Quite a number of remarkable men of different nationalities, nearly all
of whom had been personal friends of Bakúnin, belonged at that time
to the Jura Federation. The editor of our chief paper, the ‘Bulletin’
of the federation, was James Guillaume, a teacher by profession, who
belonged to one of the aristocratic families of Neuchâtel. Small, thin,
with the stiff appearance and resoluteness of Robespierre, and with a
truly golden heart which opened only in the intimacy of friendship,
he was a born leader by his phenomenal powers of work and his stern
activity. For eight years he fought against all sorts of obstacles to
maintain the paper in existence, taking the most active part in every
detail of the federation, till he had to leave Switzerland, where he
could find no work whatever, and settled in France, where his name will
be quoted some day with the utmost respect in the history of education.
Adhémar Schwitzguébel, also a Swiss, was the type of the jovial,
lively, clear-sighted French-speaking watchmakers of the Bernese
Jura hills. A watch engraver by trade, he never attempted to abandon
his position of manual worker, and, always merry and active, he
supported his large family through the severest periods of slack trade
and curtailed earnings. His gift of taking a difficult economic or
political question, and, after much thought about it, considering it
from the working-man’s point of view, without divesting it of its
deepest meaning, was wonderful. He was known far and wide in the
‘mountains,’ and with the workers of all countries he was a general
favourite.
His direct counterpart was another Swiss, also a watchmaker, Spichiger.
He was a philosopher, slow in both movement and thought, English in
his physical aspect; always trying to get at the full meaning of every
fact, and impressing all of us by the justness of the conclusions he
reached while he was pondering over all sorts of subjects during his
work of scooping out watch lids.
Round these three gathered a number of solid, staunch, middle-aged or
elderly workmen, passionate lovers of liberty, happy to take part in
such a promising movement, and a hundred or so bright young men, also
mostly watchmakers--all very independent and affectionate, very lively,
and ready to go to any length in self-sacrifice.
Several refugees of the Paris Commune had joined the federation. Elisée
Reclus, the great geographer, was of their number--a type of the
true Puritan in his manner of life, and of the French encyclopædist
philosopher of the last century in his mind; the man who inspires
others, but never has governed anyone, and never will do so; the
anarchist whose anarchism is the epitome of his broad, intimate
knowledge of the forms of life of mankind under all climates and in
all stages of civilization; whose books rank among the very best of
the century; whose style, of a striking beauty, moves the mind and the
conscience; and who, as he enters the office of an anarchist paper,
says to the editor--maybe a boy in comparison with himself: ‘Tell me
what I have to do,’ and will sit down, like a newspaper subordinate,
to fill up a gap of so many lines in the current number of the paper.
In the Paris Commune he simply took a rifle and stood in the ranks;
and if he invites a contributor to work with him upon a volume of his
world-famed Geography, and the contributor timidly asks, ‘What have I
to do?’ he replies: ‘Here are the books, here is a table. Do as you
like.’
At his side was Lefrançais, an elderly man, formerly a teacher, who had
been thrice in his life an exile: after June 1848, after Napoleon’s
_coup d’état_, and after 1871. An ex-member of the Commune, and
consequently one of those who were said to have left Paris carrying
away millions in their pockets, he worked as a freight handler at the
railway at Lausanne, and was nearly killed in that work, which required
younger shoulders than his. His book on the Paris Commune is the one
in which the real historical meaning of that movement was put in its
proper light. ‘A Communalist, not an Anarchist, please,’ he would say.
‘I cannot work with such fools as you are;’ and he worked with none but
us, ‘because,’ as he said, ‘you fools are still the men whom I love
best. With you one can work, and remain one’s self.’
Another ex-member of the Paris Commune who was with us was Pindy,
a carpenter from the north of France, an adopted child of Paris.
