One
beautiful summer afternoon I was visiting my friends, the de Yelskis, in their
Riviera villa overlooking the Mediterranean. The Count and Countess de Yelski
were descendants of two ancient Polish families of nobility, and had bought
this villa on the Riviera many years before, to have a pleasant change from
the cold Polish winters. But when the Communist revolution came, the villa
became a refuge for their very lives. They escaped to France with some family
jewels which they were able to Sell, giving them a comfortable income. From a
material standpoint, considering that they had a lovely home and enough money,
they were very fortunate; but these charming people, small and dainty like
ivory cameos of another era, lived only in the physical sense in France. Their
hearts and souls were in their native Poland , living and reliving that a1most
magical time of castles and white horses. They felt a kind of affinity with
me, as my father's estates in Transylvania were gone
too (although it did not bother me in the least), and for hours they
would reminisce, speaking in soft and sad voices of the wonderful scent of hay
before the autumn harvest, the colts frisking and pasturing in the green
fields, the peasants harvesting the wheat, the delicious Polish and Russian
foods, which did not taste the same in France even if the recipes were
followed faithfully, the gathering of fruits from their abundant orchards
accompanied by the singing of the old songs, their melodies floating through
the late summer air, and the glistening white winters of muffled sleigh bells
and troikas.
They
were also talented musicians, and we formed an impromptu string quartet: Count
de Yelski playing cello, I playing violin, countess de Yelski as second
violin, and the viola played by a Russian Émigré friend of theirs called
Korilenko. He was not quite as well-off financially, but had a good job
somewhere in Nice, and I enjoyed tremendously the humorous sight of him as we
played together, for he was very tall and skinny, making a charming contrast
with the miniature Count and Countess as he hunched over his viola with
Russian abandon while the Yelskis played their instruments with artistic
precision. And in point of fact, we made some very excellent music together!
On
this particular afternoon, we were
just playing the closing measures of one of Beethoven's late quartets on the
balcony, at the same time enjoying the sunset over the Mediterranean, when
their housekeeper, a very nice elderly lady who had come with them from
Poland, entered rather disturbed, saying she didn't like to interrupt us hut
there were some visitors she didn't feel equipped to deal with. She went on to
say it was some kind of delegation whose members were asking to talk with me,
and they had just come from Tourette Sur Loup
where
Jean Pierre had told them where they could find me. We all looked at each
other a bit puzzled, for the last thing in the world I was expecting was a
delegation of any kind. Finally Count de Yelski asked his housekeeper to go
back and ask them who they were and what they wanted. So she left, and in a
moment returned with the astounding information that they were a group of
anarchists. Now this was not a word to bring joy into the hearts of the
Russian and Polish aristocracy, and looks of great consternation came over the
faces of my friends.
Korilenko
got very emotional and, waving his bow around, said that they had had enough
problems with these people in Russia, and he thought they had finally escaped
completely from them and now they turned up like ghosts in this peaceful part
of beautiful free France!
THE
ANARCHISTS OF THE RIVIERA
This
started to get interesting, so I calmed him down somewhat and asked the
housekeeper if she would please ask them what they wanted to discuss with me.
After she left, my friends cautioned me to be careful, that they had all been
through very bad experiences with these terrorists in Russia and Poland, and
one never knew what they were up to. They were still going on in this way when
the housekeeper returned with a very interesting story. It seemed that they
had heard one of my lectures at the Societé Naturiste de Culture Humaine in
Nice, and they were very anxious to have my ideas and suggestions about
establishing a few creative subsistent homesteads in the outlying country
area. Upon hearing this, the Count and Countess relaxed somewhat, but our
friend Korilenko was still not satisfied. He asked the housekeeper to go back
one more time and ask them if they were followers of Bukharin or Prince
Kropotkin. We all looked at him in some surprise as the good housekeeper made
yet another trip and came back with the information that they were followers
of Prince Kropotkin. Now Korilenko looked happier, saying that the disciples
of Prince Kropotkin were definitely more peaceful people than the followers of
Bukharin, who wanted to make a tabula rasa of Western civilization. I told him
he was right, but not to forget that even Bukharin, when he heard the Ninth
Symphony of Beethoven, said that when they destroyed all of civilization, they
would somehow manage to preserve that glorious piece of music. Then Count de
Yelski said that though he and his wife would enjoy at any time this
discussion of the various aspects of anarchist philosophy, did we not think it
would be a good idea to let these people in and finally get the whole story
from them, now that we had determined they did not come with evil intentions.
