diff options
Diffstat (limited to '77705-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 77705-0.txt | 7530 |
1 files changed, 7530 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/77705-0.txt b/77705-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..13bff23 --- /dev/null +++ b/77705-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7530 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77705 *** + + + + + DISARM! DISARM! + + + ADAPTED FROM THE GERMAN ROMANCE + “DIE WAFFEN NIEDER” + BY THE BARONESS BERTHA VON SUTTNER + + BY + + ANDREA HOFER-PROUDFOOT + + + _POPULAR EDITION_ + + + HODDER AND STOUGHTON + + LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO + + + _Printed in 1914_ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + BOOK I + + 1859 + + + CHAPTER I + PAGE + Girlish fancies—Enthusiasm for heroism—Education—Entering + society—At Marienbad—Love at first sight 3 + + + CHAPTER II + + Marriage—The first-born—War rumours—The ultimatum 10 + + + CHAPTER III + + Last hours—Public glad at prospect of war—The sad parting 19 + + + CHAPTER IV + + Women’s co-operation at home—Anxious for news from seat of + war—Austria’s bad luck—Patriotism and relief work—A friendly + visit—The fatal news 29 + + + CHAPTER V + + Early widowhood—Sorrow and solitude—I take up my studies + again—Broader conceptions 41 + + + BOOK II + + TIME OF PEACE + + + CHAPTER I + + Society once more—Happiness returns—A second marriage suggested—My + younger sisters need a chaperone—Baron Tilling introduced—He + tells of Arno’s death 51 + + + CHAPTER II + + After the carnival—Father’s dinner-party—Toy soldiers—Tilling + again—The brave Hupfauf—Darwin 63 + + + CHAPTER III + + A cosy chat with Tilling—We misunderstand each other—The + attachment grows—Countess Griesbach—Jealousy overcome—Tilling + goes away—A touching letter—Death of Tilling’s mother 72 + + + CHAPTER IV + + Conrad and Lilli—Easter ceremonies—Tilling again—A visit and + interview—Disappointments and apprehensions—A conversation about + warfare—At last, an understanding 83 + + + CHAPTER V + + A ride in the Prater—At last an understanding—The family + reconciled to the engagement—Marriage and visit to Berlin—Life + in garrison—Christmas at Vienna—Rumours of war 98 + + + BOOK III + + 1864 + + + CHAPTER I + + War imminent with Denmark—New Year’s Eve—Return to garrison—The + Schleswig-Holstein Campaign—Story of the quarrel 113 + + + CHAPTER II + + The course of war—Hostilities suspended and renewed—My husband + departs—The dead baby—Letters from the seat of + war—Recovery—Anxiety—Letters—Return of Frederick 124 + + + CHAPTER III + + Reunion and summer joys—Resolved to quit the service—Rudolf’s + training—The end of the war—Conditions of peace—Fresh cares and + ruined fortunes—My husband remains in the service 132 + + + CHAPTER IV + + Lilli and Conrad—Aunt Marie’s letter—Rumours of war with + Prussia—Negotiations and arguments—My father’s New Year’s + toast—Hopes and fears—The army mobilised—War declared—The + manifestos of both sides 138 + + + BOOK IV + + 1866 + + + CHAPTER I + + The Austro-Prussian War—Frederick again to the front—The Red + Cross—Reports and Letters—The Custozza victory—Austria has + reverses in Bohemia—Discussion of the press 157 + + + CHAPTER II + + More and more reverses for Austria—A soldier’s abhorrence of + war—Poor Puxl—My husband’s letter declares that this is his last + campaign 163 + + + CHAPTER III + + Austria ruined at the battle of Koniggratz—Dr. Bresser with the + wounded—I go to the seat of war to search for my husband—The + scenes on the way—More horrors described—I meet Frau Simon—A + night journey—Am carried back to Vienna exhausted—Return to + Grumitz 174 + + + CHAPTER IV + + Restored happiness—Prussians still press toward Vienna—War + practically over—Quiet country life—Military school—My only + brother Otto—Description of flying troops—Peace in sight—Victory + of Lyssa—Our plans of retirement—Conrad comes home—He describes + his enthusiasm for war 195 + + + CHAPTER V + + The Prussians at Grumitz—Otto gets into trouble—A dinner with + friend and foe—Rosa and Prince Henry are engaged—The Prussians + leave and cholera breaks out in our midst—Servants are the first + victims, then sisters—The lover’s suicide—The only son dies, + father follows him, cursing war 210 + + + CHAPTER VI + + Summer in Switzerland—Researches in International + law—Seclusion—Frederick enters the peace army—Off to Berlin—The + battle-field of Sadowa—Francis Joseph weeps for his dead + soldiers 227 + + + BOOK V + + TIME OF PEACE + + + CHAPTER I + + Visit to Berlin—Aunt Cornelia—Aunt Marie’s death—Vienna + again—Politics and conscription 237 + + + CHAPTER II + + New Year’s reflections—Distrust between the French and + Germans—Quiet again—Paris—Napoleon’s plan for + disarmament—Frederick’s work for peace—A daughter born—Happiness + and study—The gay world—War talk again—Repose in + Switzerland—Sylvia’s illness 245 + + + BOOK VI + + + CHAPTER I + + Paris in March 1870—War party pushes the Emperor—His plan of + disarmament dropped—Our new home in Paris—The French and German + question—Menace and rumours again—France makes demands and then + threats 261 + + + CHAPTER II + + War declared—Excitement in Paris—Which side?—We remain in Paris—A + little history—First days of war—Paris a fortress—A Republic + declared—My husband’s fate 265 + + + EPILOGUE 291 + + + + + BOOK I + 1859 + + + + + CHAPTER I + + Girlish fancies—Enthusiasm for heroism—Education—Entering society—At + Marienbad—Love at first sight. + + +At seventeen I was a very highly-strung girl. I should hardly realise +this to-day, if it were not for the diaries so carefully laid away. In +them I find again my long-lost enthusiasms, thoughts, and feelings now +utterly forgotten, convictions of which now not a vestige remains, and +sympathies which have long been dead and buried. I catch a glimpse of +the emptiness and silliness which filled my pretty little head. But, as +I painfully learn from my mirror, of the prettiness little trace is +left, although the old portraits assure me that it once existed. + +I can imagine what an envied little creature the Countess Martha Althaus +must have been, pretty, popular, and petted. These quaint little red +diaries, however, recorded more of sadness than of joy in her life. I +think now, “How could I have been so silly not to realise how singularly +blessed I was with privileges?” Perhaps I was only expressing an +unbalanced sentimentality, and I tried to express it in somewhat poetic +prose. Imagine my discontent when I wrote:— + + O Joan of Arc! heroic, heavenly virgin! If only I too might have waved + the oriflamme of France, crowned my king, and died for my fatherland! + +Alas! this modest ambition was never gratified. + +Again, I longed to be torn in the arena by lions like the Christian +martyrs. But the heroics were not for me. I must frankly admit that my +life was a commonplace failure, and the glories for which my soul +thirsted were for ever closed to me. + +Often the little red book exclaimed, “Oh that I had been born a boy!” +Then I should have been able to win fame. But feminine heroes are few. +How seldom we have Gracchi for sons, and not often may we hope to carry +our husbands on our backs through the Weinsberg Gates, or to be a queen +and hear the sabre-swinging Magyars shout, “Long live Maria Theresa, our +King!” A man need only gird on the sword and dash to fame and laurels, +to capture a throne like Cromwell, or a world-empire like Napoleon. + +My highest type of manhood was always a military hero. I had slight +respect for mere poets, scholars, and discoverers. The heroes of many +battles were the object of my adoration and devotion. Were they not the +chief pillars of the state, the makers of history, the builders of +empires? Did they not tower in God-like grandeur over all other heroes, +as did the Alps and Himalayas over mere grass and valley flowers? + +From all this it need not be concluded that I possessed an heroic +nature. My enthusiasms and passions naturally took their bent from my +education and environment. My father was an Austrian General, who had +fought under “Father Radetzky” at Custozza, and therefore adored him. I +listened untiringly to the unending stories of this campaign. My dear +father actually pitied other men who had not had these proud and +glorious experiences, and I always regretted that I, being a girl, would +never have these magnificent opportunities; and, having heard some +mention of the question of the equal rights of women, I felt sure that +the only additional right I should ever keenly desire would be the right +to go to war. How charmed I was with the story of Semiramis or Catherine +II. when I read: “She made war upon this or that neighbouring kingdom, +or she conquered this or that people.” + +The history books are responsible for this warlike ideal of the young. +That the God of Battles has constantly decreed wars stamps itself upon +the mind from the first, and one early accepts the belief that war is +necessary to regulate nations, and is almost a law of nature, like +tornadoes and earthquakes, which from time to time cannot be avoided. +History does not cover up the wickedness, the sorrow, the anguish of it +all, but presents it as a part of the inevitable, bringing advantage to +the nation, through the sacrifice of the happiness and life of the few. +That there is no nobler death than that of the soldier martyr is the +clear and unanimous verdict of all our school histories and texts. Long +lists of battles are given, and entrancing tales and poems of glory and +heroism are told, for must not patriotism be taught, must not every boy +grow to be a defender of his country? So he must be made a +war-enthusiast early. His spirit must be hardened long before he +questions through his natural sympathies why we inflict these horrors +and sufferings upon others. Such doubts must be carefully repressed. + +History as it is taught aims to warp the inborn, divine impulse to hate +barbarism and inhumanity. The tale is so told as to belittle that part +of the story which appeals to the sympathies. + +And the same books, the same subjects, the same system, encouraging a +like admiration for war and military heroics, are given to the +girls—delightful pictures for the tender souls, who otherwise are taught +that they must be gentle and mild. The frightful stories of carnage and +rapine from Bible days, from Macedonian and Punic times down to the +Thirty Years’ War and Napoleon, repeat the horrors of the thing until +the senses become callous. To read of cities burnt and the people put to +the sword with the victims trodden under foot was a keen enjoyment, and +to heap one horror upon the other blunted the perceptions till war no +longer could be regarded from the point of view of humanity, but was +received as something quite special, mysterious, majestic, and +sanctified. + +The girls could readily see that war alone could give the highest honour +and dignity, so they learn all the military and glorifying odes, and +they become, like the Spartan mothers of old, the women who present +battle-flags and regimental colours, and are the admired and happy +belles during the ball season, when they receive the attentions of the +brass-buttoned officer’s corps. + +As a child I had tutors and a governess at home, and was not reared in a +convent, as was often the case with children of my position. My mother +had died early, and the four children were watched over by an elderly +aunt. We spent our winters in Vienna, and our summers on the estate in +Lower Austria. Having a good memory and being ambitious, I was the +delight of my teachers. Since I was denied the career of an heroic +female warrior, I made it my enthusiasm to extol all who had helped to +make the world’s history through war. I mastered the French and English +languages perfectly. I learned all that was considered necessary for +girls in natural history, physics, and astronomy, but in the reading of +history I knew no limit. The ponderous records of wars and nations I +fetched from my father’s library and spent with them my leisure hours. + +On March 10, 1857, I celebrated my seventeenth birthday. “Already +seventeen” I set down under this date. This “already” was a bit of +symbolism, and undoubtedly was meant to signify “and as yet I have done +nothing immortal.” + +The Season was approaching, and it was arranged that I should be +introduced into society, but the prospect did not fill me with the +keenest pleasure. I felt that my aims were higher than ballroom +conquests. I could not have explained to myself what were the triumphs +for which I longed. I was hardly aware of the romantic attitude which +possessed me. I was full of glowing dreams and aspirations, such as +swell the hearts of youths and maidens, and fill them with a longing to +work out their ideals in all sorts of ways. It is at this age that the +love of knowledge, action, travel, adventure, show themselves, and are +perhaps only an unrecognised activity of the soul filled with desire to +express itself. + +Aunt Marie was ordered to try the waters at Marienbad during the summer, +and found it convenient to take me. My coming-out in society was not to +take place till the following winter, and this trip to the fashionable +springs gave me a little preliminary practice in dancing and +conversation, so that I could wear off some of the shyness before my +first season. + +Naturally at my first ball I had no eyes for anything but the brilliant +military uniforms which were present in such array. But of all the +splendid Hussars, Count Arno Dotzky was the most dazzling, and with him +I danced the cotillion and several waltzes. + +The acquaintance quickly ripened into an attachment, and we were +betrothed on my eighteenth birthday, after which I was presented at +court. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + Marriage—The first-born—War rumours—The ultimatum. + + +After our marriage we took an Italian journey, having been granted a +long leave of absence. Retirement from the army was never mentioned +between us. We both possessed handsome fortunes; but my husband loved +the military service, and I was proud of my elegant Hussar, and looked +forward to his certain promotion. He would rise unquestionably to the +rank of major, colonel, or even general. Who knew but he might be even +called to the highest rank, and add his name to the history of his +country, great as a conqueror! + +The little red book contains a break just at the happy honeymoon time, +and that is a pity. Oh for a little breath of those happy days to come +back to me from between the leaves, in which I had wasted so much ink +recording odd peevishnesses and bad humours! Still, my memory recalls +those joys like an old half-forgotten fairy-tale. What could have been +added to my overflowing heart?—for I had love, riches, rank, health, +everything. My dashing Hussar, whom I loved with my whole soul, was a +manly, noble-hearted man, with a most cultivated and merry nature. It +might have been otherwise, for our acquaintance had been so short, and +it was not our own discretion and wise choosing which brought us all +this happiness. But the little red-bound book bore no entry for a long +time. + +Wait a moment! Here I find a joyous event noted—my delight at becoming a +mother. A New Year’s gift—a son was born to us, the 1st of January 1859. +The diary was resumed to note with pride and astonishment this +all-absorbing event, as though we were the first to whom such a +happiness had ever come. The journal teemed with comments on the +mystical and sacred event. The future world had to be informed as to the +marvel of “maternal love,” it was mine to magnify the office of +motherhood. Was it not the greatest theme of art and literature, of song +and story? + +I cultivated this ideal most carefully, collecting poems, baby songs, +and illustrations from journals and picture galleries. As in one +direction school books foster and develop an admiration for war heroes, +so through my collections I developed from hero-worship to baby-worship. +My charming little man was to me the mightiest wonder of the world. Ah, +my son, my grown-up manly Rudolf, the love of you in my maturer years +eclipsed in colour the hours of childish wonder and worship. The love of +my young motherhood is insignificant in comparison to what I feel for +you to-day, even as is the babe himself in swaddlings besides the +full-grown man. + +How proud the father was of his tiny heir, as he planned for him the +sunniest, fairest future. “What shall he be?” This was the great +question that we discussed as we hung over the cradle together, and we +always decided unanimously—a soldier, of course. Sometimes the mother +would protest: “Suppose he should be killed in battle?” “Nonsense,” the +father would answer; “at the appointed time each one meets his end.” +Besides, Ruru was not to be the only son, but being the first he must be +what his father and grandfather were, the noblest of all—a soldier. So +it was settled, and so the joke was persisted in, and on his third-month +birthday he was promoted to the rank of a corporal. + +On that same day a great foreboding came over me, something that made me +fly with a heavy heart to my little note-book. Dark clouds had arisen in +the political horizon, and the fears and suspicions were daily growing +into comments wherever people met together. + +“Trouble in Italy is brewing” was the frequent remark. I had no time now +for heroics and politics, so it hardly touched me. But on the 1st of +April Arno said to me:— + +“Do you know, darling, it will soon break out?” + +“What will break out?” + +“The war with Sardinia.” + +I was terrified. “My God, that will be terrible. And must you go?” + +“I hope so.” + +“How can you say that? Hope to leave your wife and baby?” + +“When duty calls.” + +“Of course we can reconcile ourselves—but to hope—which means desire—to +wish for such a bitter duty——” + +“Bitter? Why, a jolly, dashing war like that would be glorious! You are +a soldier’s wife, never forget that.” + +I threw myself into his arms. + +“Oh my darling husband. I can be content, and brave besides. How often I +have envied the heroes of history and longed to be one of its heroines. +What a glorious feeling it must be to go into battle! If I could only be +at your side, fight, conquer, or even fall!” + +“Such nonsense, little wife; but brave you are. Your place is here by +the cradle of our little one, whom you must raise to be some day a +defender of his country. Women must keep the fireside warm. It is to +save our homes and wives from the attacks of the enemy and secure peace, +that we men must go to war.” + +Why, I do not know, but these words, or similar ones which I had so +often read with enthusiasm, this time struck me as mere shallow phrases. +Where was the advancing army—were the barbarous hordes at the door? A +political tension between the Cabinets of two nations seemed an +intangible enemy. What was the pressing need of protecting wife and +child and home? Much as my husband spoke enthusiastically of going to +war for that, I failed to see it. Was it a mere burning desire to rush +into adventure, with a promise of excitement, promotion, and +distinction? “Yet,” I concluded, “it is a noble, honourable ambition to +delight in the brave discharge of duty.” + +I poured out my feelings into the little note-book, denouncing Louis +Napoleon as an intriguer.... Austria cannot long look on.... War must +come.... No, Sardinia will soon give in, and peace be maintained. Thus I +commented on the course of events. My husband’s eyes sparkled at the +continued increase of the danger. + +My father also gloried in the prospect, and retold the stories of the +Radetzky campaigns, and discussed the impending ones, as to how the +enemy would be easily routed, and all the advantages which would be +“ours.” Of the terrible sacrifices nothing was said. I was made to feel +quite ashamed of my meanness when I found myself thinking thus: “Ah, how +can any victory recompense the dead, the crippled, the widowed? How +would it be if the enemy conquered?” + +I was contemptuously crushed by my military friends if I ventured such a +remark. Was it not most unpatriotic to have the shadow of a doubt about +our certain victory? Is not the duty of a soldier to feel himself +invincible, and must not a soldier’s wife share this conviction with +him? + +My husband’s regiment was quartered in Vienna. The view of the Prater +from my window promised a wonderful spring. The air was warm and +delicious with violets, the sprouting buds seemed earlier than in years +before. How joyfully I might have looked forward to the coming weeks of +delightful driving, for we had purchased a fine carriage and a +four-in-hand team of dashing Hungarian horses—but oh, if only the +war-clouds had not hung over all that! + +Coming home from a parade on the morning of April 19, my husband broke +the spell with the exclamation: “Thank God, at last this uncertainty is +at an end. The ultimatum has been sent.” + +“And what does that mean?” I trembled. + +“It means that the last word of the diplomats has been uttered—the last +word that precedes the declaration of war. Sardinia is called to disarm. +This she’ll not do, and we will soon march over the border.” + +“Good God! Perhaps she may disarm.” + +“Then that would end the quarrel.” + +I fell on my knees. Silently and fervently a prayer cried out in my +soul: “Peace, peace!” + +“My silly child, what are you doing?” said Arno, raising me. The news +had shaken my nerves, and I began to cry. + +“Martha, Martha, you make me angry. How can you forget that you are a +general’s daughter, a first lieutenant’s wife, and,” he concluded with a +smile, “the mother of a corporal?” + +“No, no,” I faltered, “I scarcely understand myself.... I used to thirst +for military glory, but now, when I think that on a single ‘yes’ or ‘no’ +thousands may bleed and die—die in these beautiful days of spring—it +came over me that the word ‘Peace’ must be pronounced, that we must all +pray for it, and I fell on my knees.” + +“To inform the good Lord of the condition of affairs, you dear little +goose!” + +The house-door bell rang. I dried my eyes. My father came in with a +rush. “My children,” he cried out of breath, “have you heard the great +news—the ultimatum?” + +“I have just told it to my wife.” + +“Tell me, father dear,” I asked anxiously, “can the war be prevented by +the ultimatum?” + +“I never heard of an ultimatum preventing a war. It would be very wise +of the wretched Italian rabble if they would yield and not risk another +Novara. Ah, if good Father Radetzky had not died last year, even at +ninety he would have routed this foreign scum. And I would have marched +with him. But the puppies have not had enough of it. They need a second +lesson. We shall get a handsome piece of Piedmont territory, and I look +forward to the entry of our troops into Turin.” + +“But, papa, you speak as if the war were already declared, and you were +glad of it. Oh, if Arno must also go!” + +“That he will, and I envy him.” + +“But think of my terror at his danger!” + +“Danger, what of that? Many a man comes home from war. Look at my +campaigns, my wounds, and yet I am alive, for I was not destined to +die.” + +Such fatalistic notions! + +“And if my regiment should not be ordered out——” began Arno. + +I exclaimed joyously, “Oh, would that be possible?” + +“In that case I shall apply for an exchange.” + +“That can easily be settled,” my father assured him. “A good friend of +mine, Hess, commands the corps.” + +Admiring both husband and father—yet anxiety sickened my heart. But I +must control myself. Was not my husband a hero? And I sprang up and +exclaimed, “Arno, I am proud of you.” + +Kissing my hands, he turned to my father, “Father-in-law, I am glad that +you have trained your daughter to be a brave soldier’s wife.” + +TURIN, _April 26_.