intellectuals, and the politicians; and he saw plainly their
+wrinkles, their white hair, the bitter lines about their mouths, their
+bent backs, their shaky legs.... Overwrought, nervous, ready to break
+down,... how much they had aged in six months! The excitement of the
+fight had kept them up at first; but as it went on and, no matter what
+the issue, the ruin became plain; each one had his griefs, and
+each feared to lose the little--but that little, infinitely
+precious--remained to him. They tried to hide their agony, and
+clenched their teeth, but all suffered. Doubt had begun to undermine
+the most confident, "Hush, not a word! it will kill me if you speak of
+it." ...Clerambault, full of pity, thought of Madame Mairet; he must
+hold his tongue in future;--but it was too late, they all knew now
+what he thought, and he was a living negation and remorse to them.
+Many hated him, but Clerambault no longer resented it; he was almost
+ready to help them to restore their lost illusions.
+
+These souls were full of a passionate faith which they felt to
+be threatened; and this lent them a quality of tragic, pitiable
+greatness. With the politicians this was complicated by the absurd
+trappings of theatrical declamation; with the intellectuals by the
+obstinacy of mania; but in spite of all, the wounds were visible, you
+could hear the cry of the heart that clings to belief, that calls for
+an heroic delusion.
+
+This faith was very touching in some young and simple people; no
+declamations, no pretensions to knowledge; only the desperate clinging
+of a devotion which has given all, and in return asks for one word
+only: "It is true ... Thou, my beloved, my Country, power divine,
+still livest, to whom I have offered up my life, and all that I
+loved!"--One could kneel before those poor little black gowns, before
+those mothers, wives and sisters; one longed to kiss the thin hands
+that trembled with the hope and fear of the hereafter, and say: "Mourn
+not,--for ye shall be comforted."
+
+What consolation can one offer, when one does not believe in the ideal
+for which they lived, and which is killing them?--The long-sought
+answer finally came to Clerambault, almost unconsciously: "You must
+care for men more than for illusion, or even for truth."
+
+Clerambault's warm feelings were not reciprocated; and he was more
+attacked than ever, though for some months he had published nothing.
+In the autumn of 1917 the anger against him had risen to an unheard-of
+height. The disproportion was really laughable between this rage and
+the feeble words of one man, but it was so all over the world. A dozen
+or so weak pacifists, alone, surrounded, without means of being heard
+through any paper of standing, spoke honestly but not loudly, and this
+let loose a perfect frenzy of insults and threats. At the slightest
+contradiction the monster Opinion fell into an epileptic fit.
+
+The prudent Perrotin who, as a rule, was surprised at nothing, kept
+quiet, and let Clerambault ruin himself his own way; but even he was
+alarmed by this explosion of tyrannical stupidity. In history and at a
+distance it could be laughed at; but close at hand it looked as if the
+human brain was about to give way. Why is it that in this war men lost
+their mental balance more than in any other at any previous time? Has
+the war been really more atrocious? That is either childish nonsense,
+or a deliberate forgetfulness of what has happened in our own day,
+under our eyes; in Armenia, in the Balkans; during the repression of
+the Commune, in colonial wars under new conquistadors in China and the
+Congo.... Of all animals we know, the human beast has always been the
+most ferocious. Then is it because men had more faith in the war
+of today? Surely not. The western peoples had reached the point of
+evolution when war seemed so absurd that we could no longer practise
+it and preserve our reason.
+
+We are obliged to intoxicate ourselves, to go crazy, unless we would
+die the despairing death of darkest pessimism; and that is why the
+voice of one sane man threw into fits of rage all the others who
+wanted to forget; they were afraid that this voice would wake them up,
+and that they would find themselves sobered, disgraced, and without a
+rag to cover them.
+
+It was all the worse because at this time the war was going badly and
+the fine hopes of victory and glory which had been lighted up so many
+times were beginning to die out. It began to be probable, no matter
+which way you looked at it, that the war would be a failure for
+everybody. Neither interest, nor ambition, nor ideals would get
+anything out of it, and the bitter useless sacrifice, seen at close
+range, with nothing gained, made men who felt themselves responsible,
+furious. They were forced either to accuse themselves or throw the
+blame on others, and the choice was quickly made. The disaster was
+attributed to all those who had foreseen the defeat and tried to
+prevent it. Every retreat of the army, every diplomatic blunder found
+an excuse in the machinations of the pacifists, and these unpopular
+gentry to whom no one listened were invested by their opponents with
+the formidable power of organising defeat. In order that none should
+be ignorant of this, a writing was hung about their necks with the
+word "Defeatist," like their brother-heretics of the good old days;
+all that remained was to burn them, and if the executioner was not at
+hand there were at least plenty of assistants.
+
+At first, by way of getting their hand in, the authorities picked out
+inoffensive people--women, teachers, anyone who was little known and
+unable to defend himself; and then they turned their attention to
+something bigger. It was a good chance for a politician to rid himself
+of a dangerous rival, of anyone possessed of secrets or likely to rise
+in the future. Above all, according to the old receipts, they took
+care to mix accusations, throwing into the same bag vulgar sharpers
+and those whose character and mind made them uneasy, so that in all
+this mess the blindfolded public did not attempt to distinguish
+between an honest man and a scamp. In this way those who were not
+sufficiently compromised by their actions found themselves involved in
+those of their associates; and if these were lacking, the authorities
+stood ready, if necessary, to supply them made to order to fit the
+accusation.
+
+When Xavier Thouron first came to see Clerambault how could anyone
+know if he was in the Secret Service? He might very well have come of
+his own accord; and it was impossible to say what his intentions were,
+perhaps he hardly knew himself? In the purlieus of a great city there
+are always unscrupulous adventurers rushing about seeking whom they
+may devour. They have ravenous appetites, and curiosity to match, and
+anything will do to fill up this aching void. They are willing to say
+black is white; all is grist that comes to their mill, and they are
+capable of throwing you into the water one minute and jumping in to
+save you the next. They are not too careful of their skins, but the
+animal inside has to be fed and amused. If he stopped making faces and
+stuffing for one moment, he might die of boredom and disgust at his
+own vacancy; but he is too clever for that, he will not stop to think
+until he dies--splendidly, on his feet, like the Roman Emperor.
+
+No one could have told Thouron's real object when he went for the
+first time to Clerambault's house. As usual he was very busy, excited
+and on the scent of he knew not what. He was one of those great
+journalists--they are rare in the profession--who, without taking the
+trouble to read a thing, can give you a vivid, brilliant account of
+it, which often, by a miracle, proves to be fairly just. He said his
+little "piece" to Clerambault without too many mistakes, and appeared
+to believe it; perhaps he did while the words were on his lips. Why
+not? He was a sort of pacifist himself from time to time; it depended
+on the direction of the wind, or the attitude of certain of his
+brother-writers whom he sometimes followed, and occasionally opposed.
+Clerambault could never cure himself of a childlike trust in anyone
+who came to him, and he allowed himself to be touched;--besides, the
+press of his country had not spoiled him of late, so he poured out the
+inmost thoughts of his heart, while Thouron took it all in with the
+deepest interest.
+
+An acquaintance thus closely formed could not, of course, stop there;
+letters were exchanged, in which one spoke, and the other led him on.
+Thouron persuaded Clerambault to put his ideas in the form of little
+popular pamphlets, which he undertook to distribute among the working
+classes. Clerambault hesitated, and refused at first. The partisans of
+the reigning order and injustice pretend hypocritically to disapprove
+of the secret propaganda of a new truth; Clerambault saw no harm in
+it, when no other way was possible. (All persecuted faiths have their
+catacombs.) But he did not feel himself suited to such a course of
+action. It was more his part to say what he thought and take the
+consequences, and he felt sure that the word would spread of itself,
+without his hawking it about. He would have blushed to admit it, but
+perhaps a secret instinct held him back from the offers of service
+made him by this eager "drummer." But he could not altogether restrain
+his zeal. Thouron published in his paper a sort of Apologia for
+Clerambault. He told of his visits, and their conversations; and he
+explained and paraphrased the thoughts of the poet. Clerambault was
+astonished when he read them, he hardly knew his own ideas again, but
+nevertheless, he could not altogether deny them, for, buried among
+Thouron's commentaries, he found literal and accurate quotations from
+his letters. These, however, were even more confusing; the same words
+and phrases, grafted on other contexts, took on an accent and a colour
+that he had not given them. Add that the censor, in his zeal for the
+safety of the country, had tampered with the quotations, cutting out
+here and there a word, half a line, or the end of a paragraph--all
+perfectly innocent, but this suppression suggested the worst
+iniquities to the over-excited mind of the reader. All this was like
+oil on the flame, and the effect was soon felt. Clerambault did not
+know which way to turn to keep his champion quiet; and yet he could
+not be angry with him, for Thouron had his share of threats and
+insults; but he was used to things of this kind, and they fell from
+him, like water off a duck's back.
+
+After this common experience Thouron claimed special rights over
+Clerambault; and having tried without success to make him buy shares
+in his newspaper, he put him on the list of honourary members, without
+his knowledge, and thought it very strange that Clerambault was not
+delighted when he found it out a few weeks later. Their relations were
+slightly cooled by this incident, but Thouron continued to parade the
+name of his "distinguished friend" from time to time in his articles.
+The latter let this go on, thinking himself fortunate to get off so
+easily. He had rather lost sight of him, when he heard one day that
+Thouron had been arrested. He was implicated in a rather shabby money
+affair which was as usual ascribed to plots of the enemy. The Courts
+following the lead of those "higher-up" could not fail to find a
+connection between these shady transactions and Thouron's so-called
+pacifism. This had showed itself in his paper, in an irregular
+incoherent way, subject to attacks of "Exterminism," but none the less
+it was all supposed to be part of the great "defeatist" scheme, and
+the examination of his correspondence allowed the authorities to drag
+in anyone they chose. As he had carefully kept every letter, from men
+of all shades of opinion, there were plenty to choose from and they
+soon found what they wanted.