So the
housekeeper went again to the door and this time returned with three young
people, all in their early twenties. They shook hands solemnly with each of
us, introducing themselves as Marcel, a husky young man with dark hair; Andr6,
blonde and lanky with dreamy eyes behind his glasses; and Renee, a vivacious
young lady with cropped hair and modern forthrightness. Marcel seemed to be
their spokesman, and he apologized for giving the appearance of being
suspicious, but they could not lie about their beliefs, and they really were
followers of Prince Kropotkin's anarchist philosophy, believing not in
destruction but in mutual aid. I apologized in turn for being suspicious of
them, but went on to explain that my three friends were émigrés who had very
bad experiences with anarchists. The three young people were glad that
everything was finally clarified and we all relaxed and exchanged a few
pleasantries. Then Countess de Yelski graciously asked them to sit down and
they began to tell me their story, which went more or less like this:
"We
represent an anarchist organization of about three dozen young people. Our
dream is to be completely independent from society, associated together but
each of us living an independent life, as we consider that the highest value
in life is freedom, and we don't want to be restricted by rules, regulations
and laws which would hamper our free individual evolution. We heard the
lecture you gave last Sunday, and we were very impressed by several of your
statements-first, when you quoted the Greek philosopher who said that the only
real freedom consists in the minimum of needs-and second, when you said that
the only path leading toward real freedom is simplicity of living, and that
when we follow the path of reason then everything will turn out all right in
our lives. We also appreciated your statement that we can make two mistakes
with material things: one is to have too much, as then we become slaves of our
material possessions, and the other is not to have enough to satisfy our basic
needs. And most of all, we were impressed by what you said at the end of your
lecture, that the organization of our individual lives must have this point of
departure: to know what are our real needs, and not to sacrifice real values
such as our health, peace of mind, and free time, in order to acquire
superfluous harmful things, which you called self-exploitation. And you also
quoted Zarathustra as saying that the most noble of all professions is that of
the gardener of the earth, and that it is possible to produce everything one
would ever need on an extremely small piece of land. Well, we have discovered
some available land, about two hectares, some thirty kilometers north from
Tourette Sur Loup where your friend Jean Pierre lives, and we want to
distribute it among ourselves and try to put into practice the ideas you
explained in your lecture!"
I was
very moved by this declaration, and the de Yelskis were apparently so
impressed by the sincerity of the three youths that to my great surprise they
invited them to share our dinner, Korilenko even seconding the motion. They
accepted happily, and we sat down to share a wholesome and delicious Polish
meal. When we finished our dinner, they told me different aspects of their
plans, and I agreed to go over with them the following week to look at their
land and make all the practical suggestions I could for a successful
organization of their plan. André spoke up at this point and said that with
all due respect they would like to avoid any organization, as Romain Rolland
had said that "organization is the death of the idea." I was
laughing, and told them I knew Rolland personally, and though the Nobel
prizewinning novelist was a delightful person and a deep philosopher,
nevertheless a subsistent homestead could never get started without a little
organization. Once it was established, I pointed out, then if they wished,
they could eliminate the rules and the organization because their homestead
would have a solid structure and foundation. They thanked me enthusiastically
and made their farewells with thanks to the de Yelskis and to Korilenko, who
remarked after they had gone that he never knew anarchists could be such
charming and (no doubt thinking of Renee) good-looking people!
THE
ANARCHISTS BECOME ESSENES
I did
not forget my promise, and the next week I followed their little map out to
their property. Two hectares is about five acres of land, and it was level
with good soil, seemingly very appropriate for their purposes, with some
trees, a good well, and space for gardens and future orchards. We divided the
land by hammering little sticks down into 20 x 25 ft. squares, then we
numbered the squares and raffled off pieces of land to the participants, all
of whom were there that day. When it was over, each member of their community
had his or her own little plot of land, and it was quite a thrilling moment.
There was an old abandoned house on the land, and I suggested they use half of
it for a small communal library, and the other half for a communal workshop,
so whenever they needed a little money they would be able to create something,
sell it, and use that income to satisfy their simple needs. For example, I
suggested they should buy a radio, to know what was going on in the world, and
perhaps a gramophone and some records to enjoy good music. I warned them not
to exclude eight thousand years of culture from their community, as by now
culture was a part of human nature, and good books, art and music were just as
important as good food, sun, water and air. I also suggested they make a wall
newspaper where everyone could write out their ideas and experiences based on
mutual aid, as Kropotkin outlined so beautifully in his book, and to gather
together regularly to exchange thoughts and ideas and enjoy each other's
company, as the ancient Essenes did. I explained to them that since they would
not be able to eat anything produced from their land during the first season,
they would have to use some unorthodox methods, and I showed them the
technique of germinating seeds and making sprouts. By sprouting and
germinating they would be able to harvest every four or five days. I also
showed them how to grow baby greens in small boxes, tender little vegetables
which would grow to a height of three inches in a matter of a week or two, and
by cutting them with a scissors, they would grow again and again. They saw
that by intelligent use of sprouts, germination and tender greens in portable
boxes, they would be able to survive for the first month or six weeks until
their gardens would begin to give forth enough produce.*
* (In the third volume of this series, The
Chemistry of Youth~ complete instructions are given as to the germination and
sprouting of seeds, the creation of miniature portable gardens of baby greens,
and many other useful and unorthodox ways to recreate the vital,
life-prolonging nutrition of the ancient Essenes, in the twentieth century.)