—The ultimatum is rejected. The die is cast. War is +declared. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + Last hours—Public glad at prospect of war—The sad parting. + + +The news was a bitter blow to me, and threw me into despair, although I +had been prepared for the catastrophe. Arno tried to comfort me. + +“My darling, take courage. Things are not so bad and will soon be over. +Then we shall be doubly happy. You will break my heart with your +weeping, and make me sorry that I engaged to go. But think, if I +remained at home and my comrades went, you would be ashamed of me. I +must pass the baptism of fire to feel myself a man and a soldier. Only +think how happy you will be to see a third star on my collar, or perhaps +even the cross on my breast.” + +I leaned on his shoulder and wept the more. Empty stars and crosses were +but poor pay for the terrible possibility that a ball might shatter that +beloved breast. Arno gently relieved himself from my embrace, saying:— + +“Now, dear child, I must go to the Colonel. Have your little cry, and be +brave and cheerful when I return. In this hard hour my dear little wife +should not dishearten and discourage me. Good-bye, sweetheart.” + +His last words helped me to collect myself. Yes, I must not damp his +courage, I must inspire his sense of duty. We women must prove our +patriotism by our sympathy, and must urge our soldiers to fame on the +battle-field. + +“Battle-field”—strange how this word suddenly carried its radically +different meanings to my mind. First it appealed historically, +gloriously, pathetically; then again I shuddered as at some loathsome, +bloody, brutal, repulsive thing. I saw the poor creatures hurried to the +field, stricken, and lying there with gaping, bleeding wounds, and among +them, perhaps!—oh horrible thought!—and a loud cry escaped my lips at +the frightful picture. + +Betty, my maid, rushed in. “In heaven’s name, madam, what has happened?” + +I looked at the girl. Her eyes, too, were red with weeping. I remembered +her lover was a soldier, and I could have pressed her to my heart as a +sister in mutual sorrow. + +“It is nothing, child, for they surely all come back again.” + +“Not all of them, dear lady,” she said, the tears starting afresh. + +Aunt Marie came in just then and Betty disappeared. + +“Martha dear, I came to comfort you,” said she, “and help you to resign +yourself in this trouble.” + +“So you know it?” + +“The whole city knows it, and great joy is felt, for the war is very +popular.” + +“Joy, Aunt Marie?” I exclaimed. + +“Certainly. Wherever the family is not touched there is great rejoicing. +But I knew you would be in distress, and therefore I hurried to you. +Your father will come soon, not to comfort but to congratulate you. He +is beside himself with delight and thinks the prospect for Arno is a +rare one. And he is right, for is not war the best thing in the world +for a soldier? And you must see it so, my dear. What must be——” + +“Yes, you are right, Aunt. I know: the inevitable——” + +“What is the will of God——” rejoined my aunt. + +And I concluded: “Must be borne with resignation.” + +“Bravo, dear Martha, Providence has determined. Providence is all wise. +For each one the hour of death is settled as is the hour of birth, and +we can pray fervently for our dear soldiers.” + +I did not analyse the contradiction that one might pray to avoid a death +that is predetermined. I had been taught not to reason on such matters, +and my aunt would have been quite shocked if I had voiced any such +scruples. “Never argue about it” is the commandment in matters of faith. +Not to question and not to think was much more convenient and +comfortable, so I accepted the suggestion that we should pray, and +during the absence of my husband I certainly would pray for the +protection of Heaven, and earnestly beg that the bullets might be turned +from the breast of my Arno. Diverted, but whither? To the breast of +another for whom some praying women also pleaded? And had not my +teachers in physics drilled me in the law of infallible consequences, of +motion and substance? The whole bewildering, tormenting question ... +away with it! I will not think. + +“Yes, dear Aunt,” I roused myself to say, “we will pray diligently, and +God must hear us. Arno will return to us unhurt and happy.” + +“You dear child, see how your soul flies to religion in the dark hours. +Perhaps God himself sent this trial to renew your faith.” + +Again this did not strike me as clear. How could God have sent this +great complication, dating from the Crimean War, that Sardinia and +Austria should break out into grim war for the simple purpose of testing +my lukewarm faith? Was my aunt’s piety so deep and mine so shallow, that +I should be tempted thus to doubt? To attach the name of God to any +statement of cause rather consecrates the matter, and it is not +respectful to doubt. My father and husband were both quite indifferent +to religious matters, and my reasoning nature found mere dogmas hard to +accept. I had gone regularly to Sunday mass, and once a year to +confession, and at such hours I was honestly devout as a matter of +etiquette with the same correctness as I should have curtsied, if +introduced to the Empress. The chaplain himself could not have +reproached me, but my aunt’s accusation seemed perhaps justifiable. + +“Ah, my child,” my aunt continued, “in times of happiness and prosperity +we are apt to forget our heavenly home, but when sorrow and sickness, +fear and death come in upon us, or if those we adore are stricken, +then——” + +In this style she would have continued, had not the door been thrown +open and my father rushed in, exclaiming:— + +“Hurrah, everything is decided. The Italian dogs wanted their whipping, +and they shall have it, they shall have it!” + +War was declared. All was excitement. People seem to forget that two +sets of men are voluntarily thrown at each other’s throats upon the +assumption that there is a mighty third power which irresistibly forces +them to fight. The whole responsibility is thrown upon this mysterious +element, which regulates the ordained fate of the nations. (At this +period of my life I felt no trace of a revolt against war as a system. +Because my beloved husband was forced to go and I to remain—this alone +was my anguish.) + +I consoled myself with all my old convictions that the highest duty of a +soldier was to be ready for service. History made it laudable to desire +honour and glory through patriotic devotion. It was a peculiarly +elevating thought that I was living in a most thrilling epoch. Had not +my life been given a share in one of the great events of history? + +Nothing was being talked of but the war. The newspapers were full of it. +Prayers were said in all the churches for the success of the army. +Everywhere were the same excited faces, the same eager talk. Business, +pleasure, literature, art, everything was secondary, insignificant, +while the scenes of this great drama were being played on the world’s +arena. We read the proclamations, so confident of victory; we watched +the troops march through with glitter and clash of arms, and +battle-flags waving; leading articles and glowing speeches were filled +with patriotic ardour, appealing to honour, duty, courage, +self-sacrifice. + +Assurances were made on both sides to the people, that their nation was +known to be the most invincible, each had the only just cause, each had +the noblest and most heroic cause to defend. Thus were the people filled +with enthusiasm, and the conviction that war was the most glorious, +necessary, and ennobling thing. + +Every one was encouraged to think that he was a great citizen of a great +state for which he must be willing to sacrifice himself. Evils of war +were merely regarded as a necessary adjunct, and always “the enemy” +alone was found guilty of the evil passions, and the brawling, rapine, +hatred, cruelty, and all the other iniquities attached to warfare. +Consequently we were doing the world a noble service in punishing these +wretched Italians—this lazy, sensual, upstart nation. And Louis +Napoleon, with his consuming ambition, what an intriguer! It was with a +storm of indignation that Vienna received the proclamation: “Italy free +to the Adriatic.” + +I uttered slight doubts whether it was so ignoble of Italy to wish to be +free, but I was rudely reminded that our enemies were scoundrels. In my +study of history I had usually found the writers sympathetic with the +struggling nation fighting to throw off a foreign yoke and gain its +independence. I felt that Italy was playing this part in the drama +before our eyes, but I was quickly and scowlingly given to understand +that our government—that is, the nation to which we happened to +belong—could never oppress, but only confer prosperity upon another +people, and when they sought to break away from us they were “rebels,” +that our control could be no yoke, for were we not always and only and +fully in the right? + +In early May Arno’s regiment was ordered to march. They had to leave at +seven in the morning. Ah, the night before—that terrible night! + +Arno slept. He breathed quietly, with tranquil happiness upon his +features. I set a candle behind the screen, for the darkness frightened +me and sleep was impossible. I lay quietly beside him, leaning on one +elbow and looking into his beloved face. + +I wept and reviewed the cruel fate which was separating us. How could I +bear it? Would a merciful Father let us soon have peace? Why could there +not be peace always? I pictured him wounded, lying on the damp ground, +and all the agonies that would be mine should he never return. I could +have screamed and thrown my arms about him, but no, he must sleep that +he should be better ready for duty in the morning. I was wornout with my +despair, the clock ticked meaninglessly, the candle flickered low, and I +slipped into unconsciousness and dropped on to my pillow in sleep. Over +and over again I started in my sleep, my heart palpitating with fear and +alarm, and when I thus waked for the tenth or twelfth time, it was day, +the candle had gone out, and there came a loud knock at the door. + +“Six o’clock, lieutenant,” said the orderly who came to rouse his master +in good time. + +The hour had come, the dreaded farewell was to be said; I was not to go +to the station, but in our own room the sad parting was to take place, +for I knew that my agony would overcome me. As Arno dressed he made all +sorts of comforting speeches:— + +“Be brave, my Martha. In two months we will be together again, and all +will be over. Many come back from wars—look at your own father. Did you +marry a Hussar to keep him at home, to raise hyacinths for you? I will +write you lively letters of the whole campaign. My own cheerfulness is a +good omen, and I am only out to win my spurs. Take care of yourself and +the darling Rudolf. My promotions are for him too. How he will love to +hear his father tell of the glorious victory over Italy in which he took +part!” + +I listened to him and felt that perhaps my unhappiness was all +selfishness. I would be strong and take courage. + +Again a knock at the door. + +“I am quite ready; coming directly.” And he spread his arms. “Now, +Martha, my wife, my love!” I rushed to him speechless; the farewell +refused to pass my lips, and it was he who spoke the heart-breaking +word:— + +“Good-bye, my all, my love, good-bye!” he convulsively sobbed, covering +his face. This was too much, and I felt my mind going. + +“Arno! Arno!” I screamed, wrapping my arms about him. “Stay! Stay!” I +persistently called, “Stay, stay!” + +“Lieutenant!” we heard outside, “it is quite time.” + +One last kiss—and he rushed out. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + Women’s co-operation at home—Anxious for news from seat of + war—Austria’s bad luck—Patriotism and relief work—A friendly + visit—The fatal news. + + +Preparing lint, reading reports, following on the map the chess-board of +the war with my little movable flags, prayers for the success of our +side, talking of the events of the day: such were our occupations. All +our other interests lagged, one question alone occupied us: When and how +will this war end? We ate, drank, read, and worked with no real concern, +only the telegrams and letters from Italy seemed of any importance. Arno +was not given to letter-writing, but his short notes always gave me the +cheering word that he was still alive and unwounded. Letters were +irregular, for the field-post was cut off during an engagement, and then +my anxiety and suffering were indescribable. After each battle, the list +of the killed filled me each time with fresh terror, as though my loved +one had held a lottery ticket, and might have drawn the doomed number. + +When, for the first time, I read the list and found no Arno Dotzky among +them, I folded my hands and prayed softly, “My God, I thank thee.” But +with the words still in my ears they suddenly grated upon me. Was I +perhaps thanking God that Adolf Schmidt and Karl Muller, and many others +had been slain, but not Arno Dotzky? Naturally those who prayed and +hoped for Schmidt and Muller would have been glad to read the name of +Dotzky instead of those they dreaded to find. And why should my thanks +be more pleasing to God than theirs? That Schmidt’s mother and Muller’s +sweetheart should break their hearts, this had made me rejoice? And I +realised the selfishness of such thanksgivings, and presumptuousness of +our prayers. + +On the same day a letter came from Arno:— + + Yesterday we had another hard fight, and, unfortunately, again a + defeat. But cheer up, darling Martha, the next battle we shall surely + win. It was my first great engagement. To stand in a thick shower of + bullets gives one a peculiar feeling. I will tell you about it by and + by; it is frightful. The poor fellows who fall on all sides must be + left in spite of their cries—but such is war. When we enter Turin to + dictate terms to the enemy, you can meet me there, for Aunt Marie can + take care of our little corporal until we return. + +Such letters formed the sunshine of my existence, but my nights were +restless. Often I awoke with the horrible feeling that at the very +moment Arno might be dying in a ditch, thirsting for water, and crying +out for me. I would force myself back to my senses by imagining the +scene of his joyful return, which was much more probable to be my +experience than the contrary. + +Bad news followed thick and fast. My father was deeply distressed, first +over Montebello, then Magenta; and not he alone, for all Vienna was +disheartened. Victory had been so certain, that we were already planning +our flag decorations and Te Deums. Instead, the flags were waving, and +the priests chanting in Turin. There they were thanking God that he had +helped them to strike down the wicked “Tedeschi.” + +“Father dear, in case of another defeat, will not then peace be +declared?” I asked one day. + +“Shame upon you to suggest such a thing!” he silenced me. “Better that +it should be a seven years’, even a thirty years’ war, so that our side +may be the conqueror, and we dictate terms of peace. If we fight only to +get out of it as quickly as possible, we might as well never have +begun.” + +“And that would have been by far the best,” I sighed. + +“Women are such cowards! Even you, whom I grounded so thoroughly in +principles of patriotism and love of fatherland, are now quite willing +to sacrifice the fame of your country for your own personal comfort.” + +“Alas ... it is because I love my Arno so well!” + +“Love of husband, love of family, all that is very good, but it takes +the second place to love of country.” + +“_Ought_ it?” + + * * * * * + +The lists of fatalities grew apace, and contained the names of several +officers personally known to me, among the rest the only son of a dear +old lady whom I greatly respected. I felt I must go and comfort her. No, +comfort her, I could not. I would only weep with her. On reaching her +house I hesitated to pull the bell. My last visit there had been on the +occasion of a jolly little dancing party, and Frau von Ullmann, full of +joy, had said to me: “Martha, we are the two most enviable women in +Vienna. You have the handsomest of husbands and I the noblest of sons.” + +And, to-day? I still, indeed, had my husband, but who knows? Shot and +shell might make me a widow any minute. There was no answer as I stood +and rang at the door. Finally a head was thrust out of the window of the +adjoining apartment:— + +“There is no use ringing, miss, the house is empty.” + +“What, is Frau von Ullmann gone?” + +“She was taken to the insane asylum three days ago,” and the head +disappeared. + +I stood motionless, rooted to the spot. What scenes there must have +been! What heights of agony before the poor old lady broke into madness! + +And my father wished that the war might last thirty years for the +welfare of the country! How many more such mothers would there be then? + +I went down the stairs shaken to the depths. I started to call on +another friend, and on the way I passed the Relief Corps storehouse, for +there was then no “Red Cross” or “Convention of Geneva” to distribute +supplies, and the people were all eagerly offering comforts for the sick +and wounded. I entered, feeling impelled to empty my purse into the +hands of the committee. It might save some poor fellow—and keep his +mother from the madhouse. I was shown to the room where the +contributions were taken. I passed several rooms where long tables were +piled with packages of linens, wines, cigars, tobacco, but mostly +mountains of bandages, and I thought with a shudder, how many bleeding +gashes it would take to use them all—and my father wishing that the war +might last for thirty years. How many of our country’s sons would then +succumb to their wounds? + +My money was received thankfully, and my many questions were answered, +comforting