+
+It was only through the papers that Clerambault heard that he was on
+the list, and they breathed a triumphant: "At last we have got him."
+... All was now clear, for if a man thinks differently from the rest
+of the world, is it not plain as daylight that there must be some low
+motive underneath it all? Seek and you will find ...They had found,
+and without going further, one Paris newspaper announced the "treason"
+of Clerambault. There was no trace of this in the indictment; but
+justice does not feel that it is her business to correct people's
+mistakes. Clerambault was summoned before the magistrate, and begged
+in vain to be told of what offence he was accused. The judge was
+polite, showing him the consideration due to a man of his notoriety,
+but, seemed in no haste to dismiss the case; it almost looked as if he
+was waiting for something ... for what? Why for the crime, of course!
+
+Madame Clerambault had not the temper of a Roman matron, nor even of
+that high-spirited Jewess in the celebrated affair which cut France in
+two some twenty years ago, who clung more closely to her husband on
+account of the public injustice. She had the timid instinctive respect
+of the French _bourgeoisie_ for the official verdict. Though she knew
+that there were no grounds for the accusation against Clerambault, she
+felt that it was a disgrace to be accused, which also affected her,
+and this she could not bear in silence. Unfortunately, in replying
+to her reproaches, Clerambault took the worst possible line, without
+meaning it, for instead of trying to defend himself, he only said:
+
+"My poor wife, it is awfully hard on you ...Yes, you are right," and
+then waited till the shower was over. But this tone upset Madame
+Clerambault, who was furious because she felt she had no hold on her
+husband. She knew perfectly that though he appeared to agree with
+her she could not turn him from his course of action. Despairing
+of success, she went off to pour her troubles into the ears of her
+brother. Leo Camus made no attempt to disguise his opinion that the
+best thing she could do was to get a divorce, which he represented to
+her as a duty. This, however, was going a little too far; she was,
+after all, a respectable _bourgeoise_, and the traditional horror
+of divorce re-awakened her profound fidelity and made her think the
+remedy worse than the disease; so they remained united on the surface,
+but intimacy between them was gone.
+
+Rosine was out nearly all day, for in order to forget her unhappiness
+she was taking a course in trained nursing, and she passed a large
+part of her time away from home. Even when she was at home her
+thoughts seemed far away, and Clerambault had never regained his
+former place in his daughter's heart; another filled it now--Daniel.
+She treated her father coldly; he was the cause of her separation from
+the man of her heart, and this was a way of punishing him. And though
+she was too just not to reproach herself, still she could not alter;
+injustice is sometimes a consolation.
+
+Daniel had not forgotten, any more than Rosine; he was not proud of
+his conduct, but it rather softened his remorse to throw the blame on
+his surroundings, on the tyrannical opinion which had coerced him; but
+in his heart he was discontented with himself.
+
+Accident came to the assistance of this sulking pair of lovers. Daniel
+was seriously but not dangerously wounded, and was evacuated back to
+Paris. During his convalescence he was walking one day near the square
+of the Bon Marché when he saw Rosine. He stood still a moment but as
+she came forward, without hesitation, they went on into the Square
+and began a long conversation, which, beginning by embarrassment,
+and interrupted by numerous reproaches and avowals, led finally to a
+perfect understanding between them. They were so absorbed in their
+tender explanations, that they did not see Madame Clerambault when she
+came near, and the good lady, overcome by this unexpected meeting,
+hurried home to tell the news to her husband. In spite of their
+estrangement, she could not keep this to herself. He listened to her
+indignant recital, for she could not bear that her daughter should
+have anything to do with a man whose family had affronted them; and
+when she had finished he said nothing at first, according to his
+present habit, until at last he shook his head smiling, and said:
+
+"Good enough."
+
+Madame Clerambault stopped short, shrugged her shoulders, turned to
+go, but with her hand on the door of her room she looked back and
+said:
+
+"These people insulted you; Rosine and you agreed to have nothing more
+to do with them, and now, _your daughter_ is making advances to this
+man who has refused her, and you say it is 'good enough.' I can't
+understand you any longer, you must be out of your mind."
+
+Clerambault tried to show her that his daughter's happiness did not
+consist in agreement with his ideas, and that Rosine was quite right
+to get rid of the consequences of his foolishness where they affected
+herself.
+
+"Your foolishness ... that is the first word of sense that you have
+said in years."
+
+"You see yourself that I am right," said he, and made her promise to
+let Rosine arrange her romance as she pleased.
+
+The girl was radiant when she came in, but she said nothing of what
+had passed. Madame Clerambault held her tongue with great difficulty,
+and the father saw with tender amusement the happiness that shone
+once more on the face of his child. He did not know exactly what had
+happened, but he guessed that Rosine had thrown him and his ideas
+overboard--sweetly of course, but still,--the lovers had made it up at
+their parents' expense, and both had blamed with admirable justice the
+old people's exaggerations on either side. The years in the trenches
+had emancipated Daniel from the narrow fanaticism of his family,
+without impairing his patriotism, and Rosine in exchange had gently
+admitted that her father had been mistaken. They agreed with little
+difficulty, for she was naturally calm and fatalistic, which suited
+perfectly with Daniel's stoical acceptance of things as they were.
+They had decided, therefore, to go through life together, without
+paying any more attention to the disagreements of those who had come
+before them, as the saying is--though it would be more exact to say,
+those whom they were leaving behind them. The future also troubled
+them little; like millions of other human beings they only asked their
+share of happiness at the moment and shut their eyes to everything
+else.
+
+Madame Clerambault was annoyed that her daughter said nothing of the
+events of the morning, and soon went out again; Rosine and her father
+sat dreamily, he by the window, smoking, and she with an unread
+magazine before her. She looked absently about the room, with happy
+eyes, trying to recall the details of the scene between her and
+Daniel; her glance fell on her father's weary face, and its melancholy
+expression struck her sharply. She got up, and standing behind
+him, laid her hand on his shoulder and said, with a little sigh of
+compassion that tried to conceal her inward joy:
+
+"Poor little Papa!"
+
+Clerambault looked at Rosine, whose eyes, in spite of herself, shone
+with happiness:
+
+"And my little girl is not 'poor' any longer, is she?"
+
+Rosine blushed: "Why do you say that?" she asked.
+
+Clerambault only shook his head at her, and she leaned forward laying
+her cheek against his:
+
+"She is no longer poor," he repeated.
+
+"No," she whispered, "she is very, very rich."
+
+"Tell me about this fortune of hers?"
+
+"She has--first of all--her dear Papa."
+
+"Oh, you little fraud!" said Clerambault, trying to move so that he
+could see her face, but Rosine put her hands over his eyes:
+
+"No, I don't want you to look at me, or say anything to me...." She
+kissed him again, and said caressingly:
+
+"Poor dear little Papa."
+
+Rosine had now escaped from the cares that weighed on the house, and
+it was not long before she flew away from the nest altogether, for she
+had passed her examinations and was sent to a hospital in the South.
+Both the Clerambaults felt painfully the loss to their empty fireside.
+
+But the man was not the more lonely of the two. He knew this and was
+sincerely sorry for his wife, who had not either the strength of mind
+to follow his path, nor to leave him. As for him he felt that now,
+no matter what happened, he would never be bereft of sympathy;
+persecution would arouse it, and lead the most reserved people to
+express their feeling. A very precious evidence of this came to him at
+this time.
+
+One day, when he was alone in the apartment, the bell rang and he went
+to open the door. A lady was there whom he did not know; she held out
+a letter, mentioning her name as she did so; in the dim light of the
+vestibule, she had taken him for the servant, but at once saw her
+mistake, as he tried to persuade her to come in. "No," said she, "I am
+only a messenger," and she went away; but when she had gone he found
+a little bunch of violets that she had laid on a table near the door.
+The letter was as follows:
+
+  "_Tu ne cede malis,
+  sed contra audentior ito_....
+
+  "You fight for us, and our hearts are with you. Pour
+  out your troubles to us, and I will give you my hope, my
+  strength, and my love. I am one who can act only through
+  you."
+
+The youthful ardour of these last mysterious words, touched and
+puzzled Clerambault. He tried to remember the lady as she stood on his
+threshold; she was not very young; fine features, grave dark eyes in a
+worn face. Where had he seen her before? The fugitive impression faded
+as he tried to hold it.
+
+He saw her again two or three days later, not far from him in the
+Luxembourg Gardens. She walked on and as he crossed the path to meet
+her she stopped and waited for him. He thanked her, and asked why she
+had gone away so quickly the other day, without saying who she was.
+And as he spoke it came to him that he had known her for a long time.
+He used to see her formerly in the Luxembourg, or in the neighbouring
+streets, with a tall boy who must have been her son. Every time
+they passed each other their eyes used to meet with a half-smile of
+respectful recognition. And though he did not know their name, and
+they had never exchanged a word, they were to him part of those
+friendly shadows which throng about our daily life, not always noticed
+when they are there, but which leave a gap when they disappear.
+
+At once his thought leaped from the woman before him to the young
+companion whom he missed from her side. In these days of mourning you
+could never tell who might be still in the land of the living, but he
+cried impulsively:
+
+"It was your son who wrote to me?"
+
+"Yes," said she, "he is a great admirer of yours. We have both felt
+drawn to you for a long time."
+
+"He must come to see me."
+
+"He cannot do that."
+
+"Why not? Is he at the Front?"
+
+"No, he is here." After a moment's silence, Clerambault asked:
+
+"Has he been wounded?"
+
+"Would you like to see him?" said the mother. Clerambault walked
+beside her in silence, not daring to ask any questions, but at last
+he said: "You are fortunate at least that you can have him near you
+always...." She understood and held out her hand: "We were always very
+close to one another," she said, and Clerambault repeated:
+
+"At least he is near you."
+
+"I have his soul," she answered.
