Of course, simply writing politically engaged work is one thing; putting oneself in danger is another. As the drama of the Spanish Civil War was playing out, some of Isherwood’s friends and fellow writers of the post-World War I generation made their way to Spain. In early 1937, Spender, together with the writer, Cuthbert Worsley, traveled on a dangerous mission to Spain for the Daily Worker, to investigate the fate of a crew of Russian seamen whose ship had been sunk in the Mediterranean. It was believed that the men were being held prisoners by the (Fascist) rebels in Spain. A less dangerous but nevertheless risky mission presented itself in late 1937 when a delegation of writers were invited to Spain to declare their support for the beleaguered Spanish republic. Isherwood and Auden were among those scheduled to attend. Isherwood later recalls enjoying the pal-zeik-00intro 4/21/08 10:23 AM Page 8
8
LETTERS BETWEEN FORSTER AND ISHERWOOD
drama of preparing to embark on a potentially dangerous trip to Spain, even making out a will. At a farewell party for Isherwood that Forster attended, when asked why he was not planning to go, Forster replied simply, “Afraid to.” Forster’s simple honesty deflated Isherwood.25 As it turned out, because the delegation’s trip was repeatedly delayed, Isherwood and Auden decided to go ahead with their planned journey to China.
From his vantage point in England, Forster was becoming increasingly alarmed by developments in Germany and Spain. In 1934, Forster con-sented to be the first president of the newly formed National Council for Civil Liberties whose purpose was to protect individual rights against what was viewed as increasingly totalitarian policies in England. In June of the next year, Forster was invited to lead the British delegation at an International Congress of Writers held in Paris. The congress was organized by French communist writers, and the attendees included notable writers who were dedicated anti-Fascists, such as André Malraux, André Gide, Louis Aragon, Maxim Gorki, Bertold Brecht, and Heinrich Mann.26
In his speech to the audience mainly consisting of young Communists, Forster explained that he was neither Fascist nor Communist and drew attention to the current danger in Britain of “Fabio-fascism . . . working quietly away behind the façade of constitutional forms, passing a little law (like the Sedition Act) here, endorsing a departmental tyranny there, emphasizing the national need of secrecy everywhere . . . until opposition is tamed and gulled.” He also acknowledged that his old-fashioned liberal idealism was out of step with younger members of the British delegation who “may say that if there is another war writers of the individualistic and liberalizing type, like myself and Mr. Aldous Huxley, will be swept away.”27
Forster’s most eloquent statement of his beliefs is found in his celebrated pamphlet, What I Believe, published in 1939. Forster maintains that
“Tolerance, good temper and sympathy—they are what matter really, and if the human race is not to collapse they must come to the front before long.” Yet he acknowledges that “for the moment they are not enough, their action is no stronger than a flower, battered beneath a military jack-boot.
They want stiffening, even if the process coarsens them.”28 The strength and flexibility of Forster’s idealism in these lines are in keeping with his attitude during the unfolding crisis. Equally illuminating is his position on personal ties: “I hate the idea of causes, and if I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.”29 Forster also strongly believes in the indefatigable strength of artistic creativity for the good of alclass="underline" “though Violence remains and is, indeed, the major partner in this muddled establishment, I believe that creativeness remains too, and will always assume direction pal-zeik-00intro 4/21/08 10:23 AM Page 9
INTRODUCTION
9
when violence sleeps.”30 These views come across either overtly or subtly in Forster’s letters to Isherwood as the threat from Germany becomes ever more real—and relevant—to England.
Although Forster periodically reveals his fear of the coming disaster in his letters to Isherwood during the mid and late 1930s, Isherwood sees Forster as someone whose values render him impervious to the pressure of outside events. He records in his journal during the Munich crisis of September 1938, “Lunch with Morgan. It pulled me together, a lot. I don’t feel I want to see any weaklings, nowadays: they are like sufferers from a dangerously infectious disease. Morgan says he’s afraid of going mad—he might suddenly turn and run away from people in the street. But he isn’t weak. He’s immensely, superhumanly strong.”31 Twenty years later, in his novel, Down There on a Visit, Isherwood expresses his love and admiration for his mentor-friend on the eve of the war:
Well, my England is E. M. [Forster]; the antiheroic hero, with his straggly straw mustache, his light, gay blue baby eyes and his elderly stoop. Instead of a folded umbrella or a brown uniform, his emblems are his tweed cap (which is too small for him) and the odd-shaped brown paper parcels in which he carries his belongings from country to town and back again. While the others tell their followers to be ready to die, he advises us to live as if we were immortal. And he really does this himself, although he is as anxious and afraid as any of us, and never for an instant pretends not to be. He and his books and what they stand for are all that is truly worth saving from Hitler. . . . 32
In January 1939, Isherwood and Auden boarded a ship bound for America, where both would remain during the war.
It was while crossing the Atlantic that Isherwood records making an important realization: “I turned to Auden and said: ‘You know, I just don’t believe in any of it any more—the united front, the party line, the antifas-cist struggle. I suppose they’re okay, but something’s wrong with me. I simply can’t swallow another mouthful.’ And Auden answered: ‘No, neither can I’.”33 What fueled this realization was Isherwood’s discovery that he was a pacifist. He asks himself: “How could I have ever imagined I was anything else? . . . My father taught me, by his life and death, to hate the profession of soldiering.”34 Isherwood also realized that his pacifism derived from his relationship with Heinz. He acknowledged that he would never be able to shoot Heinz or his Nazi companions because “every man in that Army could be somebody’s Heinz.”35 Isherwood articulates his position to Forster.
In July 1939, he writes: “Force is no good—even to achieve the grandest objectives. One’s enemies can only be won over by active goodwill. If you pal-zeik-00intro 4/21/08 10:23 AM Page 10
10
LETTERS BETWEEN FORSTER AND ISHERWOOD
exterminate them, like bugs, the poison only enters into yourself, so you are defeated anyway.” Forster does not question Isherwood’s pacifism and, in fact, during the same month, writes: “I very much hope that you and everyone will try to keep away—it is clearly your job to see us sink from a distance, if sink we do.” Once the war began, however, some writers in England spoke out against Isherwood and Auden’s emigration to America.
In a letter to John Lehmann in July 1939, Isherwood confesses his fears that his pacifism will cause him to lose some of his friends: “I am sure this is how I will feel for the rest of my life. I’m afraid this will mean that I shall lose a lot of friends but, I hope, none of the real ones.”36 It was, however, not his pacifism per se that elicited the first published criticism. In the February 1940 issue of the new literary magazine, Horizon, the editor, Cyril Connolly offers this commentary on Isherwood and Auden’s emigration to America: “Auden is our best poet, Isherwood our most promising novelist.