me much to hear of the good being done. + +An old gentleman came in, offering a hundred florin bill, and saying: +“Allow me to contribute a little toward the useful work. I look on all +this organisation of yours as the most humane. I have served in the +campaign of 1809–1813, when no one sent the wounded pillows and +bandages. There were never enough surgeons and supplies, and thousands +suffered a hideous death. You cannot realise the good you are doing.” +And he went away with tears in his eyes. + +Just then there was commotion outside, and throwing open the double +doors, the guard announced: “Her Majesty, the Empress!” + +From my quiet corner I saw the beautiful young sovereign, who in her +simple street dress appeared even lovelier than in her court costume or +ball dress. + +“I have come,” she said gently, “because the Emperor writes to me from +the seat of war how useful and acceptable is your work.” She examined +the rolls of linen. “How beautifully done it is,” she exclaimed. “It is +a fine patriotic undertaking, and the poor soldiers——” I lost the rest +of the remark as she passed into another room, so visibly content with +what she was seeing. + +“Poor soldiers!” These words sounded strangely pathetic in my ears. Yes, +poor indeed, and the more comforts we sent them the better. But the +suggestion that ran through my head was: “Why not keep them at home +altogether? Why send these poor men into all this misery?” + +But no, I must shut out the thought, for is war not a necessary thing? I +found the only excuse for all this cruelty in that little word: “Must.” + +I went on my way and passed a book-store. Remembering that my map of the +war region was worn to shreds, I stepped in to order one. A number of +buyers were there, and when my turn came the proprietor asked: “A map of +Italy, madam?” + +“How did you guess it?” + +“No one asks for anything else, nowadays.” While wrapping up my +purchase, he said to a gentleman standing by, “It goes hard nowadays +with writers and publishers of books. So long as war lasts no one is +interested in intellectual matters. These are hard times for authors and +booksellers.” + +“Yes, this is a great drain on the nation, and war is always followed by +a decline in the intellectual standard.” + +For the third time I thought: “And father, for the good of the country, +would have war last thirty years.” + +“So your business suffers?” I asked. + +“Not mine alone, madam. Except for the army providers, all tradesmen are +suffering untold losses. Everything stands still in the factory, on the +farm, everywhere men are without work, and without bread. Our securities +are falling and gold rises in value, while all enterprise is blocked, +and business is being bankrupted. In short, everywhere is misery, +misery!” + +“And there is my own father wishing——” I found myself thinking as I left +the store. + +My friend was at home. The Countess Lori Griesbach in more than one +respect shared the same lot with me. Her father was a general, and like +me she had married an officer. Her husband as well as two brothers were +in the service. But Lori’s nature was very light-hearted. She had fully +convinced herself that her dear ones were under the special protection +of her patron saint, and she was confident that they would return. She +received me with open arms. + +“So glad to see you, dear; it is good of you to come. But you look +worried. Any bad news?” + +“No, thank God, but the whole thing is so terrible to me.” + +“You mean the defeat? Oh, do not think about that, for the next news +must be victory.” + +“Defeat or victory, war is horrible,” I said. “How much better if there +never were a war.” + +“Oh dear, what then would become of our glorious military profession?” + +“Then we should not need any.” + +“What a silly way for you to talk,” she said. “How stale life would be +with nothing but civilians. I almost shudder at the thought, but, +fortunately, that would be impossible.” + +“Impossible?” I said. “But perhaps you are right, or it would have long +ago been changed.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I mean that armies would have long ago been disbanded. But no, one +might as well expect to prevent earthquakes.” + +“I cannot understand how you can talk so. For I am rejoiced that my +Louis has this splendid chance to distinguish himself. And for my +brothers, too, it is a good thing, for promotions are so very slow in +times of peace. Now they have all opportunities.” + +“Have you received any news recently?” I interrupted. + +“Not for some time, but you know how very uncertain the post is. After +an engagement they are too tired to write. But my mind is easy, for both +Louis and my brothers wear the blessed amulets. Mamma put them round +their necks herself?” + +“Can you imagine two armies meeting, when every man wears an amulet? +Tell me; if the bullets are flying here and there, can they all be +deflected into the clouds?” + +“I do not understand what you mean, dear Martha, and your faith is so +lukewarm. Even your aunt complains about you.” + +“But why can’t you answer me?” + +“Because you are jesting at what is sacred to me.” + +“Jesting? Not at all. I was simply suggesting a reasonable argument in +things that are above us.” + +“You well know that it is a sin to argue and trust your own reason in +things that are above you.” + +“Yes, my dear, I will be quiet. You are right. Logic and reason are +dangerous. Reflection and research are of no use. All sorts of doubts +torment me and I try to answer them, but find only pain. Were I to +disbelieve in the necessity of war I could never forgive those who——” + +“You mean Louis Napoleon? Oh, what an intriguer he is!” + +“Whether he or another ... but I must try to believe that men do not +cause wars, that they break out of themselves like nervous fevers, and +the flames of Vesuvius.” + +“What a state your mind is in! Let us be sensible. Listen to me. Soon +both our husbands will come back captains. I shall have a jolly six +weeks at a watering-place with mine. It will do us both good after this +suspense. You need not think that I have not suffered at all. And it may +yet be God’s will that one of our dear ones shall meet a soldier’s +death—but what is more noble, more honourable, than death in battle for +emperor and fatherland?” + +“You are talking like the next best army proclamation.” + +“Yet, it would be dreadful—poor mamma—should Karl or Gustav be lost. But +let us not think of it. Yes, I shall go and refresh myself at some +watering-place. I think I would prefer Carlsbad. I was there as a girl +and had a glorious season.” + +“I, too, went to Marienbad, and there I made the acquaintance of my +husband. But don’t let us be sitting here idly. If you have linen at +hand we can be making bandages. I just came from the Relief Corps and——” + +We were interrupted, for the footman brought in a letter. + +“From Gustav,” cried Lori, joyfully. She read a few lines and, +shrieking, fell about my neck. + +“Lori, my poor dear, what is it? Your husband?” + +“Oh God, oh God!” she exclaimed. “Read for yourself.” + +I took the letter up. I can recall the contents perfectly, for I +afterwards copied it in my diary. + +“Read aloud, for I could not finish.” + +I read:— + + “DEAR SISTER—Yesterday we had a severe encounter. There was a long + list of dead and wounded. Prepare poor mother, tell her Karl is + severely wounded, but I tell you the truth—the brave fellow died for + his country.” + +I stopped to embrace dear Lori, and continued reading, choked with my +tears. + + “Your husband is safe, as well as I. Had the enemy’s bullet only hit + me instead! I envy Karl his heroic death. He fell at the beginning and + never knew we were defeated. Oh, how bitter it all is, I saw his fall, + for we were riding together. I sprang to lift him up, but one look + told me he was dead. The ball must have hit the lungs or heart. His + death was surely instant and quite painless. Many others suffered + hours of agony and lay long in the heat of battle till death came. It + was a bloody day. More than a thousand, friend and foe, were left on + the field. Among the dead I found many dear faces, and with the rest, + there is poor”—here I had to turn the page—“poor Arno Dotzky.” + +I fell insensible to the floor. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + Early widowhood—Sorrow and solitude—I take up my studies again—Broader + conceptions. + + +“It is all over now, Martha! Solferino is decisive. We have been +beaten.” With these words my father hurried to me one morning, as I was +sitting under the linden trees in the garden. + +I was back in the home of my girlhood with my little Rudolf. Eight days +after the great battle which left me a widow, I returned to live with my +family in Grumitz, our country place in Lower Austria. Just as it had +been before my marriage, I was surrounded by the loved ones—father, +aunt, two growing sisters, and my little brother. Their kindness and +sympathy touched my grief-stricken heart. My sorrow seemed to have +consecrated me in their eyes and raised me above the ordinary level. + +Next to the blood poured out by the soldiers on the altar of their +country, the tears of the bereft mothers, wives, and children are +considered the holiest libations poured on the same altar. What was +almost a feeling of pride and heroic dignity took possession of me, for +to have sacrificed a beloved husband in battle conferred upon me the +equivalent of military merit, which grew to be quite a comforting +thought, and helped me to bear my sorrow. But then I was but one of many +whose loved ones slept beneath the Italian sod. + +No particulars were brought me of Arno’s death, other than that he had +been found dead, recognised, and buried. No doubt the baby and I were +his last thought and consolation, and with his last breath he had +groaned, “I have done my duty, more than my duty.” + +“Yes, we are beaten,” sadly repeated my father as he sank on to the +bench. + +“So the victims were a needless sacrifice,” I sighed. + +“Indeed they are to be envied, for they know nothing of the disgrace +which has come upon us. But we shall gather ourselves together soon, +though they say that peace must now be concluded.” + +“May God grant it!” I interrupted. “Though it is too late for my poor +Arno, yet thousands of others will be spared.” + +“You seem to think only of your own sorrow, and that of private +individuals. This is Austria’s affair.” + +“But is not Austria made up of individuals?” + +“But, my dear child, a state and empire has a longer and more important +existence than an individual. Men disappear, from generation to +generation, but the state goes on and on; it grows in power, fame, and +greatness, or it crumbles, sinks, and is lost, if it allows itself to be +surpassed or swallowed by other states. Therefore, it is the highest +duty of every individual to sacrifice, suffer, and even die, that the +existence, the power, and welfare of the state may be perpetuated and +increased.” + +These impressive words remained in my thought, and I noted them in my +diary. They were curiously like the sentences in my old school books, +whose strong, clear convictions had been quite driven from my mind of +late, especially since Arno’s death, by the confusion, fear, and pity I +had experienced. I once more hugged them to my heart, and found +consolation and encouragement in the thought that my darling had been +sacrificed in a great cause, and that, in giving up my husband, I had +done my share in the service of my country. + +Aunt Marie had a different source of consolation ready, however. “Stop +your crying, my dear,” she would say when she found me crushed anew with +my grief. “Is it not selfish to mourn for him who is now so happy? From +up among the saints he is even now looking down and blessing you. The +years will pass quickly when you will join him there. For the heroes of +battle heaven prepares a special place of rest. Happy are those who are +called from this earth while performing a sacred duty. Next in glory to +the Christian martyr comes the dying soldier.” + +“Then I am to rejoice that Arno——” + +“No, not rejoice, that would be asking too much. You must bear your lot +and resign yourself. Heaven sends this trial to purify and strengthen +your faith.” + +“And in order that my heart be purified and my faith strengthened my +poor Arno had to——” + +“No, no, but how dare you question the hidden ways of Providence?” + +The consolations which my aunt offered were rather confusing and +distracting, but I allowed myself to accept the mystical tangle, and +believe that my dear victim was now enjoying heaven as a reward for his +agony of sacrifice, and that his memory would be glorified on earth with +the halo of heroic martyrdom. + +Just before our departure from Vienna the great mourning ceremony had +been celebrated in the cathedral of St. Stefan, and I attended. The _De +Profundis_ was sung for all our warriors fallen and buried on foreign +soil. A catafalque had been erected in the centre of the church, lighted +with a hundred candles and hung with flags, arms, and military emblems. +The grand pathetic requiem came from the choir and flooded the +congregation—mostly women clothed in black and weeping aloud. And not +for her own alone, but for the same sad fate of all, each woman wept—for +all these poor brave brothers who had given up their sweet young lives +for us, for their country, the honour of their nation! And there in the +background stood several regiments of living soldiers, listening to the +ceremony—all waiting and ready to follow their fallen comrades without a +murmur or fear. These clouds of incense, the swelling voice of the +organ, the fervent petitions, the common woe poured out in tears and +groans must surely have risen to a well-pleased heavenly ear, and the +God of armies and battles must certainly shower down His blessing on +those to whom this catafalque was raised. + +These were the thoughts that came to me, and which I wrote in my journal +when I described the mourning celebration. + +Two weeks after the defeat of Solferino came the news of the peace of +Villa Franca. My father gave himself no end of pains to explain to me +how necessary for political reasons this peace had become. I assured him +that it was very joyful news to me to know that there was an end to all +this fighting and dying. But he continued at length to explain. + +“You must not for one instant think,” he said, “that even though in this +peace we have made concessions, we have thereby sacrificed our dignity. +We Austrians know perfectly what we are about. It is not the little +check we got at Solferino which makes us give up the game. Far from it. +We could easily have routed them with another army corps, and forced the +enemy from Milan, but, dear Martha, there are other things +involved—great principles and objects. We do not cease to push the war +further, lest these Sardinian robbers and their French hangman-ally +should push into other portions of Italy—Modena and Tuscany—where +dynasties are in power which are related to our imperial family; nay, +they might advance even against Rome itself, and endanger the Holy +Father—the Vandals! By giving up Lombardy we keep Venetia, and can +assure the Holy See and the southern Italian states of our support. +Thus, my dear, you see, it is only for political reasons and for the +sake of the balance of power in Europe——” + +“Oh, yes, father, I see it,” I broke in. “It is a pity that they could +not have planned it all before Magenta!” I sighed bitterly, and, to +change the subject, I pointed to a package of books which had just +arrived from Vienna. + +“See, father, the bookseller has sent us several things on approval. +Among the rest is the English naturalist Darwin’s _The Origin of +Species_. He recommends it as an epoch-making book in modern thought.” + +“He need not bother me with it,” replied my father. “In such stirring +times, who can be interested in such rubbish? How can a stupid book +about plants and animals and their origin make an epoch of any +importance to us men? The federation of the Italian States, the forming +of the German Bund, and the consolidation of Austria—such matters make +epochs in history and mark the great strides in human advancement. These +things will live in history long after that stupid English book is +forgotten. Mark my words.” + +I did mark them. + + + + + BOOK II + TIME OF PEACE + + + + + CHAPTER I + + Society once more—Happiness returns—A second marriage suggested—My + younger sisters need a chaperone—Baron Tilling introduced—He tells + of Arno’s death. + + +Four years passed quietly, and my sisters, now seventeen and eighteen +years old, are to be presented at court. “Why should I not too return to +society?” I thought. Time had done its work and quieted my grief. +Despair had mellowed into sorrow, sorrow into melancholy, then came +listlessness, and finally I felt a renewing of my interest in life. I +woke one fine morning with the realisation that I was a woman to be +envied—twenty-three, beautiful, nobly born, rich, the mother of a +darling boy, and one of a devoted family. What had I still to ask to +make life delightful? + +Behind me like a sweet dream lay the short period of my married life. +The shadowy past began to swallow up the memory of my desperate love, my +handsome Huzzar, my married happiness, my terrible separation and grief. +The duration of it had not been long enough to create a close sympathy. +Our devotion had been too shortly cut off to have grown into the +friendship and reverence which is often felt by those who have shared +years of joy and sorrow. Could I have been indispensable to him when, +for no cause, he rushed into the war and left his regiment, which was +not called out? Yes, four years made me a different being. My mind had +broadened, and knowledge and culture had come to me which, I felt, Arno +would have had no sympathy with. If he could come back he would be a +stranger to my present spiritual life. + +How did it all come about? + +One year of widowhood passed in despair, deep mourning, and +heart-breaking. Of society I would not hear. Rudolf’s education should +be my one thought. The “baby” turned into “my son,” and became the +centre of my hope, my pride, and my existence. To be able some day to be +his guide and intellectual companion, I buried myself in the treasures +of the chateau library. History, in which my interest had cooled, became +my passion again, as well as my consolation, for the account of battles +and heroics seemed to relate me to the grand historical processes, for +which I, too, had lived. Not that I ever got back the old enthusiasms of +girlish days for the Maid of Orleans. Many of the overwrought accounts +now sounded hollow and mocking, when I thought of the horrors of war. + +Can the priceless gem life be paid for with the tinsel coin of +posthumous fame? + +But the history-shelf of my father’s library was soon exhausted; I +begged the bookseller to send me more. He wrote:— + + I send you Thomas Buckle’s _History of Civilisation in England_. The + work is unfinished, but these two volumes form a complete whole, and + have attracted great attention, not only in England but over the + world. They say that the author is introducing a new conception of + history. + +New, indeed! Reading and re-reading it, I felt like a creature taken +suddenly from the bottom of a narrow valley to the mountain tops and +viewing the world for the first time, out, beyond and beyond, to the +boundless ocean. Not that I, a superficial mind of twenty, could grasp +the book—but, to keep to my picture, I saw that lofty monumental things +lay before my astonished vision. I was dazzled, overcome, my horizon +moved out into the immensities of life. Though the full understanding +only came to me later, yet that one vision I caught even then, that the +history of mankind itself was not formulated by wars, kings, statesmen, +treaties, greed, cunning, but by the gradual development of the +intellect. Court chronicles gave no explanation to underlying causes, +nor a picture of the civilisation of the time. Buckle did not paint war +and devastation with a glamour, but demonstrated that the respect for +arms diminished as a people rose in culture and intelligence. The lower +into barbarism you go, the more war, and he holds even that some day the +love of war and its romance will die out of our culture and cease to +exist. Just as childhood’s wrangling ceases, so must society outgrow its +childishness. + +How all this appealed to the convictions of my heart, which I had so +often dismissed as unworthy and weak! I now felt that these growing +ideals in me were an echo of the spirit of the age, and saw that +thinkers were losing their idolatry for war, and doubting its necessity. +The book gave me the opposite of what I sought, yet how it solaced me, +enlightened, elevated, and pacified me. Once I tried to talk to my +father