+
+They had now reached the house, an old seventeenth century dwelling
+in one of the narrow ancient streets between the Luxembourg and St.
+Sulpice, where the pride of old France still subsists in retirement.
+The great door was shut even at this hour. Madame Froment passed in
+ahead of Clerambault, went up two or three steps at the back of a
+paved court, and entered the apartment on the ground floor.
+
+"Dear Edmé," said she, as she opened the door of the room, "I have a
+surprise for you, guess what it is...."
+
+Clerambault saw a young man looking at him as he lay extended on a
+couch. The fair youthful face lit up by the setting sun, with its
+intelligent eyes, looked so healthy and calm that at first sight the
+thought of illness did not present itself.
+
+"You!" he exclaimed. "You here?"
+
+He looked younger than ever with this joyful surprise on his face, but
+neither the body, nor the arms which were covered, moved in the least,
+and Clerambault coming nearer saw that the head alone seemed to be
+alive.
+
+"Mamma, you have been giving me away," said Edmé Froment.
+
+"Did you not want to see me?" said Clerambault, bending over him.
+
+"That is not just what I meant, but I am not very anxious to be seen."
+
+"Why not? I should like to know," said Clerambault, in a tone which he
+tried to make gay.
+
+"Because a man does not ask visitors to the house when he is not there
+himself."
+
+"Where are you?" if one may ask.
+
+"I could almost swear that I was shut up in an old Egyptian mummy"--he
+glanced at the bed and his immovable body:
+
+"There is no life left in it," he said.
+
+"You have more life than any of us," said a voice beside them.
+Clerambault looked up and saw on the other side of the couch a tall
+young man full of health and strength, who seemed to be about the same
+age as Edmé, who smiled and said to Clerambault: "My friend Chastenay
+has enough vitality to lend me some and to spare."
+
+"If that were only literally true," said the other, and the two
+friends exchanged an affectionate glance. Chastenay continued:
+
+"I should in that case only be giving back a part of what I owe you."
+Then turning to Clerambault, he added: "He is the one who keeps us all
+up, is it not so, Madame Fanny?"
+
+"Indeed yes, I could not do without my strong son," said the mother
+tenderly.
+
+"They take advantage of the fact that I cannot defend myself," said
+Edmé to Clerambault. "You see I cannot stir an inch."
+
+"Was it a wound?"
+
+"Paralysis."--Clerambault did not dare to ask for details, but after a
+pause: "Do you suffer much?" he inquired.
+
+"I ought to wish that it were so perhaps; for pain is a tie between us
+and the shore. However, I confess that I prefer the silence of this
+body in which I am encased ... let us say no more about it.... My mind
+at least is free. And if it is not true that it '_agitat molem_,' does
+often escape."
+
+"I know," said Clerambault, "it came to see me the other day."
+
+"Not for the first time; it has been there before."
+
+"And I who thought myself deserted!"
+
+"Do you recall," said Edmé, "the words of Randolph to Cecil?--'_The
+voice of a man alone can in one hour put more life into us than the
+clang of five hundred trumpets sounded continuously_.'"
+
+"That always reminds me of you," said Chastenay, but Edmé went on as
+if he had not heard him: ... "You have waked us all up."
+
+Clerambault looked at the brave calm eyes of the paralytic, and said:
+
+"Your eyes do not look as if they needed to be waked."
+
+"They do not need it now," said Edmé, "the farther off one is, the
+better one sees; but when I was close to everything I saw very
+little."
+
+"Tell me what you see now."
+
+"It is getting late," said Edmé, "and I am rather tired. Will you come
+another time?"
+
+"Tomorrow, if you will let me."
+
+As Clerambault went out Chastenay joined him. He felt the need of
+confiding to a heart that could feel the pain and grandeur of the
+tragedy of which his friend had been at once the hero and the victim.
+Edmé Froment had been struck on the spinal column by an exploding
+shell. Young as he was, he was one of the intellectual leaders of his
+generation, handsome, ardent, eloquent, overflowing with life and
+visions, loving and beloved, nobly ambitious, and all at once, at a
+blow,--a living death! His mother who had centred all her pride and
+love on him now saw him condemned for the rest of his days to this
+terrible fate. They had both suffered terribly, but each hid it from
+the other, and this effort kept them up. They took great pride in each
+other. She had all the care of him, washed and fed him like a little
+child, and he kept calm for her sake, and sustained her on the wings
+of his spirit.
+
+"Ah," said Chastenay, "it makes one feel ashamed--when I think that I
+am alive and well, that I can reach out my arms to life, that I can
+run and leap, and draw this blessed air into my lungs...." As he spoke
+he stretched out his arms, raised his head, and breathed deeply.
+
+"I ought to feel remorseful," he added, lowering his voice, "and the
+worst is that I do not." Clerambault could not help smiling.
+
+"It is not very heroic," continued Chastenay, "and yet I care more for
+Froment than for anyone on earth, and his fate makes me wretchedly
+unhappy. But all the same, when I think of my luck to be here at this
+moment when so many are gone, and to be well and sound, I can hardly
+keep from showing how glad I am. It is so good to live and be whole.
+Poor Edmé!... You must think me terribly selfish?"
+
+"No, what you say is perfectly natural and healthy. If we were all as
+sincere as you, humanity would not be the victim of the wicked notion
+of glory in suffering. You have every right to enjoy life after the
+trials you have passed through," and as he spoke he touched the Croix
+de Guerre which the young man wore on his breast.
+
+"I have been through them and I am going back," said Chastenay, "but
+there is no merit in that; there is nothing else that I can do. I am
+not trying to deceive you and pretend that I love to smell powder; you
+cannot go through three years of war, and still want to run risks
+and be indifferent to danger, even if you did feel like that in the
+beginning. I was so--I may frankly say I did go in for heroism; but I
+have lost all that, it was really part ignorance and part rhetoric,
+and when one is rid of these, the nonsense of the war, the idiotic
+slaughter, the ugliness, the horrible useless sacrifice must be clear
+to the narrowest mind. If it is not manly to fly from the inevitable,
+it is not necessary either to go in search of what can be avoided. The
+great Corneille was a hero behind the lines; those whom I have known
+at the front were almost heroes in spite of themselves."
+
+"That is the true heroism," said Clerambault.
+
+"That is Froment's kind," said Chastenay. "He is a hero because there
+is nothing else that he can be, not even a man; but the dearest thing
+about him is, that in spite of everything, he is a real man."
+
+The truth of this remark was abundantly evident to Clerambault in
+a long conversation that he had with Froment the next day. If the
+courage of the young man did not desert him in the ruin of his life,
+it was all the more to his credit, as he had never professed to be
+an apostle of self-abnegation. He had had great hopes and robust
+ambitions, fully justified by his talents and vigorous youth, but
+unlike his friend Chastenay, he had never for a moment cherished any
+illusions as to the war.
+
+The disastrous folly of it had been clear to him at once, and this he
+owed not only to his own penetrating mind, but to that inspiring angel
+who, from his earliest infancy, had woven the soul of her son from her
+own pure spirit.
+
+Whenever Clerambault went to see Edmé, Madame Froment was almost
+always there; but she kept in the background, sitting at the window
+with her work, only stopping occasionally to throw a tender glance at
+her son. She was not a woman of exceptional cleverness, but she had
+what may be called the intelligence of the heart, and her mind had
+been cultivated by the influence of her husband--a distinguished
+physician much older than herself. Thus it had happened that her whole
+life had been filled by these two profound feelings, an almost filial
+love for her husband and a more passionate sentiment for her son.
+
+Dr. Froment, a cultivated man with much originality of mind which he
+concealed under a grave courtesy, as if he feared to wound others by
+his distinction, had travelled all over Europe, as well as in Egypt,
+Persia, and India. He had been a student of science and of religion,
+and his special interest had been the new forms of faith appearing
+in the world; such as Babism, Christian Science, and theosophical
+doctrines. As he had kept in touch with the pacifist movement, and was
+a friend of Baroness Suttner, whom he had known in Vienna, he had
+long seen the catastrophe approaching which threatened him and all
+he loved. But man of courage as he was, and accustomed to the
+indifference of nature, he had not tried to delude his family as to
+the future, but had rather sought to strengthen their souls to meet
+the danger that hung over their heads.
+
+More than all his words, his example was sacred to his wife, for
+the son had been yet a child at the time of his father's death. Dr.
+Froment had suffered from a cancer of the intestines, and during the
+whole course of the slow and painful disease he had followed his
+ordinary occupations up to the last minute, sustaining the courage of
+his loved ones by this serene fortitude.
+
+This noble picture which dwelt in Madame Froment's heart, and which
+she worshipped in secret, was to her what religion is to other women.
+To this, though she had no clear belief in the future life, she
+prayed, especially in difficult moments, as if to an ever-present
+helpful friend. And by a singular phenomenon sometimes observed after
+death, the essence of her husband's soul seemed to have passed into
+hers. For this reason her son had grown up in an atmosphere of placid
+thought, while most of the young generation before 1914 were feverish,
+restless, aggressive, irritated by delay. When the war broke out,
+there was no need for Madame Froment to protect herself or her son
+against the national excesses; they were both strangers to such ideas;
+but they made no attempt to resist the inevitable; they had watched
+the coming of this misfortune for so long! All that they could do now
+was to bear it bravely, while trying to preserve what was the most
+precious thing to them; their souls' faith. Madame Froment did not
+consider it necessary to be "_Au-dessus de la mêlée_" in order to
+lead it; and she accomplished in her limited sphere simply, but
+more efficaciously, what was attempted by writers in Germany and
+England,--a form of international reconciliation. She had kept in
+touch with many old friends, and without being troubled in circles
+infected by the war-spirit, or ever undertaking useless demonstrations
+against the war, she was a check on insane manifestations of hatred,
+by her simple presence, her quiet words and manner, her good judgment,
+and the respect inspired by her kindness. In families that were
+sympathetic she distributed messages from liberal Europeans, among
+others, Clerambault's articles, though without his knowledge. It was a
+source of satisfaction when she saw that their hearts were touched. A
+greater joy still was to see that her son himself was transformed.