He became widely known at Paris, during a strike, supported by the
International, for his vigour and bright intelligence, and was elected
a member of the Commune, which nominated him commander of the Tuileries
Palace. When the Versailles troops entered Paris, shooting their
prisoners by the hundred, three men at least were shot in different
parts of the town, having been mistaken for Pindy. After the fight,
however, he was concealed by a brave girl, a seamstress, who saved him
by her calmness when the house was searched by the troops, and who
afterwards became his wife. Only twelve months later they succeeded in
leaving Paris unnoticed, and came to Switzerland. Here Pindy learned
assaying, at which he became skilful; spending his days by the side
of his red-hot stove, and at night devoting himself passionately to
propaganda work, in which he admirably combined the passion of a
revolutionist with the good sense and organizing powers characteristic
of the Parisian worker.
Paul Brousse was then a young doctor, full of mental activity,
uproarious, sharp, lively, ready to develop any idea with a geometrical
logic to its utmost consequences; powerful in his criticisms of the
State and State organization; finding enough time to edit two papers,
in French and in German, to write scores of voluminous letters, to be
the soul of a workmen’s evening party; constantly active in organizing
men, with the subtle mind of a true ‘southerner.’
Among the Italians who collaborated with us in Switzerland, two men
whose names stood always associated, and will be remembered in Italy
by more than one generation, two close personal friends of Bakúnin,
were Cafiero and Malatesta. Cafiero was an idealist of the highest and
the purest type, who gave a considerable fortune to the cause, and
who never since has asked himself what he shall live upon to-morrow;
a thinker plunged in philosophical speculation; a man who never would
harm anyone, and yet took the rifle and marched in the mountains of
Benevento, when he and his friends thought that an uprising of a
socialist character might be attempted, were it only to show the people
that their uprisings ought to have a deeper meaning than that of a mere
revolt against tax collectors. Malatesta was a student of medicine,
who had left the medical profession and also his fortune for the sake
of the revolution; full of fire and intelligence, a pure idealist, who
all his life--and he is now approaching the age of fifty--has never
thought whether he would have a piece of bread for his supper and a
bed for the night. Without even so much as a room that he could call
his own, he would sell sherbet in the streets of London to get his
living, and in the evening write brilliant articles for the Italian
papers. Imprisoned in France, released, expelled, recondemned in Italy,
confined to an island, escaped, and again in Italy in disguise; always
in the hottest of the struggle, whether it be in Italy or elsewhere--he
has persevered in this life for thirty years in succession. And when we
meet him again, released from a prison or escaped from an island, we
find him just as we saw him last; always renewing the struggle, with
the same love of men, the same absence of hatred toward his adversaries
and jailers, the same hearty smile for a friend, the same caress for a
child.
The Russians were few among us, most of them following the German
social democrats. We had, however, Joukóvsky, a friend of Hérzen, who
had left Russia in 1863--a brilliant, elegant, highly intelligent
nobleman, a favourite with the workers--who better than any of the
rest of us had what the French call _l’oreille du peuple_ (the ear of
the workers), because he knew how to fire them by showing them the
great part they had to play in rebuilding society, to lift them by
holding before them high historical views, to throw a flash of light
on the most intricate economic problem, and to electrify them with his
earnestness and sincerity. Sokolóff, formerly an officer of the Russian
general staff, an admirer of Paul Louis Courier for his boldness and of
Proudhon for his philosophical ideas, who had made many a socialist in
Russia by his review articles, was also with us temporarily.
* * * * *
I mention only those who became widely known as writers, or as
delegates to congresses, or in some other way. And yet I ask myself if
I ought not rather to speak of those who never committed their names
to print, but were as important in the life of the federation as any
one of the writers; who fought in the ranks, and were always ready
to join in any enterprise, never asking whether the work would be
grand or small, distinguished or modest--whether it would have great
consequences, or simply result in infinite worry to themselves and
their families.
I ought also to mention the Germans Werner and Rinke, the Spaniard
Albarracin, and many others; but I am afraid that these faint sketches
of mine may not convey to the reader the same feelings of respect and
love with which every one of this little family inspired those who knew
him or her personally.