I
told them there was always a way to have a healthy, well-balanced diet without
being-dependent on society. (The word "dependent" was like a red
flag to them, and they would do anything to avoid dependence on anyone or
anything.) I told them further that if they always followed the Essene
principles in thinking, living and eating, they would be independent from
physicians and outside health services, and they would always be able to
produce everything themselves for their own simple needs. They were very
grateful for my advice, and when we said goodbye, I agreed to try and visit
them every three months, when I would see what they had accomplished, point
out what could be improved, and make constructive suggestions.
PLINIUS
REDIVIVUS
And I
did visit them at least twice a year, watching their steady and healthy growth
for a long time. Andre', Marcel and Renee remained the triumvirate spokesmen,
handling beautifully the inevitable problems besetting any new community,
particularly such an unorthodox one. Sometimes these three would come to see
me at my home and we became very good friends. Jean Pierre was really an
angel, asking me to select from his library those one hundred greatest books
of universal literature which I was always recommending to my students to read
(that list later appeared in my book Books, Our Eternal Companions). When I
picked them out, we took them over to the community and started the foundation
of a fine communal library, presided over by the book-loving André.
With
great enthusiasm they built their little cabins, each about three by four
yards, based on the description of Plinius, the Roman natural historian, of
the cabins where the ancient Essenes lived at the Dead Sea. They seemed to be
perfectly ample for their life style. Each cabin had a door and two windows in
front, and a slanted roof which allowed the water during the rainy season to
collect in a cistern on the lowest point of the roof. Each had a wooden bed, a
wooden table, a chair, and on the back wall some storage shelves to keep their
simple garden tools, and for germinating wheat and storing reserves. It was
amazing to see how well these ancient ideas of the Essenes as described by
Plinius worked out with this group of young people, most of whom had grown up
in the French middle and upper-middle classes. It was the originality and
simplicity of the idea which held them together, not rules and regulations. It
was not really a community at all, but a group of absolutely and completely
independent and subsistent individuals, a group of good neighbors, who in case
of necessity were always glad to help each other, based on the principle of
mutual aid of Kropotkin.
Not
only did they live in absolute freedom, which was their anarchist ideal, but
their health was perfect as well, because they worked outside in their
miniature vegetable gardens and fruit orchards, eating the most wholesome
food, and breathing the fresh air of the country. It was always a delight to
visit them, and from time to time I brought the de Yelskis and Korilenko, who
really were smitten with these young people and their idealism which they had
translated with hard work into reality. When I could not visit, they wrote
long letters, telling me how grateful they were for my initial assistance and
counsel in establishing their symbiosis, and that it was certainly a pity that
Prince Kropotkin had not visualized such a practical way, based on the laws of
nature, to realize freedom.
Their
little paradise was brutally interrupted by the holocaust of the Second World
War. As happened with many ideal visions, the cruel boots of the Nazis
trampled the little brotherhood beneath its heels. I had already left Europe
when the whirlwind of war uprooted all of France, and the bits and pieces of
news I received were heartbreaking. André joined the underground and was shot
by the Nazis, Marcel was deported to an Eastern European labor camp, and Renee
managed to escape to some island of the West Indies. It was a beautiful dream,
brilliantly realized, but finally destroyed on the ocean of violence,
intolerance, hatred and destruction.
But I
will never forget the deep sincerity of those wholesome youths - Marcel, with
his quick temper and hearty laugh, always the one who scrambled to the top of
the apple tree to shake down the first fruits of the season - Andre', with his
dreams and visions, most often with his blonde head buried in a book for hours
at a time in the little library - and Renee, with her determination and
optimism, undeterred by obstacles, one day scolding the little robin who came
to steal the germinating wheat from her garden, the next day feeding him from
her hand. They had not only the dream, but the capacity for hard work, love
and humor as well, and I often wonder if I shall ever meet their like again.
I feel
this is an appropriate place, at the end of a chapter about an idealistic trio
of young pacifists, to say a few words about my dear friend and virtual symbol
of pacifism of the early twentieth century, Romain Rolland.