+
+Edmé Froment was not in the least a Tolstoyan pacifist. At first he
+thought the war more a folly than a crime, and if he had been free, he
+would have withdrawn, like Perrotin, into high dilettantism of art
+and thought, without attempting the hopeless task of fighting the
+prevailing opinion, for which he then felt more contempt than pity.
+Since his forced participation in the war, he had been obliged to
+acknowledge that this folly was so largely expiated by suffering that
+it would be superfluous to add anything to it. Man had made his own
+hell upon earth, and there was no need of further condemnation. He was
+on leave, at Paris, when he came across Clerambault's articles which
+showed him that there was something better for him to do than to set
+himself up as a judge of his companions in misery; that it would be
+far nobler to try to deliver them while taking his share of the common
+burden.
+
+The young disciple was disposed to go farther than his master.
+Clerambault, who was naturally affectionate and rather weak, found his
+joy in communion with other men, and suffered even when divided in
+spirit from their errors. He was a confirmed self-doubter. He was
+prone to look in the eyes of the crowd for agreement with his ideas.
+He exhausted himself in futile efforts to reconcile his inward beliefs
+with the aspirations and the social struggles of his time. Froment,
+who had the soul of a chieftain in a helpless body, dauntlessly
+maintained that for him who bears the torch of a lofty ideal it is an
+absolute duty to hold it high over the heads of his comrades; that
+it would be wrong to confuse it in the other illuminations. The
+commonplace of democracies that Voltaire had less wit than Mr.
+Everybody is nonsense.... "_Democritus ait; Unus mihi pro populo
+est_.... To me an individual is as good as a thousand." ... Our modern
+faith sees in the social group the summit of human evolution, but
+where is the proof? Froment thought the greatest height was reached
+in an individual superiority. Millions of men have lived and died to
+produce one perfect flower of thought, for such are the superb and
+prodigal ways of nature. She spends whole peoples to make a Jesus, a
+Buddha, an Aeschylus, a Vinci, a Newton, or a Beethoven; but without
+these men, what would the people have been? Or humanity itself? We do
+not hold with the egotist ideal of the Superman. A man who is great
+is great for all his fellows; his individuality expresses and often
+guides millions of others; it is the incarnation of their secret
+forces, of their highest desires; it concentrates and realises
+them. The sole fact that a man was Christ, has exalted and lifted
+generations of humanity, filling them with the divine energy; and
+though nineteen centuries have since passed, millions have not ceased
+to aspire to the height of this example, though none has attained to
+it.
+
+Thus understood, the ideal individualist is more productive for human
+society than the ideal communist, who would lead us to the mechanical
+perfection of the bee-hive, and at the very least he is indispensable
+as corrective and complement.
+
+This proud individualism, stated by Froment with burning eloquence,
+was a support to Clerambault's mind, prone to waver, and undecided
+from good-nature, self-distrust, and the wish to understand others.
+
+Froment rendered Clerambault another important service. More in the
+current of world-thought, and through his family coming in closer
+contact with foreign thinkers, an accomplished linguist besides,
+Froment could bring to mind those other men in all nations who, great
+in their isolation, fought for the right to a free conscience. It
+was a consoling spectacle; all the work under the surface of thought
+suppressed, but struggling towards truth, and the knowledge that
+the worst tyranny that has crushed the soul of humanity since the
+Inquisition has failed to stifle the indomitable will to remain free
+and true.
+
+No doubt these lofty individualities were rare, but their power was
+all the greater; the fine outline was more striking, seen against the
+dark horizon. In the fall of the nations to the foot of the precipice
+where millions lie in a shapeless mass, their voices seemed to rise
+with the only human note, and their action gained emphasis from the
+anger with which it was met. A century ago Chateaubriand wrote:
+
+"It is vain to struggle longer; henceforward the only important thing
+is to be."
+
+He did not know that "to be" in our time, be oneself, be free, implies
+the greatest of combats. Those who are true to themselves dominate
+through the levelling down of the rest.
+
+
+
+
+Clerambault was not the only one to feel the benefit of of Froment's
+energy, for at his bedside he was sure to find some friend who came,
+perhaps without admitting it, more to get comfort than to bring it.
+Two or three of these were young, about Edmé's age, the others, men
+over fifty, old friends of the family, or those who had known Froment
+before the war.
+
+One of these had been his professor, an old Hellenist, with a sweet
+absent smile. Then there was a grey-haired sculptor, his face ploughed
+by deep tragic lines; a country gentleman, clean-shaved, red-cheeked,
+with the massive head of an old peasant; and finally a doctor. He had
+a white beard, his face was worn and kind, and you were struck by the
+strange expression of his eyes; one seemed to look sharply at you, and
+the other was sad and dreamy.
+
+There was little resemblance between these men who sometimes met at
+the invalid's house. All shades of thought could be found in the
+group, from the Catholic to the freethinker and the bolshevist--one of
+Froment's young friends professed to be of this opinion. In them you
+could find the traces of the most various intellectual ancestry; the
+ironic Lucian appeared in the old professor; the Count de Coulanges
+was wont to solace himself in the evenings on his estate with
+cattle and fertiliser, but also revelled in the gorgeous texture of
+Froissart's style, like cloth of gold, and the countrified, juicy
+talk of that rascal Gondi--the count certainly had the old French
+chroniclers in his veins. The sculptor wrinkled his brow in the effort
+to find metaphysics in Rodin and Beethoven; and Dr. Verrier had a
+streak of the marvellous in his disposition. This he satisfied by the
+hypotheses of biology, and the wonders of modern chemistry, though he
+would glance at the paradise of religion with the disenchanted smile
+of the man of science. He bore his part in the sad trials of the time,
+but the era of war with all its gory glory faded for him before
+the heroic discoveries of thought made by a new Newton, the German
+Einstein, in the midst of the general distraction.
+
+These men all differed in the form of their minds and in their
+temperament; but they all agreed in this, they belonged to no party,
+each thought for himself, and each respected and loved liberty in
+himself or in others. What else mattered? In our day, all the old
+framework is broken down; religious, political, or social. It is but
+small progress if we call ourselves socialists, or republicans, rather
+than monarchists, if these castes accept nationalism of State, faith,
+or class. There are now only two sorts of minds: those shut up behind
+bars, and those open to all that is alive, to the entire race of man,
+even our enemies. These men, few though they may be, compose the true
+"International" which rests on the worship of truth and universal
+life. They know well that they are each too weak to embrace alone
+their great ideal, but it is infinite and can embrace them all. United
+in one object, they push on by their separate ways towards the unknown
+God.
+
+These independent spirits were all drawn towards Edmé Froment at this
+time, because they obscurely saw in him the point where they could
+meet, the clearing from which every path in the forest is visible.
+Froment had not always tried to bring others together; as long as
+he was well and strong, he too had taken his own way, but since his
+course had been cut short, after a time of bitter despondency of which
+he said nothing, he had placed himself at the cross-roads. As he could
+not possibly act himself, he was better able to view the whole field
+and take part in spirit. He saw the different currents: country,
+revolution, contests between states and classes, science and
+faith--like a stream's conflicting forces, with its rapids,
+whirlpools, and reefs; it may sometimes slacken, or turn its course,
+but it always flows on irresistibly (even reaction is carried
+forward). And he, the poor youth staked at his cross-roads, took all
+these currents unto him, the entire stream.
+
+Edmé reminded Clerambault sometimes of Perrotin, but he and Froment
+were worlds apart. The latter also denied nothing of what is, and
+wished to understand everything; but his was a fiery spirit, his whole
+soul was filled with ordered movement and feeling; with him all life
+and death went forward and upward. And his body lay there motionless.
+
+
+
+
+It was a dark hour; the turn of the year 1917-18. In the foggy winter
+nights men waited for the supreme onslaught of the German armies,
+which rumour had foretold for months past; the Gotha raids on Paris
+had already begun. Those who wanted to fight to the end pretended
+confidence, the papers kept on boasting, and Clemenceau had never
+slept better in his life. But the tension showed in the increasing
+bitterness of feeling among civilians. The agonised public turned on
+the suspects among them, the defeatists and the pacifists, and
+for days at a time the baying of an accusing public pursued these
+miserable creatures and hunted them down. And spies swarmed of all
+sorts, patriotic denouncers, half-crazed witnesses. When towards the
+end of March the long-threatened great offensive against Paris began,
+the "sacred" fury between fellow-citizens reached its height, and
+there is no doubt that if the invasion had succeeded, before the
+Germans had arrived at the gates of the city, the gallows at
+Vincennes, that altar of the country's vengeance, would have known
+many victims, innocent or guilty, accused or condemned.
+
+Clerambault was often shouted at in the streets, but he was not
+alarmed; perhaps because he did not realise the danger. One day Moreau
+found him in a group of people disputing with an excited young man who
+had spoken to him in a most insulting manner. While they were talking
+the shell from a "Big Bertha" exploded close by. Clerambault took no
+notice, and went on quietly explaining his position to the angry young
+man. There was something positively comic in this obstinacy, and the
+circle of listeners was quick to feel it, like true Frenchmen,
+and began to exchange jokes not entirely of a refined nature, but
+perfectly good-natured. Moreau caught hold of Clerambault's arm and
+tried to drag him away, but he stopped, and looking at the laughing
+crowd, the absurdity of the situation struck him in his turn, and he
+too burst out laughing.
+
+"What an old fool I am!" said he to Moreau, who was still intent on
+getting him away.
+
+"You had better look out, for you are not the only fool in this
+town," was the somewhat impertinent answer, but Clerambault would not
+understand what he meant.