about it, but he would have none of it; he refused to follow me +to the mountain top, that is, he refused to read the book, so it was +useless to discuss it. + +During the second year of my sorrow I studied with renewed ardour, and +as the mind expanded the old unhappiness disappeared. Buckle had +unconsciously given me a taste for the larger world again, and I +satisfied my craving to follow out his idea in other authors. The +passion for life renewed itself, and the melancholy disappeared. Then +the third change was wrought in me. Books alone would not satisfy me. I +saw that with all this reading my longings were not being +gratified—life’s flowers were still for me to pluck if I only stretched +out the hand. So in the winter of 1863 I entered the salons of Viennese +society once more, to introduce my younger sisters there. + +“Martha, Countess Dotzky, the rich young widow,” thus spoken of, I took +my part in the great comedy of the world again. The part suited me, and +I was greeted, fêted, spoiled on all sides, much to my delight, after +four years of social starving. + +The entire family quietly presumed that I would remarry. My aunt no +longer referred to my soldier saint above. The future promised meeting +might not be so agreeable if a second husband stepped in. Every one +except myself seemed to have forgotten his existence. My pain was gone, +but his image could never be wiped out. Daily Rudolf’s evening prayer +closed with: “God keep me good and brave for love of my father, Arno.” + +We sisters enjoyed society in the extreme. It was really my first +glimpse, too, for I had married so soon that I had missed the gaiety and +attentions. My crowd of admirers, however, did not impress me much, for +between us there lay a chasm. Brilliant young beaux chatting of +ballroom, court, and theatre had not the faintest glimpse of the things +which my life was beginning to depend upon. Though I had only begun to +lisp in the language of the higher things of soul and science, yet that +was farther removed from these chatterers than Greek or even Patagonian. +I had begun to think in the tongue with which men of science would some +day debate, and finally solve the greatest riddles of the world. + +It was quite certain that in such a circle I would scarcely find a +congenial mate, and I carefully avoided all entangling rumours, devoted +myself to my boy, plunged into study, kept in touch with the +intellectual world, read and relished keenly all the latest things. This +barred me from many of the frivolities, and yet I keenly enjoyed the +gaiety, the company, and dancing. I longed to open my salon to a few of +the upper world of scholarship, but my social position made that +impossible. I dared not hope to mix the classes in Vienna. Since that +day the exclusive spirit has changed, and fashion to-day finds it +acceptable to open its doors to brains of the rarer sort. But at that +time it would have been quite impossible to receive except such as were +presentable at court—counting at least sixteen ancestors. Our own social +set would not have been able to converse with the thinking class, and +the latter class would have found it intolerably dull to mingle with a +drawing-room full of sportsmen, cloister-bred young girls, old generals, +and canonesses. All the talk was a vapid recital of where the last ball +had been and the next one was to be—perhaps at Schwartzenberg’s or +Pallavicini’s; who was the latest adorer of Baroness Pacher, and the +latest rejected of the Countess Palffy; how many estates had Prince +Croy; was Lady Amalay’s title from her father’s or mother’s side? Could +such drivel possibly have interested the intellectual set? + +Occasionally an able statesman, diplomat, or man of genius cropped up +among us, but they always assumed the frivolous conversation of the +rest. A quiet after-dinner chat with some of our parliamentarians or men +of mark would have been made impossible almost, for hardly would the +conversation turn on some political or scientific subject when it would +be interrupted with, “Ah, dearest Countess Dotzky, how charming you +looked yesterday at the picnic! And are you going to the Russian embassy +to-morrow?” + + * * * * * + +“Allow me, dear Martha,” said my cousin Conrad Althaus, “to introduce +Lieutenant-Colonel Baron Tilling.” I bowed and arose, thinking the +introduction meant an invitation to dance. + +“Pardon me, Countess,” he said, with a slight smile, showing a perfect +row of teeth, “I do not dance.” + +“So much the better, for I would like a moment’s rest,” I said, +reseating myself. + +“I was bold enough to ask for the introduction, for I had some +information for you,” he continued. + +I looked up at him in surprise. He was no longer young, somewhat grey, +and with a serious countenance, but withal a distinguished and +sympathetic face. + +“I will not intrude, Countess, but what I have to tell you is not suited +to a ballroom chat. If you will fix the hour, I will come to you with +it.” + +“I am at home on Saturdays between two and four.” + +“I would rather see you alone.” + +“Then come to-morrow at the same hour.” The Baron bowed and left me. +Later, Cousin Conrad passed; I called him to my side and questioned him +concerning Tilling. + +“Ah ha! Has he so impressed you that you are setting an investigation on +foot? He is unmarried, but a distinguished princess of the reigning +house has him entangled in her silken web, and therefore he does not +wish to marry. His regiment has just been ordered here, but he is no +friend of society. I meet him every day at the ‘Noble’s Club,’ where he +always seems absorbed in the papers or a game of chess. I was astonished +to see him here, but the hostess is his cousin. After speaking with you +he went away immediately.” + +“And he was introduced to no other ladies?” + +“No; but do not imagine that it was your beauty that brought him down at +long range, and therefore asked to know you. He merely questioned: +‘Could you tell me whether a certain Countess Dotzky, formerly an +Althaus, probably a relative of yours, is here to-day? I want to speak +to her.’ I pointed to you. ‘There she sits in the blue dress.’ ‘Oh,’ +said he, ‘that is she? Will you introduce me?’ And I brought him over +with no idea that I would disturb your peace of mind.” + +“Such nonsense, Conrad, as though my peace were so easily ruffled! +Tilling! What family is that? The name is new to me.” + +“So you are interested? Perhaps he is the lucky fellow. I who have tried +for three months to interest you in me must step aside for this +cold-hearted lieutenant-colonel. Let me warn you, he is without feeling. +The Tilling family, I believe, is of Hanoverian origin, although his +father was an Austrian officer and his mother a Prussian. Did you note +his North German accent?” + +“He speaks beautiful German.” + +“You find everything about him beautiful, no doubt.” Conrad rose. “I +have heard enough. Let me leave you to dream—I can find plenty of +beautiful ladies who——” + +“Who will think you charming, Conrad. Indeed there are plenty.” + +I was uneasy and left the ball early. Surely not to be able to think +uninterruptedly about the new friend, although I found myself doing it! +At midnight I enriched the red book with the conversation given above, +and added my unpleasant doubts that he might even then be sitting at the +feet of the princess. I ended my sentence by envying her—not Tilling, oh +no!—for being beloved by some one. My waking thought was once +more—Tilling. Naturally; had he not made an appointment for that day? +For some time nothing had excited me like this visit. + +At ten minutes past two the Baron von Tilling was announced. + +“As you see, Countess, I am prompt,” he said, kissing my hand. + +“Luckily, for I am overwhelmed with curiosity to know your news.” + +“Then, without delay, I will tell you. It is this: I was in the battle +of Magenta.” + +“And you saw Arno die?” I cried. + +“Yes. I can tell you of his last moments, and it will be a relief to +you. Do not tremble, for if the finish had been shocking I would not +tell you.” + +“You take a weight from my heart. Go on, go on!” + +“The empty phrase, ‘He died as a hero,’ I will not use. But it will +comfort you to know that he died instantly and without knowing it. We +were often together, and he was so confident of his safety. He showed me +the pictures of his wife and boy, and insisted that after the campaign I +should be his guest. I chanced in the Magenta massacre to be at his +side. I will not relate the terrible scenes. The intoxication of the +warrior passion had quite seized Dotzky in the thick of the bullet-hail +and powder-fog. His eyes were blazing and he was fighting like mad. I, +who was sober, saw it all. Suddenly a shell, and ten men—Dotzky among +them—fell. He was instantly killed, but many of them shrieked in agony. +All but he were shockingly mangled, but we had to leave them, for a +charging column came upon us with a murderous hurrah, pell-mell over the +dead and wounded. Lucky those who were dead! After the battle I found +Dotzky, with the placid smile on his face, a painless look, and in the +same spot and position. I have meant for several years to come and tell +you, and relieve you of a painful uncertainty. But forgive me if I have +recalled torturing memories.” + +The Baron rose to go, and I thanked him while drying my tears: “You +cannot know what a relief it is to feel that he died without agony. But +stay. A certain tone in your remarks has touched a like strain in my +thought. Tell me frankly, you too hate war?” + +His face darkened: “Forgive me if I cannot stop to discuss the subject. +I am sorry, but I am expected elsewhere.” + +A cold expression passed over me, and the unpleasant thought of the +princess came into my mind. “Then I will not detain you, Colonel,” I +said coldly, and he left without asking if he might be allowed to come +again. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + After the carnival—Father’s dinner-party—Toy soldiers—Tilling + again—The brave Hupfauf—Darwin. + + +The carnival over—Rosa and Lilli were still fancy free, and I was +feeling that the dancing was growing monotonous. I find all my +impressions noted in the red book. Society was not dropped, for Lent +brought its rounds as well; sermons and church were quite as popular a +meeting-place for the friends as were the opera and ballroom earlier in +the season. I was not quite pious enough to suit Aunt Marie, who dragged +the girls off to hear all the famous preachers. I spent my evenings by +the fire with books, and devoted myself afresh to my boy. I repeated +Tilling’s story to my father, but he considered it of no importance that +Arno died without pain. How differently Tilling had regarded the matter, +and I did not repeat his words to my father, for he would only +instinctively have despised him for his unsoldierly sentiments. How +gladly I would further have discussed the question of war with Tilling, +but, alas! he never called, and I only casually met him in public +occasionally. But even those meetings and greetings lingered in my +thought. + +One morning at breakfast my father handed me a parcel: “My dear, here is +a parcel for you, and I have a favour to ask.” + +“A present and a request,” I laughed; “that’s bribery.” + +“Yes. I must have three old generals and their wives to dinner, a stiff, +sleepy, tedious affair, and I want you to come to my house and do the +honours.” + +“And you evidently wish to sacrifice your daughter, as the ancient +father Agamemnon sacrificed Iphigenia.” + +“I added a younger element for your sake—Dr. Bresser, for one; he +treated me in my last illness, and I wish to show my appreciation. I +also invited Lieutenant-Colonel Tilling. Ah, you blush; what is the +matter with you?” + +“Me?” I said, hiding my confusion by hastily breaking open the parcel. + +“It is nothing for you, only a box of lead soldiers for Rudolf.” + +“But, father, a child of four——” + +“Nonsense; I played at soldiers when I was three. My earliest memory is +of drums, swords, words of command and marching. That is the way to +start the boys to love the profession.” + +“But my son shall never be a soldier,” I interrupted. + +“Martha, you know it would be his father’s wish.” + +“The boy belongs to me now, and I object.” + +“What! Object to the noblest and most honourable of all callings?” + +“His life shall not be risked in war, he is my only son.” + +“As an only son I became a soldier; Arno and your brother also. The +traditions of both families require it that the offspring of a Dotzky +and an Althaus shall devote his service to his fatherland.” + +“His country needs him less than I, and there are other ways of serving +one’s country.” + +“If all mothers were like you——” + +“There would then be fewer parades and reviews, fewer men to slay as +food for bullets. That would hardly be a misfortune.” + +Much provoked, my father said: “Oh you women! Luckily the young do not +ask your permission, when soldier’s blood flows in their veins. But +Rudolf will not remain your only son, you will marry again. By the way, +what has become of all your admirers? There is Captain Olensky seriously +in love with you. Just lately he poured it all out to me, and I should +like him as a son-in-law.” + +“I do not care for him for a husband.” + +“How about Major Millersdorf?” + +“You may call the whole army roll, but I want none of them.” And I +turned the subject: “When is the dinner?” + +“At five. Come down earlier. Adieu, I must go. Kiss Rudi for me—the +future Field-Marshal of the Imperial Army.” + +Could the dinner be a “stiff, tiresome affair,” when the presence of +Baron Tilling moved me in such a singular way? We had no occasion to +speak at the table, being separated, and even after the dinner, while +serving the coffee in the drawing-room, the two old generals remained my +faithful attendants. I longed to speak to Tilling again about the +battle-scene, and hear his sympathetic voice. But the circle left no +opportunity for me to talk with him. The conversation ran on the usual +topic. + +“It will soon break out again,” suggested one old general. + +“Hum,” said the other, “next time it will be with Russia.” + +“Must there always be a next time?” I interrupted, but no one took +notice. + +“Italy first,” persisted my father. “We must get back Lombardy. We +should march into Milan as we did with Father Radetzky in ’49. I +remember, it was a bright sunny morn——” + +“Oh!” I exclaimed in a panic, “we all know the story of the entry into +Milan.” + +“And the story of the brave Hupfauf, also?” asked my father. + +“Yes, and it is most revolting.” + +One of the group broke in diplomatically: “Let us hear it, Althaus.” + +My father needed no encouragement. + +“Hupfauf was a Tyrolese Jager, and the best shot imaginable. He proposed +to take four comrades to the roof of the cathedral and shoot down on the +rebels. The four did nothing but load, and he shot, hitting the mark +every time and killing ninety Italians.” + +“Horrible!” I exclaimed. “Each one shot had a mother or sweetheart at +home, and had a right to his young life.” + +“My dear, they were all enemies, and that alters the point of view.” + +“Ah, true,” said Dr. Bresser, “the whole world is turned upside down so +long as there is racial enmity, and the laws of humanity will receive +but slight recognition.” + +“What do you say, Baron Tilling?” I asked. + +“I would have decorated the gallant breast of the man, from the point of +view of war ethics, and then put a bullet into his stony heart. He +deserved both.” + +I gave the speaker a grateful look, and, except the doctor, all the +guests seemed unpleasantly affected, and a short pause ensued in the +talk. + +The doctor then turned to my father, asking, “Have you read the new work +by the English naturalist, Darwin?” + +“I know nothing of it.” + +“Why, papa,” I exclaimed, “that is the book you told me would soon be +forgotten by the world.” + +“And, so far as I am concerned, it is forgotten.” + +“But,” continued the doctor, “it has quite turned the world upside down +with its new theory of the origin of species.” + +“You mean the ape theory?” asked the general at the right. “The idea +that we are descended from the ourang-outang?” + +“Upon the whole,” the cabinet minister began, nodding (and when he began +thus we all trembled, for he was getting ready for a long discourse), +“the thing seems absurd, but we dare not take it as a joke. The theory +is powerfully built up on collected facts, and ingeniously worked out. +Like all such rash conceptions it will find its followers and produce a +certain effect on modern thought. It is a great pity it has been given +so much consideration. Of course, the clergy will array itself against +the degrading theory that man is derived from the brute, rather than +from God’s image. No wonder they are shocked and denounce it. But church +condemnation cannot prevent the spread of ideas that come in the garb of +science. Until men of science themselves reduce it to an absurdity——” + +“What folly!” broke in my father, fearing that his guests might be +bored. “One needs only a bit of common sense to reject the absurd notion +that man has descended from apes.” + +“Darwin has certainly wakened reasonable doubts, and apes and man do +greatly resemble each other,” the minister added, “but it will take some +time to bring about a unity of opinion among the scientists about it.” + +“These gentry live by disputing,” said the old general to the left, in a +heavy Viennese dialect. “I too have heard something about this ape +business. But why bother one’s head with the chatter of the star-gazers +and grass-collectors and frog-dissectors? I saw a picture of this +Darwin, and I could well believe that his grandfather was a chimpanzee.” + +The entire company enjoyed the joke. + +Then the quieter general spoke: “Can you imagine an ape inventing the +telegraph? Speech alone raised men so far above beasts——” + +“Pardon, your Excellency,” interrupted Dr. Bresser, “but the art of +speech and the capacity for invention were not among man’s original +powers. After all, it is the result of evolution and development.” + +“Yes, I know, Doctor,” replied the general, “the war-cry of the new +school is evolution, but one cannot develop a camel from a kangaroo, nor +do we find apes to-day developing into men.” + +I turned to Baron Tilling: “And what do you think of Darwin? Are you a +follower or an opponent?” + +“Although I have heard much of late about Darwin, Countess, I cannot +give an opinion, for I have not read the book.” + +“Nor have I,” the doctor acknowledged. + +“Nor I—nor I—nor I—” came the chorus from the rest. + +And the cabinet minister gravely wound up: “The subject is so popular +to-day that the expressions, ‘evolution,’ ‘natural selection,’ ‘survival +of the fittest,’ have passed into current thought. You find many +defenders among those who thirst for new ideas and change, while +cool-headed, critical people who insist on proof are found on the other +side.” + +“There is always opposition to every new idea as soon as it comes up,” +said Tilling; “but one must have penetrated into the idea in order to be +able to judge. Conservatives assail anything, and often for the weakest +and most absurd reasons, and the masses only repeat what they hear. To +judge of scientific theories without investigation is absurd. Even +Copernicus was thundered down by Rome——” + +“But, as I said before,” interrupted the minister, “not orthodoxy but +science itself cries down false hypotheses in our day.” + +“New ideas are always objected to in the beginning by the old fogeys who +never like to give up their settled dogmas and views,” Tilling replied. +“For my part, I shall read the book, and the opposition of the +narrow-brained speaks rather for than against its truth.” + +“Oh, you brave, clear-thinking spirit!” I silently apostrophised the +speaker. