here 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