+
+The case against him had entered on a new phase; he was now accused of
+infraction of the law of the 5th of August, 1914--"An act to repress
+indiscretions in time of war." He was accused of pacifist propaganda
+among the working classes, where it was said that Thouron had
+distributed Clerambault's writings with the consent of the author;
+but there was no foundation for this, as Thouron was in a position to
+testify that Clerambault had no knowledge of such propaganda, and had
+certainly not authorised it.
+
+It appeared, however, singularly enough, that Thouron would not swear
+to anything of the sort. His attitude was strange, for, instead of
+stating the facts, he equivocated as if he had something to hide; it
+almost looked as if he wished this to be noticed, which would have
+aroused suspicions if he had not been so careful. Unfortunately these
+suspicions seemed to glance at Clerambault, though he said nothing
+against him or against anyone; in fact he refused to tell anything,
+but he let it be understood that if he chose ... but he did not
+choose. Clerambault was confronted with him, and his attitude was
+perfect, really chivalrous. He laid his hand on his heart and declared
+that be had the admiration of a son for the great "Master," and
+"Friend," and when Clerambault, getting impatient, begged him to state
+simply just what had passed between them, the other would do nothing
+but protest his "undying devotion." He would rather say nothing more;
+he had nothing to add to his testimony; it was all his fault.
+
+He left with an increased reputation, while Clerambault was supposed
+to have sheltered himself behind his devoted henchman. The press
+unhesitatingly accused Clerambault of cowardice, and meanwhile the
+case dragged on, Clerambault appearing every day to answer useless
+questions, with no decision in sight. It might have been supposed that
+a man accused without proofs, and subject for so long to injurious
+suspicions, would have been entitled to the sympathy of the public;
+but on the contrary everyone was more down on him than before; they
+blamed him because he was not already convicted. All sorts of absurd
+stories were in circulation about him; it was asserted that experts
+had discovered through the shape of some letters misprinted in a
+pamphlet of Clerambault's that it had come from a German press, and
+this humbug was readily swallowed by men who were supposed to be
+intelligent, before the war,--only four years ago, but it seemed
+centuries.
+
+So all these worthy folks passed sentence on a fellow-citizen on the
+slightest information; it was not the first time, and it will not be
+the last. The best opinion was indignant that he should still be at
+liberty, and reactionary papers, fearing that their prey would escape,
+tried to intimidate justice by loud accusations, and demanded that
+the case should be removed from the civil court and brought before
+a court-martial. This excitement soon developed into one of those
+paroxysms which in Paris are generally brief but violent; for this
+sensible people does go crazy periodically. It may be asked why
+men who are kind for the most part, and naturally given to mutual
+tolerance, not to say indifference, should have these explosions of
+furious fanaticism, when they seem to lose all feeling as well as
+common-sense. Some will tell you that this people is feminine in its
+virtues, as well as in its vices, that the delicate nerves and fine
+sensibility which cause it to excel in matters of taste and art also
+make it susceptible to attacks of hysteria, but I am of opinion
+that any people is manly only by accident, if by a man you mean a
+reasonable creature--a flattering but baseless idea. Men only use
+their reason from time to time, and are soon worn out by the effort of
+thinking; so those do them a favour who act for them, encouraging them
+in the direction of the least effort, and not much is required to hate
+a new idea. Do not condemn them; the Friend of all who are persecuted
+has said with His heroic indulgence: "They know not what they do."
+
+An active nationalist newspaper was eager in stirring up the evil
+instincts that lay below the surface. It lived on the exploitation of
+hatred and suspicion, which it called "working for the regeneration
+of France,"--France being reduced to this paper and its friends. It
+published "Cleramboche," a collection of sanguinary articles, like
+those which succeeded so well against Jaurés; it roused people by
+declaring that the traitor owed his safety to occult influences, and
+that he would make his escape, if he were not carefully watched; and
+finally it appealed to popular justice.
+
+
+
+
+Victor Vaucoux hated Clerambault; not that he knew him at all; it is
+not necessary to know a man in order to hate him; but if he had known
+him he would have detested him still more. He was his born enemy
+before he even knew that Clerambault existed. There are races among
+minds more antagonistic to each other, in all countries, than those
+divided by a different skin or uniform.
+
+He was a well-to-do _bourgeois_ from the west of France and belonged
+to a family of former servants of the Empire who had been sulking for
+the last forty years in a sterile opposition. He had a small property
+in the Charente, where he spent the summer, and passed the rest of
+the time in Paris. Having instincts for government which he could not
+satisfy, he laid the blame for this on his family and on life, and
+thus thwarted, his character had grown tyrannical so that he acted the
+despot unconsciously to those nearest to him, as a right and duty that
+could not be disputed. The word tolerance had no meaning for him; for
+_he could not make a mistake_. Nevertheless he possessed intelligence,
+and moral vigour; he even had a heart, but all wrapped about and
+knotted like an old tree-trunk till such forces of expansion as he had
+within him were stunted. He could absorb nothing from the outside;
+when he read or travelled he saw everything with hostile eyes, his one
+wish was to go home; and as the bark was too thick to be penetrated,
+all his sap came from the foot of the tree--from the _dead_.
+
+He was the type of that portion of the race which, stubborn but
+outworn, has not life enough to spread itself abroad, and shrinks into
+a sentiment of aggressive self-defence. This looks with suspicion and
+antipathy on the young forces which overflow around it, at home and
+abroad; growing nations and classes, all the passionate awkward
+attempts at social and moral improvement. Like poor Barrès, and his
+dwarfed hero,[1] such people want walls and barriers, frontiers, and
+enemies. In this state of siege Vaucoux lived, and his family was
+forced to live in the same way. His wife who was a sweet, sad, effaced
+kind of person, found the only method of escape--and died. Left alone
+with his grief--of which he made a kind of rampart, as of everything
+about him--having only one son thirteen years of age, he had mounted
+guard before his youth and brought him up to do the same; strange that
+a man should bring a son into the world to fight against the future!
+Perhaps the boy, if let alone, would have found out life by instinct,
+but in the father's shut-up house, a sort of jail, he was his father's
+prey. They had few friends, few books, few, or rather one, newspaper
+whose petrified principles corresponded to Vaucoux' need for
+conservation, in the corpse-like meaning of the word. As his son, or
+his victim, could not get away from him, he inoculated him with all
+his own mental diseases; like those insects which deposit their eggs
+in the living bodies of others. And when the war broke out, he took
+him at once to a recruiting station and made him enlist. For a man of
+his sort, "Country" was the noblest of things--the holy of holies; he
+did not need to breathe the thrilling suggestion of the crowd, his
+head was already turned, and, besides, he never went with the crowds;
+he carried "Country" about with him;--The Country and The Past,--The
+Eternally Past.
+
+[Footnote 1: "Simon and I then understood our hatred of strangers and
+barbarians, and our egotism, in which we included ourselves and our
+entire small moral family.--_The first care of him who would wish to
+live must be to surround himself with high walls; but even in his
+closed garden he must introduce only those who are guided by the same
+feelings, and interests analogous to his own_." "A Free Man."
+
+In three lines, three times, this "free man" expresses the idea of
+"shutting-up," "closing," and "surrounding with walls."]
+
+His son was killed, like Clerambault's son, and the sons of millions
+of other fathers, for the faith and the ideals of those fathers in
+which they did not believe.
+
+Vaucoux had none of Clerambault's doubts; he did not know the meaning
+of the word, and if he could have permitted himself such a feeling he
+would have despised the idea. Hard man as he was, he had loved his son
+passionately, though he had never shown it; and he could think of no
+better way to prove it now than by a ferocious hatred for those who
+had killed him; not, of course, reckoning himself among the number.
+
+There were not many methods of revenge open to a man of his age,
+rheumatic and stiff in one arm; but he tried to enlist and was
+rejected. He felt that something must be done, and all that he had
+left was his brain. Alone in his deserted house with the memory of his
+dead wife and child, he sat for hours brooding on these vindictive
+thoughts; and like a beast shaking the bars of its cage, waiting for
+the chance to spring, his mind raged furiously against the inhibitions
+the war put upon him with its iron circle of the trenches.
+
+The clamours of the press drew his attention to Clerambault's articles
+which were intensely distasteful to him. The idea of snatching
+his precious hatred away from between his teeth! From the slight
+acquaintance that he had with Clerambault before the war, he felt an
+antipathy for him; as a writer, on account of the new form of his art,
+and as a man for numerous reasons: his love of life, and other men,
+his democratic ideals, his rather silly optimism, and his European
+aspirations. At the very first glance, with the instinct of a
+rheumatic in mind and body, Vaucoux had classed Clerambault as one of
+those pestilent persons who open doors and windows and make a draught
+in that closed house, his Country. That is, as he understood the term,
+in his mind there could be no other. After this there was no need for
+the vociferations of the papers; in the author of "The Appeal to the
+Living," and the "Pardon from the Dead," he saw at once an agent of
+the enemy, and with his thirst for revenge, he knew the opportunity
+had come.
+
+
+
+
+Nothing can be more convenient than to detest those who differ from
+you, especially when you do not understand them; but poor Clerambault
+had not this resource, for he did understand perfectly. These good
+people had had to bear injuries from the enemy; of course because they
+were struck by them, but also frankly, because of Injustice with a
+capital I; for in their short-sightedness it filled the field of
+vision. The capacity to feel and judge is very limited in an ordinary
+man; submerged as he is in the species, he clings to any driftwood;
+and just as he reduces the infinite number of shades in the river of
+light to a few colours, the good and evil that flow in the veins
+of the world are only perceptible to him when he has bottled a few
+samples, chosen among those around him. All good and bad then he has
+in his flask, and on these he can expend his whole power of liking or
+repulsion; witness the fact that to millions of excellent people the
+condemnation of Dreyfus, or the sinking of the "Lusitania," remains
+the crime of the century. They cannot see that the path of social
+life is paved with crime, and that they walk over it in perfect
+unconsciousness, profiting by injustices that they make no effort to
+prevent. Of all these, which are the worst? Those which rouse long
+echoes in the conscience of mankind, or those which are known alone to
+the stifled victim? Naturally, our worthy friends have not arms long
+enough to embrace all the misery of the world; they can only reach one
+perhaps, but that they press close to their heart; and when they have
+chosen a crime, they pour out upon it all the pent-up hatred within
+them;--when a dog has a bone to gnaw, it is wiser not to touch him.