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + A cosy chat with Tilling—We misunderstand each other—The attachment + grows—Countess Griesbach—Jealousy overcome—Tilling goes away—A + touching letter—Death of Tilling’s mother. + + +The dinner-party broke up at eight o’clock although my father insisted +on detaining them. I politely urged a cup of tea, but each had his +excuse and felt obliged to go. Tilling and Bresser had also risen to +take leave, but were easily persuaded to stay. Father and the doctor +were soon seated at the card-table, while Baron Tilling joined me by the +fire. + +“I have a scolding for you, Baron. After the first visit you forgot the +way to my house.” + +“You never asked me.” + +“I told you, Saturdays.” + +“Pardon me, Countess, if I find regular reception days abominable. To +meet a lot of strange people, bow to the hostess, sit a minute, hear the +weather discussed, meet a stray acquaintance, venture a stupid remark; a +desperate attempt to start a conversation with the hostess is +interrupted by a new arrival, who starts the weather talk again, and +then a fresh bunch comes in—perhaps a mother with four marriageable +daughters—you give up your chair, and finally in weariness take leave +and go. No, Countess, my talent for society is weak at best.” + +“I meet you nowhere. Perhaps you hate people, and are a bit +misanthropic. No, I do not believe that, for I conclude from your words +that you love all men.” + +“Hardly that; it is humanity as a whole I love, but not every man, not +the coarse, worthless, self-seeking. I pity them because their education +and circumstances made them unworthy of love.” + +“Education and circumstances? Does not the character depend on +heredity?” + +“Our circumstances are also a matter of inheritance.” + +“Then you do not hold a man responsible for his badness, and therefore +not to be hated?” + +“The one does not always depend on the other. A man is often to be +condemned, though he is not responsible. You also are not responsible +for your beauty, and yet one may admire——” + +“Baron Tilling,” I said reproachfully, “we began talking seriously, and +suddenly you treat me like a compliment-seeking society miss.” + +“Pardon me; I only intended to use the illustration closest at hand.” + +An awkward pause followed. Then I said abruptly:— + +“Why did you become a soldier, Baron Tilling?” + +“Your question shows that you have looked into my mind. It was not I, +Frederick Tilling, thirty-nine years old, who has seen three campaigns, +who chose the profession. It was the ten-year-old little Fritz, who +spent his babyhood playing with lead soldiers and toy war-horses. It was +this boy, whose father, a decorated general, and whose lieutenant uncle +were always asking, ‘What are you going to be, my boy?’ And the boy +would always answer, ‘A real soldier with a real sword and a live +horse!’” + +“My son had a box of leaden soldiers given him to-day, but he shall +never have them. Tell me, why did you not leave the army after the +little Fritz had grown into the big Frederick? Had not the army become +hateful to you?” + +“To call it hateful is saying too much. The condition of affairs which +requires that men shall enter the cruel duties of war, that I hate. But +if such conditions are inevitable, I cannot hate the men who fulfil +these duties conscientiously. If I left the service, would it diminish +war? Another would hazard his life in my place. Why not I?” + +“Is there not some better way for you to serve your fellows?” + +“Perhaps. But I have been taught nothing thoroughly except the arts of +war. I think a man can do good and be useful in almost any surrounding, +and find opportunity to lift the burden of those dependent upon him. I +appreciate the respect the world holds me in because of my position. My +career has been quite fortunate, my comrades love me, and I enjoy my +success. I have no estate, and as a civilian I could not help even +myself. So why should I consider abandoning the military service?” + +“Because killing people is repulsive to you.” + +“Yes, but in self-defence the responsibility for killing ceases. War is +often called murder on a big scale, but the soldier never feels himself +a murderer. Naturally the atrocities of the battle-field are revolting +to me, and fill me with pain and disgust even as a seaman might suffer +during a storm. Still a brave sailor is undaunted and ventures the sea +again.” + +“Yes, if he must. But must there be war?” + +“That is another question. The individual should do his duty, and that +gives him strength and even pleasure.” + +And so we chatted in a low tone, that we might not disturb the +card-players. Neither would our conversation have suited the others, for +Tilling told of the horrors he experienced in war, and I told him of my +reading of Buckle, who argued that the war spirit would die out as +civilisation advanced. I felt Tilling’s confidence as he displayed his +inner feelings to me, and a certain current of sympathy was established +between us. + +“What are you two plotting and whispering about?” my father suddenly +called out. + +“I am telling the Countess old war stories.” + +“Oh, she likes that; she has heard them from her childhood.” + +We resumed our whispered talk. Suddenly Tilling fastened his gaze on me, +while speaking in a sympathetic voice. I thought of the princess, felt a +sudden stab, and turned my head away. + +“Why did your face change, Countess? Did my words offend you?” + +I assured him it was nothing, but the conversation became rather +strained. At last I rose and looked at the clock, and bade my father +goodnight. Tilling offered to take me downstairs. + +“I fear I have offended you, Countess,” he said, lifting me in my +carriage. + +“On my honour, no.” + +He pressed my hand hard to his lips, “When may I call?” + +“On Saturday——” + +“That means not at all.” He bowed and stepped back. + +I wanted to speak again, but the carriage door was shut. I should have +liked to cry tears of spite like a vexed child, to think I had been so +cold to one whose warm sympathy I had so enjoyed. Oh, that hateful +princess! Was it jealousy? Then it dawned on me with a burst of +astonishment—I was in love with Tilling! “In love, love, love,” answered +the carriage wheels. “You are in love,” the street lamps flashed at me. +“You love him,” breathed the scent of my glove, as I pressed the spot he +kissed to my lips. + +Next day in the red book I denied it all. I enjoyed a sympathetic clever +man, but that is far from falling in love. I would meet him the next +time quite calmly, and find pleasure in conversing with him. How could I +have been so disturbed yesterday? To-day I could laugh at my silliness. + +The same day I called on my girlhood friend, Lori Griesbach, from whose +letter I read the news of my husband’s death. Through our children we +had much in common, and saw each other almost daily, and, in spite of +many differences in our nature, we were real friends. Our two boys were +the same age, and her little daughter Beatrix, ten months old, we had +playfully destined should be some day the Countess Rudolf Dotzky. The +conversation ran on dress, our children and acquaintances, the latest +English novel, and the like. + +As we chatted, I ventured to ask if she knew what the gossips had said +about Tilling and the princess. + +“Everybody knows there is nothing to it. Why, have you any interest in +Tilling? Dear Martha, you are blushing. It is no use shaking your head. +Come, confess. How happy I would be to see you in love once more. But +Tilling is no match for you. He has nothing, and is too old. Ah, shall +we ever forget that sad hour when you read my letter? War is a cruel +business for some, and others find it excellent. My husband wishes for +nothing more ardently than that he may distinguish himself.” + +“Or be crippled or shot dead.” + +“Oh, that only happens when it is one’s destiny. Your destiny, my dear, +was to be a young widow.” + +“And the war with Italy had to be to bring it about,” I added. + +“And I hope it may be my destiny to be the wife of a brilliant young +general,” said Lori, laughingly. + +“So another war must break out that your husband may be quickly +promoted, as though that were the simple and only purpose of the +government of the world.” + +The conversation changed to pure gossip, of Cousin Conrad Althaus and +his devotion to Lilli; of the latest marriage; the last new English +novel, _Jane Eyre_; of the misdeeds of Lori’s French nurse; of the +trouble of changing servants, and all the usual chatter of idle ladies. + +“Now, my dear,” I broke in, “I must really go, for I have other calls +which I cannot put off.” At another time I could have been entertained +for hours with the tittle-tattle. But to-day my mind was elsewhere. Once +more in my carriage, I realised that again there was a change in me, for +even the wheels took up the refrain: Ah, Tilling, Frederick Tilling! + +When should I see him again? was my one thought, for in vain I went +nightly to the theatre, and from there to parties with the one hope. My +reception day failed to bring him. Had I offended him? What would I do? +I was all on fire to see him again. Oh, for another hour’s talk with +him! How I would make amends for my rudeness! The delight of such a +conversation would be increased a hundred fold, for I was now willing to +confess what was becoming more than plain to me, that I loved him. + +The following Saturday brought Tilling’s cousin for a call, and her +appearance made my heart beat. Would she tell me of him who so +constantly filled my thought? I could not ask her directly. To speak his +name would betray me, for I even flushed at the thought. We talked of +indifferent things, even the weather, and the one name that lay most at +my heart I would not mention. + +At last, without warning, she said, “Oh, Martha, I have a message for +you. My cousin Frederick went away day before yesterday, and begs to be +remembered to you.” + +The blood left my face, and I gasped: “Went away? Where? Is his regiment +moved?” + +“No; he has hurried to Berlin to his mother’s death-bed. He adores her, +poor fellow, and I pity him.” + +Two days afterwards I received a letter from Berlin in an unknown hand. +Without reading it I knew it was from him:— + + BERLIN, WILHELM ST., 8. + _March 30, 1863._ Midnight. + + MY DEAR COUNTESS—I must tell my sorrow to some one, yet ask myself why + do I turn to you? I have no right to do so, but do so by irresistible + impulse. You will feel with me, I am sure of that. + + Had you known my mother, how you would have loved her! And now this + tender heart, this fine mind, and charming disposition, must we put it + into the grave—for there is no ray of hope. Day and night I am at her + bed—and this is her last night. Such suffering, though now she is + quiet, poor darling mother. Her senses are numb and her heartbeat is + almost finished. Her sister and the physician are here with me. + + How terrible is death and separation! It comes, but how we resist it + when it would snatch a loved one away. What my mother means to me I + can never tell you. She knows she is dying. + + This morning she received me with an exclamation of joy when I + arrived: “Is it you? Do I see once more my own Fritz? I feared you + would be too late.” + + “You will get well again, mother,” I cried. + + “No, no, there is no hope for that, my dear son. Let us not waste our + last hours in meaningless words. Let this be our good-bye visit.” I + fell at her side sobbing. “You are crying, my son, I will not tell you + to stop, for it should grieve you to part with your best friend, and I + am sure I shall never be forgotten by you. Remember, also, that you + have made my life very happy. Except your small childish sickness, or + the dread that I might lose you during the time of war, you have given + me nothing but the keenest happiness; you have shared all my burdens + with me, and for this I bless you, my darling son.” + + Another attack came on, and her groans of pain almost crushed my + heart. Oh, this last frightful enemy, death! I remembered the sights + of agonized sufferers on the battle-field and in hospitals! When I + reflect that we soldiers sometimes joyously drive others on to death, + that we urge full-blooded eager young men on to sacrifice themselves + willingly to this terrible enemy, against whom even the weak and + broken-down old people fight so bitterly—is it not revolting? + + This night is frightfully long. If only sleep might quiet her. But + there she lies, with her lids parted, suffering. Every half-hour I + bend over her motionless, then I come away to write a few more lines + to you, and then I go to her again. It strikes four, and one shivers + at the unfeeling strides of time as it unrelentingly presses on to + eternity, and at this very moment for this one passionately loved + mother time must cease—for all eternity. But as the cold, outer world + turns dull to our pain, so much the more longingly do we seek to fly + to another human heart which we trust and hope may feel some unison of + feeling. And so this white sheet attracted me, and therefore I wrote + this letter to you. + + Seven o’clock in the morning. It is over. Her last words were, + “Farewell, my dear boy.” Then she closed her eyes and slept. Sleep + soundly, darling mother. In grief I kiss your dear hands.—Yours in + deepest sorrow, + + FREDERICK TILLING. + +I have this letter still. Frayed and faded the pages are now. For +twenty-five years it has withstood my kisses and tears. It was sent “in +deepest sorrow”; I received it “shouting with joy,” for though there was +not a single word of love in it, yet where was a plainer proof that the +writer loved me than that he should turn to me at his mother’s +death-bed, to pour out his grief? In answer I sent a wreath of a hundred +white camellias enfolding a single half-blown red rose—the scentless +white flowers for the departed, and the glowing blossom—that was for +him. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + Conrad and Lilli—Easter ceremonies—Tilling again—A visit and + interview—Disappointments and apprehensions—A conversation about + warfare—At last, an understanding. + + +Three weeks had passed. Poor Conrad Althaus had proposed and been +rejected by Lilli. But his courage remained undaunted, and he visited us +as before. + +Expressing my surprise at his loyalty, I said, “It delights me that you +are not offended, and it proves that you are not so serious, for +despised love often turns into resentment!” + +“You mistake me, dear cousin; I love Lilli to distraction. First I +thought it was you whom I cared for, then Rosa, but now I am certain it +is and always will remain Lilli.” + +“That sounds very likely. What if she will not marry you?” + +“I am not the first man a girl has married to get rid of him. By-and-by +she will realise how faithful and worthy I am, and that will touch her. +You will be my sister-in-law yet, Martha, and I am sure you will speak +for me.” + +“I certainly approve of you, and that is the way a woman should be won. +Our modern young men find it too much trouble to strive and win +happiness; they wish to pick it up without struggle, as they snatch a +way-side posy.” + +Tilling had been back in Vienna for a fortnight without a sign to me. I +know I appeared depressed, and could not blame Aunt Marie for +reproaching me for my low spirits. She blamed my solitary existence, and +urged upon me matrimony and devotions. “You have quite forgotten it is +Easter,” she said. + +“My dear Aunt, I think that both marrying and going to confession should +be done from the heart, and not for a remedy for depressed spirits.” + +“Have you tickets to see the foot-washing?” she said presently. + +“Papa brought me some, but I do not really care to go.” + +“Oh, but you should go. There is really nothing quite so touching as +this ceremony—the exemplification of Christian meekness. Think of it—the +Emperor and Empress, in stooping to wash the feet of these poor old +folks, show us how small and meaningless is earthly greatness compared +with the majesty of God.” + +“To symbolise humility by kneeling one must feel oneself very exalted. +This ceremony only tells this—‘As Jesus is in comparison with the humble +apostles so am I, the Emperor, in comparison with these paupers.’ Does +that express meekness?” + +“What strange ideas you have, Martha. For three years in the country you +have read such wicked books that your ideas have all become warped.” + +“Wicked books!” + +“The other day I innocently mentioned _The Life of Jesus_ by Strauss, +which I saw on your table, to the Archbishop. ‘Merciful Heavens,’ he +cried, ‘how did you get hold of such a vicious work?’ When I told him +that I had seen it at the house of a relative, he exclaimed, ‘As she +values her soul let her throw the book into the flames.’ Do, Martha, do +burn the book!” + +“Two hundred years ago would probably have seen not only the book but +the author thrown into the fire. That might have wiped it out—but not +for long.” + +“Give me your answer. Will you burn the book?” + +“Why discuss it, dear Aunt? We cannot understand each other in these +matters. Let me tell you what Rudolf did yesterday”; and the +conversation turned easily on her favourite subject, where we never +differed, for in our judgment Rudolf was surely the most original, +dearest, and capable child in the world. + +Next day, shortly after ten, dressed in black, we all went to the palace +to witness the great ceremony of foot-washing. Our places were reserved +among the members of the aristocracy and diplomatic corps. We found +ourselves exchanging greeting right and left. The galleries were filled +with a mixed crowd, but we felt quite distinctly superior to them as we +witnessed this festival which was to stir us with humility. + +Perhaps the rest were in a more religious mood, but to me the scene was +no more than a mere theatre spectacle. There we were, exchanging +salutations, as if from our boxes we were waiting for the curtain. The +long table was set expecting the twelve old men and twelve old women who +were to have their feet washed by their Majesties. + +Suddenly, my eye fell upon Tilling. He was directly opposite us among +the general’s staff, but he did not see me, and just then the +twenty-four old people had taken their places. They were clad in old +German costume, wrinkled, toothless, bent, fitting admirably this +ceremony of the middle ages. We were the anachronism, and our modern +makeup did not harmonise with the picture. + +I was watching the face of Tilling, which showed traces of suffering and +deep melancholy. How I longed to give him a sympathetic touch of the +hand. And while the spectators sat breathless, awaiting the coming of +the grandees of the court, he by chance looked my way and recognised me. + +“Martha, are you ill?” asked Rosa, laying her hand on my arm. “You have +turned pale and red in the same moment. Look! Now! Now!” + +The chief master of ceremonies gave the signal announcing the approach +of the Imperial pair—certainly the handsomest couple on the continent. +After them streamed in the archdukes and archduchesses, and the ceremony +was to begin. The stewards brought in dishes of food, which the royal +pair placed before the old people, making it more of a picture than +ever—the attire, the utensils, and the processional giving it the festal +aspect of an old Renaissance painting. + +Scarcely were the dishes set on the table than they were removed +again—by the archdukes, who were supposed also to need a lesson in +humility. Then the tables were carried out, and the climax-scene of the +foot-washing began. The washing as well as the eating was mere +pantomime. The Emperor appeared to stroke the feet of each old man with +a towel, after the officiating priest had made a show of pouring water +over them. Stooping, he glided from the first to the twelfth. The +Empress proceeded with the old women in the same way, losing none of her +accustomed grace through the stooping attitude. + +I was asking myself what could be the state of mind of these old people +from their point of view, as they sat in the bewildering company in +quaint costumes, with their Majesties at their feet. It must have been +like a half-realised dream, half-pain, half-pleasure, confusing their +poor heads already so full of the stupor of old age. Perhaps the newness +and solemnity brought a complete suspension of thought to their minds. +The thing that stood out most clearly, no doubt, was the red silk purse +with thirty pieces of silver which their Majesties hung about each neck, +and the basket of food they were allowed to take home. + +The ceremony over, the greetings, gossip, and polite interchange of +compliments began. But my only thought was, “Will he be waiting outside +for me?” At last we got to the gate, and there he stood before me with a +bow. As he thanked me for the wreath I had sent to Berlin, he took my +hand and helped me to my carriage. The words came hard, but with a great +strain, I managed to say, “On Sunday, between two and three.” Another +bow and we were gone. + +My little red book revealed my excited anticipations, my most +extravagant apprehensions that the meeting would reveal our mutual +devotion. While I was writing the bell rang and I recorded myself as +palpitating and trembling, for the last line was illegible. + +He came. He was very reserved and cold, begged my pardon for having +written from Berlin, and said he hoped I would forgive his breach of +etiquette since he was so unnerved by his sorrow. He related something +of his mother’s life and last days, but not a word of what I was looking +for, and I became very strained and cold in my manner. When he rose to +go, I did not detain him or ask him to come again—a wretched half-hour. + +I rushed to the open red book: “It is all over. I have shamefully +deceived myself.” I argued that he would never come again. Yet the world +held no second man. Rudolf must now be my sole consolation—would he love +me some