Chapter XIII: Friends

As soon as he had uttered his first words, a void formed round this brave man. As Verhaeren finely phrased it, he positively loved to encounter danger, whereas most people shun danger. His oldest friends, those who had known his writings and his character from youth upwards, left him in the lurch; prudent folk quietly turned their backs on him; newspaper editors and publishers refused him hospitality. For the moment, Rolland seemed to be alone. But, as he had written in _Jean Christophe_, "A great soul is never alone. Abandoned by friends, such a one makes new friends, and surrounds himself with a circle of that affection of which he is himself full."

Necessity, the touchstone of conscience, had deprived him of friends, but had also brought him friends. It is true that their voices were hardly audible amid the clangor of the opponents. The war-makers had control of all the channels of publicity. They roared hatred through the megaphones of the press. Friends could do no more than give expression to a few cautious words in such petty periodicals as could slip through the meshes of the censorship. Enemies formed a compact mass, flowing to the attack in a huge wave (whose waters were ultimately to be dispersed in the morass of oblivion); his friends crystallized slowly and secretly around his ideas, but they were steadfast. His enemies were a regiment advancing fiercely to the attack at the word of command; his friends were a fellowship, working tranquilly, and united only through love.

The friends in Paris had the hardest task. It was barely possible for them to communicate with him openly. Half of their letters to him and half of his replies were lost on the frontier. As from a beleaguered fortress, they hailed the liberator, the man who was freely proclaiming to the world the ideals which they were forbidden to utter. Their only possible way of defending their ideas was to defend the man. In Rolland's own fatherland, Amédée Dunois, Fernand Desprès, Georges Pioch, Renaitour, Rouanet, Jacques Mesnil, Gaston Thiesson, Marcel Martinet, and Sévérine, boldly championed him against calumny. A valiant woman, Marcelle Capy, raised the standard, naming her book _Une voix de femme dans la mêlée_. Separated from him by the blood-stained sea, they looked towards him as towards a distant lighthouse upon the rock, and showed their brothers the signal of hope.

In Geneva there formed round him a group of young writers, disciples and friends, winning strength from his strength. P. J. Jouve author of _Vous êtes des hommes_ and _Danse des morts_, glowing with anger and with love of goodness, suffering intensely at witnessing the injustice of the world, Olivier redivivus, gave expression in his poems to his hatred for force. René Arcos, who like Jouve had realized all the horror of war and who hated war no less intensely, had a clearer comprehension of the dramatic moment, was more thoughtful than Jouve, but equally simple and kindhearted. Arcos extolled the European ideal; Charles Baudouin the ideal of eternal goodness. Franz Masereel, the Belgian artist, developed his humanist plaint in a series of magnificent woodcuts. Guilbeaux, zealot for the social revolution, ever ready to fight like a gamecock against authority, founded his monthly review "demain," which was a faithful representative of the European spirit for a time, until it succumbed because of its passion for the Russian revolution. Charles Baudouin founded the monthly review, "Le Carmel," providing a city of refuge for the persecuted European spirit, and a platform upon which the poets and imaginative writers of all lands could assemble under the banner of humanity. Jean Debrit in "La Feuille" combated the partisanship of the Latin Swiss press and attacked the war. Claude de Maguet founded "Les Tablettes," which, through the boldness of its contributors and through the drawings of Masereel, became the most vigorous periodical in Switzerland. A little oasis of independence came into existence, and hither the breezes from all quarters wafted greetings from the distance. Here alone was it possible to breathe a European air.

The most remarkable feature of this circle was that, thanks to Rolland, enemy brethren were not excluded from spiritual fellowship. Whereas everywhere else people were infected with the hysteria of mass hatred or were terrified lest they should expose themselves to suspicion, and therefore avoided their sometime intimates of enemy countries like the pestilence should they chance to meet them in the streets of some neutral city, at a time when relatives were afraid to exchange letters of enquiry regarding the life or death of those of their own blood, Rolland would not for a moment deny his German friends. Never, indeed, had he shown more love to those among them who remained faithful, at an epoch when to love them was dangerous. He made himself known to them in public, and wrote to them freely. His words concerning these friendships will never be forgotten: "Yes, I have German friends; just as I have French, English, and Italian friends; just as I have friends among the members of every race. They are my wealth, which I am proud of, and which I seek to preserve. If a man has been so fortunate as to encounter loyal souls, persons with whom he can share his most intimate thoughts, persons with whom he is connected by brotherly ties, these ties are sacred, and the hour of trial is the last of hours in which they should be rent asunder. How cowardly would be the refusal to recognize these friends, in deference to the impudent demand of a public opinion which has no rights over our feelings.... How painful, how tragical, these friendships are at such a moment, the letters will show when they are published. But it is precisely by means of such friendships that we can defend ourselves against hatred, more murderous than war, for it poisons the wounds of war, and harms the hater equally with the object of hate."

Immeasurable is the debt which friends and numberless unseen companions in adversity owe to Rolland for his brave and free attitude. He set an example to all those who, though they shared his sentiments, were isolated in obscurity, and who needed some such point of crystallization before their thoughts and feelings could be consolidated. It was above all for those who were not yet sure of themselves that this archetypal personality provided so splendid a stimulus. Rolland's steadfastness put younger men to shame. In his company we were stronger, freer, more genuine, more unprejudiced. Human loving kindness, transfigured by his ardor, radiated like a flame. What bound us together was not that we chanced to think alike, but a passionate exaltation, which often became a positive fanaticism for brotherhood. We foregathered in defiance of public opinion and in defiance of the laws of the belligerent states, exchanging confidences without reserve; our comradeship exposed us to all sorts of suspicions; these things served but to draw us closer together, and in many memorable hours we felt with a veritable intoxication the unprecedented quality of our friendship. We were but a couple of dozen who thus came together in Switzerland; Frenchmen, Germans, Russians, Austrians, and Italians. We few were the only ones among the hundreds of millions who could look one another in the face without hatred, exchanging our innermost thoughts. This little troop was all that then constituted Europe. Our unity, a grain of dust in the storm which was raging through the world, was perhaps the seed of the coming fraternity. How strong, how happy, how grateful did we often feel. For without Rolland, without the genius of his friendship, without the connecting link constituted by his disposition, we should never have attained to freedom and security. Each of us loved him in a different way, and all of us regarded him with equal veneration. To the French, he was the purest spiritual expression of their homeland; to us, he was the wonderful counterpart of the best in our own world. In this circle that formed round Rolland there was the sense of fellowship which has always characterized a religious community in the making. The hostility between our respective nations, and the consciousness of danger, fired our friendship to the pitch of exaggeration; while the example of the bravest and freest man we had ever known, brought out all that was best in us. When we were near him, we felt ourselves to be in the heart of true Europe. Whoever was able to know Rolland's inmost essence, acquired, as in the ancient saga, new energy for the wrestle with brute force.