+
+Clerambault had tried to take his bone away from the dog, and if he
+was bitten he had no right to complain; in point of fact he did not
+do so. Men are in the right to fight injustice wherever they see it;
+perhaps it is not their fault if they often see no more than its big
+toe, like Gulliver's at Brobdignag. Well, we must each do what we can;
+and these people could bite.
+
+
+
+
+It was Good Friday, and the rising tide of invasion swept up towards
+the Ile de France. Even this day of sacred sorrow had not stopped the
+massacre, for the lay war knows nothing of the Truce of God. Christ
+had been bombarded in one of His churches, and the news of the
+murderous explosion at St. Gervais that afternoon spread at nightfall
+through the darkened city, wrapped in its grief, its rage, and its
+fear.
+
+The sad little group of friends had gathered at Froment's house; each
+one had come hoping to meet the others, without previous appointment.
+They could see nothing but violence all about them; in the present as
+well as in the future, in the enemy's camp, in their own, on the side
+of revolutionists, and reactionaries as well. Their agony and their
+doubts met in one thought. The sculptor was saying:
+
+"Our holiest convictions, our faith in peace and human brotherhood
+rest in vain on reason and love; is there any hope then that they can
+conquer men? We are too weak."
+
+Clerambault, half-unconsciously, as the words of Isaiah came to his
+mind, uttered them aloud:
+
+  "Darkness covers the earth,
+  And the cloud envelops the people...."
+
+He stopped, but from the faintly-lighted bed came Froment's voice,
+continuing:
+
+  "Rise, for on the tops of the mountains
+  The light shineth forth...."
+
+"Yes, the light will dawn," said Madame Froment; she was sitting on
+the foot of the bed in the dark near Clerambault; he leaned forward
+and took her hand. It was as if a thrill widened through the room,
+like a ripple over water.
+
+"Why do you say that?" asked the Count de Coulanges.
+
+"Because I see _Him_ plainly."
+
+"I can see _Him_ too," said Clerambault.
+
+"Him? Whom do you mean?" asked Doctor Verrier. But before the answer
+could come, they all knew the word that would be said:
+
+"He who bears the light, the God who will conquer...."
+
+"Are you waiting for a God?" said the old professor. "Do you believe
+in miracles?"
+
+"We are the miracle, for is it not one that in this world of perpetual
+violence we have kept a constant faith in the love and the union of
+men?"
+
+"Christ is expected for centuries," said Coulanges bitterly, "and when
+He comes, He is neglected, crucified, and then forgotten except by a
+handful of poor ignorant wretches, good if you like, but narrow. The
+handful grows larger, and for the space of a man's life, faith is
+in flower, but afterwards it is spoiled and betrayed by success,
+by ambitious disciples, by the Church; and so on for centuries ...
+_Adveniat regnum tuum_ ... Where is the kingdom of God?"
+
+"Within us," said Clerambault, "our trials and our hopes all go to
+form the eternal Christ. It ought to make us happy to think of the
+privilege that has been bestowed on us, to shelter in our hearts the
+new God like the Babe in the manger."
+
+"And what proof have we of His coming?" said the doctor.
+
+"Our existence," said Clerambault.
+
+"Our sufferings," said Froment.
+
+"Our misunderstood faith," said the sculptor.
+
+"The fact alone that we are," went on Clerambault. "We are a living
+paradox thrown in the face of nature which denies it. A hundred times
+must the flame be kindled and go out before it burns steadily. Every
+Christ, every God is tried in advance through a series of forerunners;
+they are everywhere, lost in space, lost in the ages; but though
+widely-separated, all of these lonely souls see the same luminous
+point on the horizon--the glance of the Saviour--who is coming."
+
+"He is already come," said Froment.
+
+When they separated, with a deep mutual feeling, but in silence,--for
+they feared to break the religious charm which held them,--each found
+himself alone in the dark street, but in each was the memory of a
+vision which they could hardly understand. The curtain had fallen; but
+they could never forget that they had seen it rise.
+
+
+
+
+A few days after, Clerambault, who had been again summoned before the
+magistrate, came home splashed with mud from head to foot. His hat
+which he held in his hand, was a mere rag, and his hair was soaking.
+The woman, who opened the door, exclaimed at the sight of him, but he
+signed to her to keep still, and went into his room. Rosine was away,
+so the husband and wife were alone in the flat, where they only met at
+meals, saying as little to each other as possible. However, hearing
+the exclamation of the servant, Madame Clerambault feared some new
+misfortune and went to look for her husband. She too cried out when
+she saw him:
+
+"Good Lord! what have you been doing now?"
+
+"I slipped and fell," said he, trying to wipe off the traces of the
+accident.
+
+"You fell?--turn round. What a state you are in!... One can't have a
+moment's peace when you are around.... You never look where you are
+going. There is mud up to your eyelids ... all over your face!"
+
+"Yes, I must have struck myself there...."
+
+"What unlucky people we are!... you 'think' that you struck your
+cheek?... you tripped and fell?..." And looking him in the face, she
+cried:
+
+"It isn't true!...
+
+"I did fall, I assure you...."
+
+"No, I know it is not true ... tell me,... someone struck you ...?"
+He did not answer. "They struck you, the brutes. My poor husband, to
+think that anyone should strike you!... And you so good, who never did
+harm to anyone in your life! How can people be so wicked?" and she
+burst into tears as she threw her arms around him.
+
+"My dear girl," said he, much touched. "It is not worth all these
+tears. See, you are getting all muddy, you ought not to touch me."
+
+"That does not matter," said she. "I have more spots than that on my
+conscience. Forgive me!"
+
+"Forgive you for what? Why do you say such things?"
+
+"Because I have been wicked to you myself; I haven't understood
+you--(I don't think I ever shall)--but I do know that whatever you do,
+you only mean what is right. I ought to have stood up for you and I
+have not done it. I was angry with your foolishness, but it is really
+I that was the fool, and it vexed me too, when you got everyone down
+on you. But now ... it is really too unjust! That a lot of men who are
+not fit to tie your shoe ... that they should strike you! Let me kiss
+your poor muddy face!"
+
+It was so sweet to find each other again!--When she had had a good cry
+on Clerambault's neck, she helped him to dress, then she bathed his
+cheek with arnica, and carried off his clothes to brush them. At table
+her eyes dwelt on him with the old affectionate care, while he tried
+to calm her fears by talking of familiar things. To be alone together
+without the children took them back to the old days, the early times
+of their marriage. And the memory had a sad, quiet sweetness--as the
+evening angelus spreads through the growing gloom a last softened
+glory from the angelus of noon.
+
+About ten o'clock the bell rang, and Moreau came in with his friend
+Gillot. They had read the evening papers which gave an account of the
+incident--from their point of view; some spoke of the "spontaneous"
+indignation of the crowd and approved of the rebuke inflicted by
+popular contempt. Others, and they were the more serious sheets,
+deprecated lynch law in the public streets, as a matter of principle,
+but blamed the weakness of the authorities, who were afraid to throw
+light on all the facts.
+
+It was not impossible that this mild criticism of the government was
+inspired by the government itself; for politicians know how to manage
+so that their hand may be forced, when they have an end in view of
+which they are not exactly proud. The arrest of Clerambault seemed
+imminent, and Moreau and his comrade were very uneasy; but Clerambault
+signed to them to say nothing before his wife, and after a few words
+on the event of the day, which they treated rather lightly, he took
+them both into his study and asked them to tell him plainly what was
+the matter.
+
+They showed him a vicious article in the nationalist paper which had
+been active against Clerambault for weeks, and which was so encouraged
+by the manifestation of the day that it called on all its friends to
+renew the attack the next morning. Moreau and Gillot foresaw that
+there would be trouble when Clerambault went to the Palais, and they
+had come to beg him to stay in the house. Knowing his timidity, they
+thought that there would be no difficulty in persuading him to this,
+but just as it had been the day Moreau had found him disputing in the
+street, he did not now seem to grasp the situation.
+
+"Stay at home, why? I am perfectly well."
+
+"We think it would be more prudent."
+
+"On the contrary, it would do me good to go out for a little while."
+
+"You don't know what might happen."
+
+"As to that one never knows; it will be time enough to worry when it
+comes."
+
+"To be perfectly frank then, you are in danger; the feeling has been
+worked up against you for a long time, till now you are so hated that
+people's eyes almost start out of their heads at the sound of your
+name;--idiots! they know nothing about you but what they see in the
+papers; but their leaders want a row, they have been so stupid that
+your articles have had much more publicity than they intended; they
+are afraid that your ideas will spread, and they want to make an
+example of you that will discourage anyone who might be disposed to
+follow you."
+
+"If that is true," said Clerambault, "and I really have
+followers,--something I did not know before,--this is not the moment
+to keep out of the way; if they want to make an example of me, I
+cannot balk them." This was said in so pleasant a way, that they asked
+themselves if he really understood.
+
+"You are taking a terrible risk," persisted Gillot.
+
+"Well, my friend, everyone has to take risks nowadays."
+
+"It ought, at least, to be of some use,--why play into their hands?
+There is no need to throw yourself into the jaws of the wolves."
+
+"It seems to me on the contrary, that it might be very useful," said
+Clerambault, "and that the wolf would find himself in the wrong box
+after all; let me explain to you. This will spread our ideas, for
+violence always consecrates the persecuted cause. They want to
+intimidate, and so they will. Everyone will be frightened--their own
+side, all the hesitaters, and timorous folk. Let them be unjust, it
+will rebound on their own heads." He seemed to forget that it might
+also fall on his.