day as this man had loved his mother? Oh, it is a foolish habit +this diary-writing. What proof it gives one of human fickleness! + +A heavenly Easter Monday found “all Vienna” on the usual drive in the +Prater. The brilliant, dashing corso contrasted sadly with my depressed +spirits. Yet I hugged this very sorrow, for was not my heart empty two +months ago, where now it had at least something to feed upon? A quick +glimpse of Tilling down the drive, a bow and salute in passing, which I +returned warmly, again roused my anticipations. + +Some days later, when other guests were calling, Tilling was announced. +I almost cried out with surprise and delight, but checked myself, and as +he sat opposite me he calmly announced that he expected to leave Vienna +for a post in Hungary. + +“What has our poor Vienna done that you leave it?” I asked with an +effort. + +“Its gaiety jars on me. I am more in a mood for solitude.” + +“A jolly, rattling war would be the best thing to shake that out of you, +my dear Tilling,” said my father. “But, alas! there is no such cheerful +prospect. This peace threatens to last.” + +“I protest against the idea that military men should desire war. We are +here to defend our country, just as the fire department is here to put +out fires, not to wish for them. Both war and fire are afflictions which +we do not care to bring upon our fellows. Peace alone is good. It is the +absence of the greatest evil. It is the only condition of welfare for +humanity. Has the army, from motives of pure personal ambition, a right +to desire that the greatest misery and suffering should fall upon the +rest? To carry on war that the army may be kept busy and its officers +promoted, would be like setting fire to our cities in order that the +fire brigade may distinguish themselves.” + +Silently I seconded the speaker. + +“Your comparison is a poor one,” replied my father. “Fires only destroy, +while wars build up the glory and power of a people. How otherwise could +a nation extend its territory except through conquest. Personal +promotion is not the gallant soldier’s only ambition. It is pride in his +race and country that leads him to desire war—in one word, Patriotism.” + +“Oh, this mistaken love of country!” cried Tilling. “The soldier is not +the only one who learns to love the soil upon which he has taken root. +That is a passion common to all. For my part, there are other ways than +violence to express it. We should be proud of our poets rather than our +commanding generals.” + +“How dare you compare a poet and a soldier?” exclaimed my father. + +“I ask the same question. Is not the bloodless crown the better and +finer?” + +“But,” expostulated Aunt Marie, “how can a soldier speak so? What would +become of the warlike spirit?” + +“At nineteen,” answered Tilling, “I was filled with it. After I had seen +the realities, the butchery and bestialities of war, my soul was +sickened, and every later campaign I entered with resignation and +disgust rather than enthusiasm.” + +“Hear me, Tilling,” said my father. “I have been through more campaigns +than you, and have witnessed as much of the horror of war, but I never +lost my ardour, and went in to the last as an old man with the same zeal +as into the first.” + +“Pardon me, Excellency, the older generation to which you belong had a +more warlike and martial enthusiasm than now exists. The feelings of +humanity as a whole have changed. The desire to abolish misery is +growing in ever-widening circles, and permeates all society. That spirit +in your day had not yet been born.” + +“What is the use?” retorted my father. “Misery will always be. Neither +that nor war can be abolished.” + +“Pardon me, Count Althaus,” said Tilling. “Resignation to all forms of +evil was the spirit of the past. As soon as the heart questions, ‘Is it +necessary?’ that heart can no longer endure resignation and must make +right the wrong as a sort of expiation. This sense of repentance has +become universal enough to be called the _conscience of the age_.” + +My father raised his shoulders, “That is too deep for me. I only know +that we old grandfathers look back on our campaigns with a thrill of +pleasure. And, in fact, the very youngest soldier, if asked to-day +whether he would like to go to war, would surely answer, ‘Willingly—even +joyfully!’” + +“The boys, of course,” answered Tilling. “They have still the +school-drilled enthusiasm for war in them. And the old soldier, of +course, would answer ‘Willingly,’ for he must live up to the popular +conception of the courageous. If he said honestly, ‘Unwillingly,’ it +would only pass for fear.” + +“Why, I certainly should be afraid,” said Lilli, with a little shudder. +“Think how terrible it must be to have bullets flying on all sides and +death threatening you any instant!” + +“What you say seems quite natural from a young lady’s lips,” replied +Tilling. “But soldiers must repress their instincts of self-preservation +as well as their compassion for both friend and foe. Next to cowardice, +it is most disgraceful for us to have sentiments or emotions.” + +“Only in war times,” said my father, “for in private life, thank God, we +also have hearts.” + +“Yes, I know. With a sort of children’s sleight-of-hand, we say of every +horror when war is on, ‘That goes for nothing.’ Murder is no longer +murder. Robbery is no longer robbery, but provisioning. Burning cities +are so many ‘positions taken.’ For every broken law of morality, +humanity, and decency, as long as the war-game lasts, we snap our +fingers and by hocus-pocus transform it into nothing. But when this +inordinate war-gambling lifts from the conscience for a moment, and one +comprehends the actual depravity of the thing—that wholesale crime has +meant nothing—then the human mind can only wish to be delivered from the +intolerable depths—even by death.” + +“Really,” said Aunt Marie reflectively, “commandments like, ‘Thou shalt +not murder,’ ‘Thou shalt not steal,’ ‘Love thy neighbour,’ ‘Forgive thy +enemies——’” + +“Go for nothing, too,” repeated Tilling. “For those whose calling it is +to teach these commandments are the very ones who call down the blessing +of heaven on our murderous instruments and work.” + +“And justly,” said my father. “For the God of the Bible is the God of +Battles, the Lord of Hosts, who commands us to draw the sword. It is +He——” + +“Men always decree what they wish as the will of God,” said Tilling. +“Even the divine law is waved aside when men begin the great game of +hatred. The heavenly law of love goes for nothing when men find it +convenient so to interpret the God whom they have set up before them. +But forgive me, Countess; I have opened a wearisome discussion when I +only came to say good-bye.” + +Dearer to me than ever because of the storm of feeling and thrilling +emotions he had set in action in my mind, how could I let him go, +perhaps never to meet again? With a cold farewell before all these +people—it must not end so. Had he gone and closed the door, I should +have burst into sobs. + +Quietly rising, I said, “I must show you that photograph of which we +spoke,” and Tilling, very much surprised, followed me to a table at some +distance. + +“I cannot let you go—I must speak to you.” + +“As you will, Countess. I am listening.” + +“Not now. Come to-morrow at this hour.” + +He hesitated. + +“I insist. By the memory of your mother, for whom I mourned with you.” + +“O Martha!” + +The word thrilled me with a flash. It was agreed, and, bowing to the +company, he kissed my hand and left. + +With what impatience, anticipation, and even anxiety I looked forward to +the coming visit! Would he ask me what I wished to say, and would I need +to tell him of my love? Would he cross-examine me, and would my pride +stand between, and must we part after all? As I was thinking thus he was +announced. + +“By your command, dear Countess,” he said. “I am happy that you invited +me in the name of my mother, and I must speak from the heart. I——” + +“Why do you hesitate?” + +“I find it harder than I thought to speak out.” + +“Where is the confidence you gave me when watching at the death-bed? +Have you not the same faith in me now?” + +“In that terrible hour I was beside myself. I overstepped my right, and +for fear I might do it again, I planned to go away.” + +“You wish to avoid me? And why?” + +“Why? Why? Because—because I adore you.” + +My emotions turned my head away. Tilling also stood dumb. At last I +broke the silence:— + +“And that is why you are planning to leave?” + +“That is the reason.” + +“Can the plan be recalled?” + +“The transfer is not yet ordered.” + +“Then stay!” + +He seized my hand—gasping, “Martha!” + +In the same instant my father rushed in. + +“Are you at home? The footman said you were not.” My father glared at +Tilling. “Good-day. After last night’s farewell I am surprised to see +you. Martha, there is a family matter I must see you about.” + +Tilling arose. “When can I see you again?” he asked in an undertone, +taking leave. + +I whispered, “To-morrow, in the Prater at nine on horseback.” + +With a bow to my father, who responded stiffly, he left the room. + +“What is this family affair, father?” + +“It is this very thing. I only scared your lover away in order to tell +you what I think of him. How dare you trifle with the family name and +your reputation in this way?” + +“Father, my reputation and honour are guarded by my little son. As an +independent widow I have outgrown your authority. I tolerate no lovers, +but if I choose to marry after the dictates of my heart who shall +hinder?” + +“Marry Tilling!” he shouted. “Are you mad? It would be a family +calamity.” + +“Why, father, you yourself have been offering me a brevet-captain, a +captain, a major—while this man is in the rank of lieutenant-colonel.” + +“The worse for that, with such treasonable opinions as he expressed +yesterday. He wants to resign, I guess, and is hunting a rich widow? And +would you stoop to such a man, you who are the daughter of a proud +soldier who fought in four wars, longing to enlist again, and you the +widow of a brave warrior who made glorious the field of battle by his +sacrifice?” + +My father was pacing the floor, red-faced, and his voice trembling with +excitement. I was moved to the quick by these contemptuous words in +attack of the man of my heart. But no words of mine could defend the +injustice; Tilling’s ethical position my father was incapable of +understanding, so I remained dumb. My father’s disapproval might trouble +me, but I felt I was free to accept the great happiness which lay open +before me. Enough joy had come to me in that short hour to swallow any +vexation. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + A ride in the Prater—At last an understanding—The family reconciled to + the engagement—Marriage and visit to Berlin—Life in + garrison—Christmas at Vienna—Rumours of war. + + +Oh the joy of the next morning, when at nine o’clock I left my carriage +at the bridle path of the Prater! There my horse awaited me. I was +hardly in the saddle when I realised the tread of a horse behind me. It +was the inevitable Conrad, and my greeting was rather cool, for though I +could hardly expect to have the Prater to myself, yet I must somehow get +rid of this faithful cavalier. Off in the distance I noticed Tilling +galloping. + +“Ah, dear cousin,” I said, “only last night was I a good ally of yours, +and told Lilli what a fine fellow you were, so considerate, so——” + +“Now, cousin, what do you want for all this flattery?” + +“Only that you whip up your horse and gallop away,” and Conrad, seeing +Tilling approach, took the hint, and laughingly flew off. + +“This Althaus again,” said Tilling coming up to my side, his tone being +plainly vexed, which pleased me. “Did he leave at seeing me, or did his +horse run away?” + +“He went because I sent him.” + +“Countess Martha, the world says he loves his cousin.” + +“He does.” + +“That he courts her persistently.” + +“And not without hope.” + +Tilling was silent, and I laughed into his face. “But I am not the +cousin. It is my sister Lilli.” + +“You lift a load from my heart. This man was the reason why I wished to +leave Vienna. I could not stay and look on. Besides, I dared not trust +myself, for I could no longer conceal my feeling for you, and I feared +being made ridiculous and miserable.” + +“But to-day you are happy.” + +“Since yesterday I scarcely know myself, and yet I feared I should +suddenly awake and find it all a dream. What have I to offer you? I have +no prospects. To-day I am in the seventh heaven and to-morrow, perhaps, +in despair.... Pardon me, I am usually cool and prudent, but to-day my +feelings are extravagant. You can make me either happy or wretched.” + +“I have doubts too. There is that princess.” + +“Has that nonsense come to your ears? There is nothing in it, or would I +be wishing to leave Vienna?” + +“A stupid jealousy in us both. Would I have asked you to meet me if I +had expected my cousin?” And I added, “Yet why have you kept away from +me?” + +“Because I never dared hope that I could win your love. It was not till +you ordered me in the memory of my mother, that I dared speak, though I +was eager to dedicate my life to you.” + +“So I have really thrown myself at your head, or you would not have +bothered about me?” + +“I did not care to be counted with the swarm of admirers.” + +“Oh, they do not count. They only wanted a rich widow——” + +“That is the very point which held me back, for I have no fortune. I +would rather be miserable all my days than suspected by the world and +the woman I loved of having had a low motive in marrying her.” + +“You proud, noble fellow, I could never believe, no never, that a single +wrong motive was possible to you.” And we rode on and questioned each +other about all our ideals and feelings. It was a blissful hour. + + * * * * * + +Direct from the Prater I drove to my father’s house. What an unpleasant +sensation the announcement would make, and I wished it over as soon as +possible. Father and Aunt Marie were busy over their morning papers, and +both were astonished at my early call, and in a riding habit. + +“I have been riding in the Prater, and something happened which you must +all know at once. I have promised to marry——” + +Aunt Marie threw up her hands, and father frowned—“I can only hope——” + +“I have promised to marry the man that I love, and who will surely make +me happy—Baron Frederick von Tilling.” + +“How dare you, after what I said yesterday,” shouted my father, +springing up. + +Aunt Marie shook her head: “I had rather it were some one else. He is +not a match for you, and has such peculiar views.” + +“Our views are alike, and I scorn to look out for any match. Father, +dearest father, do not frown so darkly, do not spoil my happiness with +your displeasure; be my dear good papa.” + +“But, child,” said my father, softening, “I only want your happiness. I +could not be happy with a soldier who is not a soldier from his heart +and soul.” + +“But you do not need to marry him,” remarked Aunt Marie judiciously. +“His soldier notions are of little consequence. But I would be unhappy +with a man who speaks with so little reverence of the Bible and God as +he did the other day.” + +“You, too, my dear Aunt, need not marry him,” I interposed laughingly. + +“Well,” said my father, sighing, “every one makes his own heaven. I +suppose he will resign.” + +“We have not mentioned that at all, and I certainly desire it, but I +fear he will not.” + +“To think,” said Aunt Marie, “that you have refused a Prince! and now +you are descending in the social scale instead.” + +“Here I come,” I said, “for the first time since Arno’s death, to tell +you I am happy, and instead of being glad you both drag out reasons for +reproach—military service, Jehovah, social scale and suchlike.” + +But after half an hour’s conversation the old folks were somewhat +reconciled, and my father agreed to come in the evening to meet his +future son-in-law at my house. + +All the relatives came at the same time, and I introduced Tilling as my +betrothed. Rosa and Lilli were delighted. Conrad cried: “Bravo, Martha. +Lilli should profit by your example.” My father had conquered his +antipathy, or succeeded in concealing it, and Aunt was even full of +sentiment. Little Rudolf was presented to his “new papa,” who, kissing +him, said: “Of you, my little fellow, we two must try to make a perfect +man.” + +During the evening my father suggested his idea that Tilling would quit +the service. The latter answered in astonishment. + +“Give up my career, when I have no other! One can dislike war and +still——” + +“Yes, I know—as you said lately, a fireman need not love to see a house +on fire.” + +“There are other illustrations: Need a physician love cancer and typhus, +or a judge enjoy burglary and murder? But what reason could I have for +abandoning my profession?” + +“You would spare your wife the unpleasant life of the garrison,” said +Aunt Marie, “and spare her the anxiety should there be war.” + +“Those are good reasons, and I shall try to keep my wife from as many +unpleasantnesses as possible. But would it not be most unpleasant to +have a husband without a calling? If I resigned, it would count for +laziness or cowardice. It did not occur to me, nor to you either, +Martha, I hope.” + +“Suppose I made it a condition?” + +“You would not do that. I should prefer to renounce my happiness. You +are rich, I am poor, except for my pay and the hope of promotion. These +I cannot surrender without loss of my dignity and honour.” + +“Bravo, my son, now I am reconciled. It would be a shame, for you will +certainly rise to the rank of general—you may be a governor or minister +of war some day. Your wife may have a proud position.” + +The prospect of being a commander’s wife had no charms for me, but I was +silent. Though I would far rather have retired to one of our quiet +estates, yet I approved of Frederick’s resolution since it reconciled my +father. + +“Yes, quite reconciled,” continued my father, “for the daughter of a +soldier, the widow of a soldier could never be content with a civilian’s +costume for always.” + +Frederick’s glance said, “I know you better,” but aloud he remarked, +with a smile: “Yes—maybe she only fell in love with my uniform.” + + * * * * * + +In September we were married. My husband had two months’ leave, and we +spent a week in Berlin, visiting the sister of Frederick’s mother. The +two sisters had greatly resembled each other, and I was able to realise +the beauty of character of the one from the other. Frau Cornelia von +Tessau, the widow of a Prussian general, was the mother of an only son, +just about to become a lieutenant, and a touching affection existed +between them, such as I hoped my son and I might experience some day. + +Our wedding tour, extending to the Rhine and to Switzerland, brought +many charming revelations. I discovered many new qualities in my +husband. I found him full of liveliness and quick appreciation of +everything beautiful in nature and art, and discovered also that he was +a perfect master of the French and English languages. Our two months +passed only too swiftly, and the first unpleasant moment was when the +official paper came recalling us to duty. + +We joined Frederick’s regiment at Olmutz, where we retired completely +from the military circle and devoted our free time wholly to each other. +I exchanged the first necessary calls, and soon found I could not endure +the usual gossip of the set. We took up a course of scientific reading +between us, keeping up the liveliest sympathy in the advanced thought of +the world, and the philosophic questions of the day. We discussed the +future of our boy, and planned above all that he should not be a +soldier. + +Christmas took us back to Vienna, the family being quite reconciled to +our marriage, for they were compelled to admit that at least we were +very happy. Conrad was still a constant visitor, and I could see that he +had made some progress with Lilli. Christmas eve was very gay, and above +all gifts were showered upon little Rudolf. A lively company had +gathered in the drawing-room, among the rest our old friends, the +Minister of the Interior and Dr. Bresser. + +“Is it true, your Excellency,” the Doctor asked, “that another war is +threatening?” + +“Yes,” answered the statesman, “there is indeed a dark and portentous +cloud on the political horizon.” + +I shrank with terror, crying anxiously, “What! How! What can it mean?” + +“Denmark has certainly gone too far.” + +“Oh, Denmark? Then the storm does not threaten us?” I said, relieved. +“But the prospect of any war is distressing, yet I am glad it is Denmark +rather than Austria.” + +“Never fear,” said my father, to comfort me, “if Austria is drawn into +it, we do not risk anything. In defending the rights of +Schleswig-Holstein we do not involve Austrian territory.” + +“Do you imagine, father, that I would consider the