+
+They saw that he had made up his mind, and felt an increased respect
+for him, but they also felt much more anxious, and this led them to
+say:
+
+"If that is the case, we will get all our friends together, and go
+with you."
+
+"No, no, what a ridiculous idea!... nothing will happen after all."
+Seeing that their remonstrances were useless, Moreau made a last
+attempt: "You can't keep me from coming with you," said he. "I am an
+obstinate man myself, you can't get rid of me; I will wait for you, if
+I have to sit on that bench outside your door all night!"
+
+"Go and spend the night in your bed, my dear fellow," said
+Clerambault, "and sleep soundly. Come with me in the morning if you
+like, but it will be time lost; nothing is going to happen;--but kiss
+me, all the same!" After an affectionate hug, they went towards the
+door, when Gillot paused a moment: "We must look after you a little,
+you know," said he, "we feel as if you were a sort of father to us."
+
+"So I am," said Clerambault with his beaming smile; his own boy was in
+his mind. He closed the door, and stood for some minutes with the lamp
+in his hand in the vestibule before he realised where he was. It was
+nearly midnight and he was very tired, but, instead of going into
+the bedroom, he mechanically turned again towards his study;--the
+apartment, the house, the street were all asleep. Almost without
+seeing it, he stared vaguely at the light shining on the frame of an
+engraving of Rembrandt's, The Resurrection of Lazarus, which hung on
+the opposite wall.... A dear figure seemed to enter the room; ... it
+came in silently, and stood beside him.
+
+"Are you satisfied now?" he thought. "Is this what you wished?" And
+Maxime answered: "Yes," then added with meaning:
+
+"I have found it very hard to teach you, Papa."
+
+"Yes," said Clerambault, "there is much that we can learn from our
+sons." And they smiled at each other in the silence.
+
+
+
+
+When Clerambault at last went to bed, his wife was sound asleep. She
+was one of those people whom nothing can keep awake, who sink into
+profound slumber as soon as their heads touch the pillow. But
+Clerambault could not follow her example; he lay on his back with his
+eyes open, staring into the darkness, all through the rest of the
+night.
+
+There were pale glimmers from the street in the half-shadow; and a
+quiet star or two high up in a dark sky; one seemed to be falling in
+a great half-circle--it was only an airplane keeping watch over the
+sleeping city. Clerambault followed its sweep with his eyes, and
+seemed, to fly with it, the distant hum of the human planet coming
+faintly to his ear, like a strange music of the spheres not foreseen
+by Ionian sages.
+
+He felt happy, for the burden was lifted from his body and soul, his
+whole being seemed to be relaxed, to float in air. Pictures of the
+past day with its agitations and fatigues, passed before his eyes, but
+did not disturb him. An old man hustled by a mob of young _bourgeois_
+... He could hear their loud voices, too loud--but now they had
+vanished like faces that you catch a glimpse of from a moving train.
+The train flies on and the vision disappears in the roaring tunnel....
+There is the sombre sky again, and the mysterious star, still falling.
+Silent spaces around, the clear darkness, and the cool fresh air
+blowing on his soul; all infinity in one tiny drop of life, in a heart
+whose spark flickers to its end, but knows it is free, and that its
+vast home is near.
+
+Like a good steward of the treasure placed in his charge, Clerambault
+made up the account of his day. He looked back on his attempts, his
+efforts, his impulses, his mistakes; how little remained of his life,
+for nearly all that he had built up he had afterwards destroyed with
+his own hands. He had first stated, then denied, and had never ceased
+to wander in the forest of doubts and contradictions; often torn and
+bruised, with no guide but the stars half-seen through the branches.
+What meaning had there been in this long troubled course, now ending
+in darkness? One only, he had been free.
+
+Free!... What was this freedom, then, which intoxicated him so
+completely? This liberty of which he was the master and the
+slave--this imperious need to be free? He knew well enough that no
+more than others was he emancipated from the eternal bonds; but the
+orders that he obeyed differed from others; all are not alike. The
+word liberty is only one of the clear high commands of the invisible
+sovereign who rules the world ... whom we call necessity. She it is
+who excites those of the advance-guard to rebel, and causes them to
+break with the heavy past which the blind multitude drags along behind
+it; for she is the battle-field of the eternal present, where the
+past and the future must ever strive together, and on this field the
+ancient laws are conquered, that they may give place to new laws,
+which will be conquered in their turn.
+
+O Liberty! Thou art always in chains, but they are not the heavy
+fetters of the past; for each struggle has enlarged thy prison. Who
+can tell? Perhaps later, when the prison walls have been thrown down....
+But in the meanwhile, those whom thou wouldst save resist thee.
+Thou art called the Public Enemy, or The One against All. To think
+that this nickname should have been fastened on the weak, ordinary
+Clerambault! But he did not remember that at this moment, his thoughts
+were filled with the one who has always existed, ever since man has
+been known on the earth; the one who has never ceased to fight their
+follies, that they may be delivered--_The One whom All oppose_.... How
+many times throughout the ages have they rejected and crushed him! But
+in the midst of his agony a supernatural joy sustains him; he is the
+sacred golden seed of liberty, which fell from we know not what sheaf,
+and in the darkness of destiny has sowed the germs of light, ever
+since the first chaos. In the depths of the savage heart of man, the
+frail atom found shelter, it fought against elementary laws which
+grind and bend living things; but tirelessly the small golden seed
+grew, and man the weakest of all creatures, marched against nature and
+fought her. Each step cost a drop of his blood, in this gigantic duel;
+he has had to fight nature not only in the world without, but within
+himself, since he is a part of her. This is the hardest battle, that
+waged by the man divided against himself; and in the end who will
+conquer? On the one side is nature with her chariot of iron, in which
+she hurls worlds and peoples into the abyss; and on the other is
+only,--The Word. It is no wonder that you laugh, ye slaves! no wonder
+the servants of force say that it is like "a cur barking at the wheels
+of an express-train." Yes, if man were only a fragment of matter
+writhing in vain beneath the hammer of fate; but there is a spirit
+within him which knows how to smite Achilles on his heel, and Goliath
+in his forehead. Let him but wrench off a nut, the swift train is
+overturned, its course stayed. Planetary swirls, obscure masses of
+human-kind, roll down through the ages lighted by flashes of the
+liberating Spirit: Buddha, the Sages, Jesus--all breakers of chains! I
+can see the lightning coming, feel it thrill through me, like sparks
+that fly up beneath the horse's hoofs. The air vibrates with it, as
+the thick clouds of hate come together with a crash. The flame springs
+up! If you are alone against the world, have you cause to complain?
+You have escaped the crushing yoke, fought your way through, like a
+nightmare in which one struggles and tears oneself out of the dark
+waters. You sink, choking, and all at once with a despairing effort
+you throw yourself beyond the reach of the wave, and sink exhausted
+but safe on the shore. These people wound me? So much the better, I
+shall wake up in the free air.
+
+Yes, threatening world, I am indeed free from your fetters, I can
+never be chained again, and my detested will with which I so often had
+to fight, my will is now in you. You wanted, like me, to be free, and
+that made you suffer, and made you my enemy; but now even if you kill
+me, you have seen the light in me, and once seen, you can no longer
+reject it. Strike then! But know that in fighting against me you fight
+yourself also; you are beaten in advance, and when I defend myself, it
+is you that I defend as well. _The One against All_ is the _One for
+All_, and soon will be _The One with All_.
+
+I shall no longer be solitary! I feel that I have never been in truth
+alone. My brothers of the world, you may indeed be scattered afar over
+the earth like a handful of grain, but I know that you are here beside
+me. The thought of a man is not solitary; the idea which grows in him
+springs up in others; when he feels it in his heart, let him rejoice,
+no matter how unhappy, how injured he may be, for it is the earth
+reviving. The first spark in a lonely soul is the point of the ray
+which will pierre the night. So, welcome, Light. Break through the
+night which is around and within me!... "Clerambault."
+
+The fresh light of day returned, ever young and new, untouched by the
+stains of men which the sun drinks up like a morning mist.
+
+Madame Clerambault woke, and when she saw her husband with open eyes,
+she thought that he too had just waked up.
+
+"You had a good sleep," said she. "I don't think you stirred all night
+long." He did not contradict her, but thought of the vast distances he
+had traversed in the spirit, that fiery bird that flies through the
+night.... But feeling that he had come back to earth, he got up.
+
+At the same hour another man rose, who had also passed a sleepless
+night, who had also evoked his dead son, and thought of Clerambault.
+whom he did not know, with fierce hatred.
+
+A letter came from Rosine by the first mail, containing a secret that
+Clerambault had guessed long ago. Daniel had spoken to his parents,
+and the marriage would take place the next time he came home from the
+front. She went through the form of asking the consent of her father
+and mother, but she knew that her wishes were theirs. Her letter
+radiated happiness and a triumphant security that nothing could shake.
+The sad riddle of the agonised world had found an answer, and in the
+absorption of her young love the universal suffering; did not seem too
+high a price for the flower that bloomed for her on this bloody stem.
+In the midst of it all, she was tender and compassionate as usual,
+remembering the troubles of others, her father and his worries.
+But she seemed to put her happy arms about them, with a simple
+affectionate conceit, as if she said: "Please don't worry any more
+over all these ideas, darlings! It is foolish of you to be sad, when
+you see that happiness is coming."
+
+Clerambault smiled tenderly as he read the letter. No doubt happiness
+was on the way, but some of us cannot wait for it. "Greet it from me,
+my little Rose, and do not let it fly away."
+
+About eleven o'clock the Count de Coulanges came to ask after him; he
+had seen Moreau and Gillot mounting guard before the door. They had
+come to escort Clerambault according to their promise, but they had
+not dared to come up because they were an hour too early. Clerambault
+sent for them, laughing at their excess of zeal, and they admitted
+that they had thought him perfectly capable of sneaking out of the
+house without waiting for them; an idea which he confessed had crossed
+his mind.
+
+The news from the front was good; during the last few days the German
+offensive had wavered; strange signs of weakness began to appear;
+and well-founded rumours made it evident that there was a secret
+disorganisation in the formidable mass. People said that the limit of
+his strength had been passed and that the athlete was exhausted. There
+was talk also of contagion from the Russian revolutionary spirit
+brought by the German troops that had been on the Eastern Front.
+
+With the usual mobility of the French mind, the pessimists of
+yesterday began to shout for the approaching victory. Already Moreau
+discounted the calming down of passions and the return to common
+sense. The reconciliation of the nations and the triumph of
+Clerambault's ideas would follow shortly. He advised them not to
+deceive themselves too much, and amused himself by describing what
+would happen when peace was signed; for peace would have to come some
+day.
+
+"I am going to pretend," said he, "that I am hovering over the
+town--like the devil on two sticks--the first night after the
+armistice. I see innumerable sorrowing hearts behind shutters closed
+against the shouts in the streets. Hearts straining all through these
+years towards a victory that would lend meaning to their grief;
+and now they can let go--or break down, sleep, die, perhaps. The
+politicians will reflect on the quickest and most lucrative way to
+exploit the success, or turn a somersault if they have guessed wrong.
+The professional soldiers will keep the war going as long as they can,
+and when that is stopped, they will plan for another in the shortest
+possible time. Before-the-war pacifists will all come out of their
+holes, and be found at their posts, with touching demonstrations of
+joy, while their old leaders who have been beating the drum in the
+rear for over five years will reappear with olive branches in their
+hands, smiling and talking of brotherly love. The men who swore
+never to forget when they were in the trenches will accept all the
+explanations and congratulations that are offered them. It is such a
+bore not to forget! Five years of exhausting fatigue make you accept
+anything through sheer weariness or boredom, or the wish to finish
+it all, so the flourishes of triumph will drown the cries of the
+vanquished. The one thought of most people will be to go back to their
+sleepy before-the-war habits; first they will dance on the graves, and
+then lie down and go to sleep on them, till after a while the war will
+be only something to boast about in the evening. Perhaps they will
+succeed in forgetting it so entirely, that the Dance of Death can be
+resumed;--not all at once, of course, but later when we have had a
+good rest. So there will be peace everywhere, till the time when it
+will be war everywhere again. In the meaning that is now given to the
+words, my friends, peace and war are just different labels for the
+same bottle. It reminds me of what King Bomba said of his valiant
+soldiers; dress them in red or in green as you choose, they will take
+to their heels just the same. One says peace and the other war, but
+neither means anything, there is only universal servitude, multitudes
+swept along like the ebb and flow of tides; and this will continue as
+long as no strong souls raise themselves above the human ocean, as
+long as no one dares to fight against the fate that sways these great
+masses."
+
+"Fight against nature," said Coulanges. "Would you resist her laws?"
+
+"There are no immutable laws," said Clerambault, laws like beings,
+live, change, and die. It is the duty of the spirit, not to accept
+these as the Stoics taught us, but rather to modify and shape them to
+our needs. Laws are the outside form of the soul, and if it grows they
+must grow also. The only just laws are those that suit me. Am I wrong
+in thinking that the shoe should be made to fit the foot, not the foot
+for the shoe?"
+
+"I do not say that you are wrong," said the Count, "we force nature
+all the time in cattle-breeding, so that even the shape and instincts
+of the animals are modified; why not the human creature? No, far from
+blaming you, I maintain on the contrary that the object and the duty
+of every man worthy of the name is, just as you say, to alter human
+nature. It is the source of all real progress; even to strive after
+the impossible has a concrete value. But that does not mean that we
+shall succeed in what we undertake."
+
+"It is possible that we may not succeed for ourselves and our
+children; it is, even more, probable. Perhaps our unhappy nation, the
+entire West is on the downward path. There are many things that make
+me fear that we are hastening to our fall; our vices and our virtues,
+which are almost equally injurious, the pride and hatred, the jealous
+spite worthy of a big village, the endless chain of revenges, the
+blind obstinacy, the clinging to the past with its superannuated
+conceptions of honour and duty, which causes us to sacrifice the
+future for the past; all these make me fear that the terrible warning
+of this war has taught nothing to our slothful and turbulent heroism.
+There was a time when I should have been overwhelmed by such a thought
+as this, but now I feel lifted above it, as I am above my own mortal
+body; the only tie between me and it is made of pity. My spirit is
+brother to that which, on the other side of the globe, is now touched
+by the new fire. Do you remember the beautiful words of the Seer of
+St. Jean d'Acre?[1]"
+
+[Footnote 1: Reference to Abdul Baha, at present the head of the
+Babists or Bahaists. He was at that time a prisoner at St. Jean
+d'Acre. See "Lessons of St. Jean d'Acre," by Abdul Baha, collected by
+Laura Clifford Barney. (Author.)]
+
+"'_The Sun of Truth is like our sun. It rises in many different places.
+One day it appears in the sign of Cancer, on another it rises in
+Libra, but it is always the same sun. Once the Sun of Truth rose in
+the constellation of Abraham, and set in that of Moses, flaming over
+the whole horizon; and later it was seen in the sign of Christ, bright
+and resplendent. When its light shone over Sinai, the followers of
+Abraham were blinded. But wherever the sun may rise, my eyes will be
+fixed upon it; even if it should appear in the west it will always be
+the sun._'"
+
+"'_C'est du Nord aujourd'hui que nous vient la lumière_,'"[1] said
+Moreau, laughing ("It is from the North that our light comes today").
+
+[Footnote 1: A famous line of Voltaire's. (Author.)]
+
+
+
+
+Though the hearing was set for one o'clock, and it was now barely
+twelve, Clerambault wanted to start at once, he was so afraid of being
+late.
+
+They had not far to go, and indeed his friends had no need to protect
+him against the rabble which hung about the Palais de Justice, a crowd
+which in any case was considerably thinned out by the morning's news.
+There were only a few curs, more noisy than dangerous, who might have
+snapped at their heels.
+
+They had reached the corner of the Rue Vaugirard and the Rue d'Assas,
+when Clerambault, finding that he had forgotten an important paper,
+went back to look for it in his apartment; the others stood there
+waiting for him. They saw him come out and cross the street. On the
+opposite sidewalk, near a cab-stand, was a well-dressed man of about
+his own age, grey-haired, not very tall, and rather stout. They saw
+this person go up to Clerambault--it all passed so quickly that they
+had no time even to cry out. There was a brief exchange of words, an
+arm raised, a shot!--they saw him totter, and ran up. Too late.
+
+They laid him down on a bench; a little crowd gathered, more curious
+than shocked (people had seen so many things of this kind), looking
+over each ether's shoulders:
+
+"Who is it?"
+
+"A defeatist."
+
+"Serve him right, then I The dirty beasts have done us harm enough!"
+
+"I don't know, there are worse things than to want the war to be
+over."
+
+"There is only one way to finish it; we must fight it out. It is the
+pacifists' fault that it has dragged on so long."
+
+"You might almost say that they were the cause of it; the boches
+counted on them. Without those fools there wouldn't have been any
+war." Clerambault lying there half-unconscious, thought of the old
+woman who threw her fagot on the wood stacked around John Huss ...
+_Sancta simplicitas._
+
+Vaucoux had not attempted to get away, but let them take the revolver
+out of his hand without resistance. They held his arms fast, and he
+stood looking at his victim, whose eyes met his; each thought of his
+son.
+
+Moreau, much excited, spoke threateningly to Vaucoux; who, like an
+impassive image of hatred, only answered briefly: "I have killed the
+Adversary, the Enemy."
+
+A faint smile hovered on Clerambault's lips as he looked at Vaucoux.
+"My poor friend," he thought, "It is within you yourself that the
+Enemy lies,"--his eyes closed ... centuries seemed to pass.... "There
+are no enemies...." and Clerambault entered into the peace of the
+worlds to come.
+
+Seeing that he had lost consciousness, his friends carried him into
+Froment's house which was close by; but he was dead before they
+reached it.
+
+They laid him on a bed, in a room beside that in which the young
+paralytic lay with his friends now gathered round him. The door
+remained open. The spirit of the dead man seemed near them.
+
+Moreau spoke bitterly of the absurdity of this murder; why not strike
+one of the great pirates of the triumphant reaction, or a recognised
+head of the revolutionary group? Why choose this inoffensive,
+unbiassed man, who was kind to everyone, and almost too comprehending
+to all sides?
+
+"Hatred makes no mistakes," said Edmé Froment. "It has been guided
+by a sure instinct to the right mark; for an enemy often sees more
+clearly than a friend. No, there is no doubt about it, the most
+dangerous adversary of society and the established order in this world
+of violence, falsehood, and base compromises, is, and has always been,
+the man of peace and a free conscience. The crucifixion of Jesus was
+no accident; He had to be put to death. He would be executed today;
+for a great evangelist is a revolutionary, and the most radical of
+all. He is the inaccessible source from whence revolutions break
+through the hard ground, the eternal principle of non-submission of
+the spirit to Caesar, no matter who he may be--the unjust force. This
+explains the hatred of those servants of the State, the domesticated
+peoples, for the insulted Christ who looks at them in silence, and
+also for His disciples, for us, the eternal insurrectionists, the
+conscientious objectors to tyranny from high or low, to that of today
+or tomorrow ... for us, who go before One greater than ourselves, who
+comes bringing to the world the Word of salvation, the Master laid
+in the grave but '_qui sera en agonie jusqu' à la fin du monde_,'[1]
+whose suffering will endure to the world's end, the unfettered
+Spirit, the Lord of all." [Footnote 1: The quotation is from Pascal.
+(Author.)]
+
+SIERRE, 1916--PARIS, 1920.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Clerambault, by Rolland, Romain
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10868 ***