question of +territories for a moment, when I only fear the one thing, and that is +the danger of those I love!” + +“My child, you cannot consider the fate of the individual where the fate +of the nation is concerned. The men that are lost are of little +consequence in comparison to the main question whether our country shall +lose or win. I say if we cross swords with the Danes we can only extend +our influence in the German Alliance, and it is my dream that the +Hapsburgs may recover the German imperial crown to which they are +entitled. A war with Denmark would be a fit opportunity to wipe out the +loss of ’59 in Lombardy, and who knows, we might even gain power enough +to reconquer that province.” + +I glanced across the room where Frederick was joking with the young +people, and a violent pain shot through me. My all would be crippled, or +perhaps shot dead. Our child, yet unborn, would be fatherless, all our +fresh happiness would be blotted out. All this in one side of the scale, +and in the other Austria, and the German Alliance, the liberation of +Schleswig-Holstein, with fresh laurels for the army—a lot of new phrases +for schoolboy orations and army proclamations. Thousands and thousands +of other individuals would have their happiness staked as well as mine, +both in ours and the enemy’s country. Could it not be avoided, this +monstrous thing? If all were to combine, all the wise, the good, and +just, could it not be averted? + +“Tell me, your Excellency,” I asked. “Has it gone so far that the +statesmen and diplomatists cannot ward it off?” + +“Do you believe, dear Baroness, that it is our business to maintain +eternal peace? It would be a beautiful mission, certainly, but +impracticable. It is ours to watch the interests of our states and +dynasties, and never allow their power to be diminished but strive in +every way to maintain our supremacy and honour and revenge insults.” + +“In fact the principle of war is to injure the enemy whether you are +right or wrong.” + +“Exactly.” + +“And so they hack away at each other. It is horrible.” + +“But it is the only way out. How else can quarrels be decided?” + +“As are the quarrels between individuals.” + +“By tribunals? But there are none over the nations.” + +And Dr. Bresser came to my help: “No, savages have not; hence nations in +their intercourse cannot claim to be civilised, and it will take a long +time before an International Tribunal is constituted.” + +“We will never get there,” interrupted my father. “Such things must +always be fought out, for the stronger nations would never submit to +arbitration. They will only set themselves right by fighting even as +gentlemen do, when they are offended.” + +“The duel is barbarous and immoral.” + +“You never will be able to alter it.” + +“Still, your Excellency, I would never defend it.” + +“What think you, Frederick?” my father turned to my husband. “Should a +man take a slap in the face and carry the matter to a law court, and get +five florins damages?” + +“I should not do so.” + +“You would challenge the insulter?” + +“Of course.” + +“Aha, Martha! Aha, Doctor,” cried my father victoriously. “Did you hear? +Tilling, who hates war, is an advocate of duelling.” + +“No, I do not admit that. But in certain cases I should resort to it, +even as I have gone to war under present conditions. Our conduct must +correspond to the current notions of honour. Some day the insult will +turn back upon the person inflicting it as the disgraced one, and it +will be considered immoral to seek revenge, as it is in other questions +considered wrong to take the law into one’s own hands.” + +“We will have to wait a long time for that day,” my father broke in. “As +long as an aristocracy exists——” + +“That will not be for ever,” muttered the Doctor. + +“Oh, so you would abolish the aristocracy?” + +“Yes, the feudal. The future needs no nobility.” + +“But so much the more will it need noble men,” said Frederick in +confirmation. + +“And this rare race will quietly take a slap in the face?” + +“There will be none to offer the insult.” + +“And the states will not defend themselves, if attacked by a neighbour?” + +“No neighbouring state will offer an attack, as even now our +neighbouring country seats do not besiege each other. A nobleman no +longer needs troops for his castle.” + +“So some day the states will dispense with standing armies? Ha, what +will then become of you lieutenant-colonels?” + +“What has become of the squires of feudal times?” + + + + + BOOK III + 1864 + + + + + CHAPTER I + + War imminent with Denmark—New Year’s Eve—Return to garrison—The + Schleswig-Holstein Campaign—Story of the quarrel. + + +The remaining two weeks in Vienna were no joyous time for me. My +happiness was again darkened by this fatal prospect of war. Over all my +joys there seemed ever to hang some imminent anguish. Are there not +sufficient catastrophes in the natural course of events to keep one in a +sense of uncertainty? Why should man wilfully add fresh tortures to the +category of natural calamities which might at any time beset him? Some +people have learned to look upon war as a natural phenomenon like +earthquake and drought, but I had ceased to see it so. Instead of +resignation I felt only pain and opposition. Why should +Schleswig-Holstein and the Danish Constitution upset us? What matter to +us if the “Protocol Prince” repealed or confirmed the constitutional law +of November 13, 1863? What if the papers did make it the most important +matter in the world, should our husbands and sons therefore be shot +down? Should our belonging to the German Alliance necessitate taking up +all their quarrels? Had I foreseen two years later how these same German +brothers broke into the bitterest enmity, and the Austrians hated the +Prussians with a fiercer hate than that which they now entertained for +Denmark, I should have realised that all these arguments given out to +justify war are mere pretexts and empty phrases. + +On New Year’s Eve at my father’s house he proposed a toast to the hour, +and “might it be a glorious one to our arms.” I refused to concur. When +we returned to the hotel I found myself disturbed even to tears. My +husband comforted me: “Do not weep over the bare possibility of war; +nothing is yet definite.” + +“It is the possibility which makes me cry. Were there a certainty I +should be shrieking and wailing. Oh that in this first year you should +be torn from me by war!” + +“Come, my dear Martha, when a child is born to you, you must face the +possibility of death like every man on the battle-field. Let us enjoy +our life now and not waste it thinking of the death which hangs over +every head.” + +“You talk of Destiny just like Aunt Marie. No, it is the +thoughtlessness, cruelty, and folly of mankind! Where is there a +necessity of a war with Denmark?” + +“But that is not yet declared——” + +“Yes, I know, accidents may still avert the evil; but it should depend, +not on accidents, intrigues, humours, but upon the righteous will of +humanity. Do not try to quiet me with evasive words when I know that +your whole soul shudders with repugnance. My only consolation is that +you condemn with me what brings so much unhappiness.” + +“Yes, yes, dear, I do not hide from you my feelings; when the disaster +happens I will not conceal from you my hate for legalised slaughter. But +to-day let us not think of destruction; let us be happy while nothing +separates us. No joy can last for ever. It is not the length of our +days, but the degree of the beauty of our days which makes life so +blessed.” + +And I let myself sink into the sweet rest of the moment and forget the +threatening future. + + * * * * * + +We returned to the garrison on January 10. There was no longer any doubt +of war. In Vienna I still heard of some small hope that the dispute +could be settled, but in our military circle this was out of the +question. The officers and their wives were greatly, even joyfully +excited. Did it mean hope for promotion and distinction, or only a +restless desire for action? + +“Ah, this war will be immensely popular,” said the Colonel at a jolly +supper. “And our own territory cannot suffer.” + +“It is the noble motive that inspires me,” said a young lieutenant. “We +defend the rights of our oppressed brothers the Prussians. We cannot be +vanquished when we fight together, and it will strengthen the national +ties. The ideal of nationality——” + +“Nonsense,” interrupted the Colonel with severity, “that is humbug to an +Austrian. Louis Napoleon rode the same sort of a hobby-horse in ’59: +‘Italy for the Italians.’ Why talk of banding with the Germans when we +have the Bohemians, Hungarians, Croats?—our bond of unity lies in our +loyalty to our dynasty. The thing which must inspire us is not the +nationality of our allies but the good, faithful service we can render +our beloved ruler. Long live the Emperor!” + +All rose and pledged the toast. Even my quaking heart stirred for a +moment with enthusiasm. That thousands could be inspired by one motive, +one person, into a desire for self-sacrifice, this is really a lofty +sense of love. But to think that through this love the high fulfilment +of duty leads men into the most horrible work of the deadliest +hatred—War! My heart chilled again at the thought. + +My anxiety grew with the succeeding days. On January 16 the allies +demanded that Denmark revoke a certain law against which the Holsteiners +had protested asking the protection of the German Alliance, and to do +this in twenty-four hours. Denmark refused, and had been expected to +refuse, for Austrian and German troops stood massed on the frontier, and +on February 1 they crossed the Eider. + +So the die was cast and the bloody game began. + +A hasty letter of congratulation came from father:— + + Rejoice, my children! We may now repair the defeat of ’59 with a few + sharp blows at Denmark. When we return conquerors from the north we + can again turn our faces southward. With the Prussians as our allies + those shabby Italians and the wily Napoleon can do nothing against us. + +Frederick’s regiment, to the great chagrin of the Colonel and corps, was +not ordered north. This brought a fatherly letter of commiseration:— + + Such ill-luck, not to be called into the opening to a glorious + campaign! This will rejoice Martha. But you, Frederick, though + philosophically opposed to war, must regret it. If you got into the + fight, certainly your manly enthusiasm would awaken. To be forced to + stay at home is truly hard on a soldier! + +“Is it hard on you to stay with me, Frederick?” The silent answer was +enough. + +But my peace was gone. The order might come any day. If the campaign +would only end quickly! I watched the newspapers eagerly. I prayed for +the termination of the war before my “all on earth” was called. What +cared I what became of that little scrap of country? Their rulers were +quarrelling only over their jealousies, not over the wrongs of their +people, or to better the conditions. + +If a number of dogs are fighting over some bones, it is only the hungry +dogs that tear each other, but in human history it is the “bones” that +have to fight for their devourers. + +The Austrians held that they were justified in maintaining the “balance +of power.” The Danes maintained the opposite principle with equal +emphasis. If two States disagree and cannot come to an understanding, +why not call in a third Power as arbitrator? Why go on shouting oneself +hoarse, and then finally decide by force of arms? Is it not savage? And +when a third Power comes in it does not do so judicially, but with blows +again. And this is what they call world politics. Why not name it +primitive savagery—or parliamentary nonsense—or international barbarism? + +I found myself greatly troubled by this mysterious power called “reasons +of State,” and I began a careful study of history to find out where the +historic right lay over which they were quarrelling. + +I found the disputed district ceded to Denmark in 1027. So in reality +the Danes are right. They are the legitimate kings. However, two hundred +years later it was turned over to a younger house, and it was ranked +only as a fief of Denmark. In 1326 Count Gerhard of Holstein received +Schleswig, and the Waldemar constitution provided that Denmark should +never again claim any ownership. Oh! then, indeed, the right is with the +allies! We are really fighting for the Waldemar Constitution of 1326. +That is very good, for if these paper securities are not upheld of what +worth are they? + +In 1448 this constitution was again ratified by King Christian I. So how +dare Denmark ever again claim sovereignty? But what has the Protocol +Prince to do with the matter? Twelve years later the Schleswig ruler +dies with heirs, and the National Assembly met at Ripon (so important to +know exactly where these assemblies always convene). Well then at Ripon, +in 1460, they proclaimed the Danish king the Duke of Schleswig, and he +thereupon promised that the countries should remain together “for ever +undivided.” Ah, that is a bit confusing; but remember, they shall remain +united “for ever.” This little “for ever” is chiefly responsible for the +historical confusion, for straightway they divide up the provinces among +the king’s sons, and under later kings they are again reunited. They are +hardly together before they are sliced up again. What a tangle! How can +I find my way out, and historically establish the point upon which +finally our Austrian countrymen must shed their blood? + +Again, I find during the Thirty Years’ War, Charles IV. fell upon the +duchy. Then a treaty made in 1658 forced the Danish sovereignty to +surrender for ever. So we have gotten rid of the Danish feudal lordship +“for ever,” thank God, and our way is clear again. + +But here comes an agreement on August 22, 1721, and Schleswig becomes a +dependency of Denmark once more, and on June 1, 1773, Holstein also +becomes a simple Danish province. This alters the case again, and, +certainly, now the Danes have a perfect right. But hold, not quite—for +the Vienna Congress of 1815 declared Holstein a part of the German +Alliance. This enraged the Danes, who raised the battle-cry “Denmark to +the Eider!” and strove for the complete possession of Schleswig. In the +year 1846 King Christian writes a public letter in which he proposed the +integrity of the entire state. But the Germans protest. Then the +announcement of the complete union is made from the throne, and a +rebellion breaks out on the part of the Germans. The Danes win one +battle, the Schleswig-Holsteiners the other. Hereupon the Alliance +interfered. Prussia took some strategic points, but the struggle +continues. At last Prussia and Denmark conclude a peace, so +Schleswig-Holstein now stands alone to fight the Danes, and is defeated. + +The Alliance calls the “revolters” to discontinue, and they do. Austria +takes possession of Holstein, and the two duchies are separated. What +has become of all the paper promises to hold them together “for ever”? +It is incomprehensible. + +But here comes the Protocol of London, May 8, 1852. (So wise that we +know the exact date of these flimsy agreements!) This secures to Prince +Christian of Glucksburg the succession to Schleswig. So this is where +the “Protocol Prince” originated. + +In 1854, after each little duchy had adopted a Constitution of its own, +both were again appended to Denmark. In ’58 Denmark was compelled to lay +down its claim. Now history brings us quite close to the present time, +and yet with all this eager study it is not clear to me to whom these +two countries should rightly belong. November 18, 1858, the German +Parliament passed a “Fundamental Law for the Mutual Relations between +Denmark and Schleswig.” Two days afterwards the king died and left no +heir. + +Relying on this two-days’-old law, Frederick of Augustenburg raised his +claim and turned to the German Alliance for support. (I had completely +forgotten to follow that Augustenburg family.) The Alliance at once +occupied and proclaimed Augustenburg the duke. But why? Prussians +disagreed with Austrians in the proceedings. But why? I cannot +understand it to this day. + +The London Protocol must be respected. Why? Are protocols things so +absolute and supreme that we must pour out the blood of our sons to +defend them? Ah, yes, there comes in the mysterious “reason of State.” +The gentlemen around the green diplomatic table are all wise, and they +know how to bring about the greatest security of national supremacy. Of +course, the London Protocol of 1852 must be upheld and the +constitutional decree of Copenhagen of 1863 must be revoked within +twenty-four hours. Yes, Austria’s honour and welfare depended upon that. +The dogma was a bit hard to believe, but in politics, even more than in +religion, the mass allows itself to be led by the rule of _quis +absurdum_—to reason about it is forbidden. With the sword once +unsheathed, they shout the unquestioning “hurrah” and struggle for +victory. Besides, can we not invoke the blessing of Heaven upon our +side? And is it not of great consequence to the Almighty that the London +Protocol should be maintained, and the decrees of January 13 be revoked? +Is it not His duty to see that the exact numbers bleed to death, and +that certain villages be destroyed, in order that the family of +Gluckstadt or that of Augustenburg may rule over a certain trifling +scrap of His footstool? + +Oh what a foolish, cruel, and misguided world, still in the leading +strings of infancy! Thus my historical studies left me quite as confused +as they found me. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + The course of war—Hostilities suspended and renewed—My + husband departs—The dead baby—Letters from the seat of + war—Recovery—Anxiety—Letters—Return of Frederick. + + +Encouraging tidings came from the seat of war. The allies won battle +after battle. The Danes were forced from the entire field, which was +occupied by our troops, the enemy barely maintaining the lines. With +pins and flags I followed the campaign on the map. If only the butchery +might end before Frederick’s regiment was ordered into the field! This +fear hung over us like the sword of Damocles. I dreaded the night lest +the morning would bring the marching orders. Frederick was calm, but he +saw what was coming. + +“Accustom yourself to face the events, my dear, and cease protesting. I +believe the war will continue for some time, for not a large enough +force was sent to the front in the beginning, so my regiment will have +to join.” + +Two months and yet no results! Oh, why could not the cruel game be +settled in one fight like a duel? But no, if one battle is lost, another +is offered; if one position is given up, another is taken, and so on +till one side or the other is annihilated, or both exhausted. + +On April 14 the last stronghold was taken, and immediately a peace +conference assembled in London. Every one was overjoyed and relieved, +save, perhaps, some of my husband’s comrades, who had hoped to share the +glory. Their wives thought it bad luck. But I received the news of +“suspension of hostilities” with great joy, and wrote in my diary +“Disarm! Disarm! For ever.” I added despondingly, and in brackets, +“Utopia.” + +The London conference dragged on two months without agreement, and then +came the orders to Frederick’s regiment to march, with twenty-four hours +for leave-taking. The birth of our little child was hourly expected, and +it was as if we both awaited death upon our farewell. + +We were overwhelmed with the magnitude of the approaching evils. To us +it was neither patriotic nor heroic to help hew down the Danes, and in +case our parting was for ever, what excuse of state could reconcile us +to this terrible sacrifice? To defend the common cause of humanity might +be justified, but to rush into battle with a distant country, throwing +away life, and home, and family, because of the mere pledge of +princes—it was too infamous! Why must Austrian soldiers leave home to +help set this petty prince on his petty throne? Why? Why? How +treasonable and blasphemous to ask such a question of Emperor and Pope! +Neither would or could answer. + +The regiment was to march at ten. We had not slept for hours lest we +should waste a moment. We strove vainly to comfort each other. In the +rays of morning light I realised that my hour had come, and with tears +of uncertainty we tore ourselves apart, Frederick desperate lest the +next moment might rob him of both wife and child. + +The next morning the Olmutz papers contained the following account:— + + Yesterday the ——th Regiment left town with flying colours to gain + fresh laurels in the sea-girt brotherland. The joy of battle inspired + every heart, etc., etc. + +I lost my child, and for weeks lay between life and death, dreaming all +the agonies of war and torture. In my delirium I cried, “Disarm! Disarm! +Help us all for the sake of justice and mercy, help!” + +When I regained consciousness, my father and Aunt Marie stood at my +bedside. + +“Is he alive? Have letters come?” were my first questions. Yes, quite a +heap of letters had accumulated. One was marked: “Not to be opened till +all danger is past.” From this I take extracts:— + + To-day we met the enemy for the first time, having marched through + conquered territory until now, with the Danes retreating fast. + Everywhere are the ruins and remnants of battle. The landscape is torn + with shell and piled with graves. So the victors march on to new + victories. To-day we took the enemy’s position and leave a burning + village behind us. While friend and foe were absorbed in the tumult, I + could only think of you, and that perhaps you were lost. The enemy + withstood us but two hours, and we did not pursue. We collected our + wounded and cared for them as well as we could. The dead, some among + them still possibly alive, we buried, but the wounded and injured we + must leave behind to bleed slowly to death and starve. And we, hurrah, + we must push on into the jolly, dashing war. + + Our next will probably be a pitched battle, for two great army corps + are about to clash. Then the loss will run into thousands, and the + artillery will mow them down. What a strange way of doing things! It + would be better if the two enemies each had a weapon, which with one + blow would wipe out either side. Perhaps such blasts would tend to put + a stop to war. If both forces were equally deadly, then force could no + longer be employed to settle disputes, for both disputants would be + wiped out. + + Why do I write thus to you, when I ought to be glorifying our + engagements and triumphs? Because, like you, I long for the + unvarnished truth, and hate the usual lying phrases when death is + near. With thousands voicing the opposite, I must speak out before I + fall a sacrifice to war,—that I hate it. If every man who feels it + would say so, Heaven would hear our cry, and even the thundering + cannon roar would be drowned out by the new battle-cry of panting, + exhausted humanity: Let us make war on war! + + The above was written yesterday. I snatched a few hours of sleep on a + sack of straw. In half an hour the field mail is taken. With little + rest we are already up for the march,—poor fellows. It is indeed + little rest after the bloody work to prepare them for still bloodier + sights. I have just returned from looking over the wounded, whom we + must leave. How gladly I would have put a bullet into some of them, + who must drag out a miserable agonized death. My horse is saddled. + Farewell, my Martha, if you are still alive. + +One or two letters I found of a later date:— + + The day is ours. I am unhurt. The first is good news for papa and the + last for you. I cannot forget that for thousands the same day has + brought untellable grief. + +Another letter:— + + Imagine my astonishment. Riding near me at the head of a detachment + was Aunt Cornelia’s only son, Gottfried. The youngster is beside + himself with enthusiasm, but how his poor mother must suffer! That + evening I sent for him to come to my tent. “Is it not splendid,” he + cried, “to be fighting in the same cause? How lucky I am to be called + out in my first year of service! I shall win the cross of honour.” + “And my aunt, how does she like it?” “Oh, just as all women—she tried + to damp my spirits with tears, but I am enchanted, delighted! Awful, I + grant, but magnificent. It is gratifying to feel that I am filling + man’s highest duty, with God’s help, for king and country. To meet + death so closely, to challenge him face to face, and yet not be + touched, it fills me with the glory of the old epics, as if the muse + of history were leading us on to victory. I feel such an indignation + at the enemy who dares defy us Germans, and it is a thrilling + sensation to gratify this hate, to destroy without being a murderer, + this fearless exposure of one’s life.” + + So the boy rattled on, and I let him. Was not my first campaign the + same experience? Epic? Yes, that is the very word with which we so + carefully train our schoolboys into soldiers. We throw it into their + excitable young brains, which makes quiet domestic bliss seem stupid + nonsense, when they are longing for heroics. With me this attitude has + so completely vanished, that I could hardly realise Gottfried’s state + of mind. I had so early realised it all as so inhuman, that it was no + longer a revelation from the kingdom of Lucifer but gross barbarity + and bestiality. Only he who is drunk with the passion for blood and + destruction can triumphantly split open the defenceless head of an + enemy. I never knew the “joy of battle,” believe me, my dear wife, I + never did. + + Gottfried is delighted that we are fighting together as brothers in + the same just cause (as if every cause were not called right by the + powers commanding). “We Germans are brothers!” “Yes, that was proved + by the Thirty Years’ and the Seven Years’ Wars,” I suggested + ironically. Gottfried paid no attention. “Together we will conquer + every enemy.” “Yes, until the Prussians declare war against the + Austrians.” “Not to be thought of! Impossible! What, when we have + fought and bled together?” “I warn you, nothing is impossible in + political matters. The friendships of dynastical rulers are as + changeable as the ephemeral fly.” + + I write this, not because I imagine you in all your ill condition will + be able to read it, but because I have a premonition that I shall not + outlive this campaign, and I want to leave my convictions behind me. + The sincere reflections of honest, humane soldiers should not be + falsified or sink into the silent grave with them, unspoken and + unrevealed. I have here spoken it, this quiets my conscience, I can + die in peace. + +This latest letter was five days old—five unspeakable days of dread. +Though Frederick was yet unhurt, my anxieties left me no comfort. My +father was obliged to return to Grumitz, and Aunt Marie remained to keep +me consoled with her orthodox ideas of destiny, providence, and divine +mercy—small comfort with so few letters coming from the seat of war. My +father made inquiries, but could get no information, although Frederick +was not in the list of the dead. Thus the days dragged on. + +One afternoon I lay half dreaming on the sofa, where I had begged to be +left alone. My weakness and anxiety had so overpowered my imagination +and reasonableness that I was full of fleeting visionary sensations, and +springing up in terror at some slight movement in the room, I suddenly +thought I saw Frederick in the doorway. + +“Oh, my Frederick, my lost one,” I groaned. + +“Martha, my wife!” + +What? could it be his real voice? then real arms were thrown around me +eagerly. + +The dream came true, I was enfolded in my husband’s loving embrace. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + Reunion and summer joys—Resolved to quit the service—Rudolf’s + training—The end of the war—Conditions of peace—Fresh cares and + ruined fortunes—My husband remains in the service. + + +After our first expressions of joy had subsided, Frederick told us how +he had been left wounded in a peasant’s hut, the regiment marching on +and reporting him “missing.” This report had not reached us, and when he +was sufficiently recovered he hastened home without waiting to write, +for the war was practically at an end. We spent the summer again at +father’s country seat, where the entire family assembled, including +brother Otto, home from the Military Academy, and Cousin Conrad, whose +regiment lay not far away. + +I was determined to persuade my husband to quit the service, for we had +grown so one in our feelings and interests that what was mine was surely +his also, and why, if new wars were again to threaten, need we go +through such horrors again? + +Besides, Rudolf was now seven years old, and it should be our delight, +in our retirement, to educate and train this little man according to our +highest ideals. He had never been given over to nurses and tutors, for +it was my pride to watch every phase of his development. In his growing +appetite for knowledge we had never permitted ourselves to tell him a +falsehood, but his questions were not always answered fully enough to +suit him. He accompanied us on our daily walks, and often his questions +demanded the unknowable, so we answered, “We do not know.” This did not +satisfy him, and he used to put these questions to others of whom he +received quite decided answers. One day he remarked triumphantly, “You +do not know how old the moon is, but I do. It is six thousand years +old—remember that.” Frederick and I looked at each other silently, and a +whole volume of protest lay in that glance and that silence. + +I seriously objected to the soldier games which his grandfather and +uncle played with him. Thus the ideas of cutting down the enemy were +infused in him without my knowledge. One day Frederick and I came upon +him when he was mercilessly beating two puppies with a riding whip. + +“You cheating little Italian,” he said, lashing the one puppy. And +striking the other he called loudly, “You saucy Dane.” Frederick +snatched the whip from his hand: “And you heartless little Austrian,” he +said, laying on two or three blows. Rudolf began to blubber, and the +Italian and Dane ran joyfully away. + +“I hope you are not angry that I struck your boy, Martha; I hate the +lash, but I cannot endure seeing an animal abused.” + +“Quite right.” + +“Only people can be hurt, then?” whimpered the boy. + +“That is still worse.” + +“But you went out to beat the Italians and Danes.” + +“They were our enemies.” + +“Then one may hate those?” + +Turning away, Frederick said: “And to-morrow the priest will tell him +that we must love our enemies. Such logic!” Then to Rudolf: “No, it is +not because we hate them that we strike, but because they strike us.” + +“Why do they want to strike us?” + +“Because we—no, go and play, Rudi,” he interrupted himself, “there is no +way out of the tangle. You must never do it again, and we will forgive +you.” + +We often had distinguished visitors from Vienna. They discussed the +political situations, and thus I was enabled to follow the entire Danish +engagement to the end. After all these victories it must be decided what +would be done with all these Duchies. Would the famous Augustenburg +receive his portion? Not at all, for an entirely new pretender claimed +it. It was not enough that there was a “Glucksburg” and a “Gotrop” and +whatever other lines of succession to lay claim, but Russia presented a +new candidate. Against Augustenburg Russia pitted an “Oldenburg.” But +finally there were no burgs at all to have the Duchies, but they were to +be divided among the allies, and the expenses of the war was to be borne +by the defeated. This was hard to understand. The land had been +devastated, its harvests trampled under, its sons were mouldering in +their graves, and now it must pay the costs. Was not rather some +reparation due to them? + +One day I opened the conversation: “What news in regard to +Schleswig-Holstein?” + +“The latest news is, that von Beust has addressed a demand to the +Assembly, asking by what right the Allies can accept the surrender of +these provinces from a king whose sovereignty has not been recognised by +them.” + +“And it is a very reasonable question,” I remarked. + +“You do not understand these matters, child,” said my father. “It is not +reasonable, but an impertinent trick on von Beust’s part. Do not the +Duchies belong to us because we have conquered them? We should not have +concluded peace, but conquered the whole of Denmark and turned it over +to the German Alliance.” + +“Why do that, papa, you are such a patriotic Austrian, what do you care +for the German Federation?” + +“Have you forgotten that our Hapsburgs were German Emperors once, and +may become so again?” + +“What if some of the great Germans cherished a like dream?” suggested +Frederick. + +My father laughed outright: “Imagine a Protestant princeling at the head +of our Holy Roman Empire! You have lost your senses.” + +As Bresser said, “Let us hope that the settling of this affair will not +be a source of discord between the powers. For every war has within it +the seed of future wars, as one act of violence has led to another since +the beginning.” + +Some days later a bit of news was reported: King William of Prussia +visited our Emperor at Schönbrun. They met with embraces, the Prussian +eagle was hoisted, and the Prussian national airs were played, with +triumphant hurrahs from the people. I was very happy, for it put to +shame the evil prophecies that the two powers might get into a quarrel +again. My father rejoiced, for he saw in this alliance a means of +reconquering our lost Lombardy. + +“Will you tell me,” I cried out to the assembled guests one day, “why do +not all the European States form an alliance? Would not that be the +simplest way?” + +The gentlemen shrugged their shoulders, smiled superior smiles and did +not answer. I probably had said one of those silly things with which +ladies are apt to venture into the realms of higher politics. + + * * * * * + +The autumn was at hand; peace had been signed, and Frederick’s +retirement from the army could now be carried out. But man proposes and +circumstances dispose for him. As a sequel of the war many banking +houses failed, and with the rest I lost my private fortune. Shot and +shell blast not only the ramparts and forts but also the entire social +fabric of family and finance. + +My kindest of fathers, however, came to the rescue and saw that I should +want for nothing, yet the retirement of my husband from the military had +become impossible, for we could not entirely depend on my father. +Frederick was too proud for that, and so our beautiful castle in the air +was shattered. But one comfort remained: there was nowhere a black spot +on the horizon, and peace might last for many years. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + Lilli and Conrad—Aunt Marie’s letter—Rumours of war with + Prussia—Negotiations and arguments—My father’s New Year’s + toast—Hopes and fears—The army mobilised—War declared—The + manifestos of both sides. + + +Spring found me in the neighbourhood of Vienna. Here I could see +Frederick daily. My sisters and aunt were off for Marienbad, and from +there Lilli wrote me:— + + I confess I am beginning to be interested in Cousin Conrad. + +And another letter from Aunt Marie:— + + MY DEAR CHILD—It has been a tiresome winter in society, and I shall be + glad when Lilli and Rosa are married off. They have had opportunities + enough. It is a tiresome, thankless task to chaperone two + pleasure-seeking girls. + + I am rejoiced to hear that you are well once more. [I had suffered + from a serious fever.] Your husband had been very much alarmed. But, + thank God, your time had not yet come. The service which I had said at + the Ursalines no doubt aided in bringing about your recovery. Kiss + little Rudolf for me. Tell him he must learn all he can. I am sending + him a few books: _The Pious Child, and his Guardian Angel_,—a + beautiful story—and _The Heroes of our Country_, a collection of war + stories for boys. We cannot begin too early to teach them such + glorious ideals. Your brother Otto was barely five when he first + learned of Alexander and Cæsar. It delights me to see how heroic and + enthusiastic he is. I am sorry your plan is to stay in Vienna this + summer to be nearer Frederick. But you should think of your dear + father as well, who would love to have you at Grumitz. Take my word + for it, you married people should not be so constantly together, but + allow each other some little liberty. That Heaven may protect you all + is my constant prayer. + + AUNT MARIE. + + _P.S._—Your husband has relatives in Prussia. (Happily he is not so + arrogant as his countrymen.) Please ask him what they are saying there + about the present political situation. It is rather critical. + +This letter was the first insinuation to me that some complication was +in view. Having been ill, I had neglected to keep myself informed on the +current news, and I asked my husband: “You dear Prussian, less arrogant +than the rest, what does Aunt Marie mean? Is there really a political +situation just now?” + +“Yes, there always is, as there always is weather, some political +situation—which is as changeable and treacherous as the weather. They +are still arguing about these complicated Duchies who talk of freeing +themselves of these arrogant Prussians—‘rather Danish than Prussian!’ +they cry.” + +“And what will become of Augustenburg, with his ‘undivided right’ over +these Danish Provinces? I studied all this history with the greatest +care, and I have taken my stand for the old inherited right which has +stood for hundreds of years. I thought I was sacrificing you to help +establish this right.” + +“It will go hard with your historical claims, my dear Martha,” laughed +Frederick. Again I began to study the crisis, and discovered that the +Vienna treaty had really settled nothing. Schleswig-Holstein loomed more +formidably than before. The old claimants renewed their claims before +the Alliance, and no one could guess what they were going to do about +it. The two great powers were accusing each other of encroachment. + +“Now, what are the arrogant Prussians up to?” was the constant suspicion +of Austria as well as of the Middle States and the Duchies. Napoleon +III. advised Prussia to annex up to the Danish-speaking border, but +Prussia pretended to be unwilling. But at last she formulated her claim +thus: Prussian troops should remain in occupation on the defensive, and +under Prussian leadership; a contingent should represent the Alliance; +the harbour of Kiel to be occupied; postal, telegraph, and customs to be +under Prussian control. This angered the Austrian Minister of War; the +jealous Middle States objected, and demanded that their leader be put in +possession of the Duchies. This again Austria objected to, and although +willing that Prussia should hold the harbour of Kiel, could not tolerate +her right to recruit soldiers and sailors. And so the quarrel ripened. + +Prussia declared she had no design absolutely to annex, but was planning +the best interest of all parties. Under opposition Prussia became even +more assertive, and voice after voice was raised against this “insolent +announcement,” public sentiment rising daily against Prussia and +Bismarck. + +The Middle States demanded to know the secret negotiations carried on +between the diplomats of the two powers. The two Emperors betook +themselves to their country seats, and messages flew between them thick +and fast. Several points were agreed upon. The investment should be +shared half and half. Lauenburg should fall to Prussia, and Austria in +lieu thereof receive two and a half million thalers. I asked myself, +what return could such a sum be to offset all the losses, my financial +losses, for instance, and in the case of thousands of others their +fallen loved ones? Yet I was rejoiced when a new “treaty” was signed; +that sounded so reassuring. Later I learned that these documents +generally contain the germ of some future _causus belli_. The breaking +of a treaty is only a fresh chance to fly to arms. + +The quarrel seemed to be laid aside. The powers occupied the provinces, +and I was again obliged to give up my favourite aspiration to see them +once more “for ever together undivided,” as was decreed in 1460. + +But in spite of the treaty, the situation was not relieved. Patient +reading of the political press gave me an idea of the shifting +condition, but I could hardly believe that war would result. I contented +myself with the thought that legal questions could always be settled +legally and justly. All these wise ministers, diplomats, judicious +councillors, parliamentarians, and polite monarchs, could surely settle +such a trivial point. Thus I was actuated more by curiosity than anxiety +in my research, which I was carefully jotting into the red book:— + + _Oct. 1, ’65._—Imperial Council at Frankfort adopts the following + resolutions: 1. The right of Schleswig-Holstein to control itself must + remain in force. The Gastein treaty is rejected as a breach of right + to the nation. 2. All officials shall refuse to pay over taxes and + loans to the Allies. + + _Oct. 15._—The Prussian royal edict approved the decision in regard to + hereditary claimant, who renounces all right to the throne for the sum + of a half million thalers. By the Vienna treaty the duchies were ceded + to the Allies, hence there can be no further claim. + +Protests were made on all hands. “Prussian arrogance” became a +catchword, and all hands declared, “We must protect ourselves against +them.” “King William would be another Victor Emanuel.” “To reconquer +Silesia is Austria’s secret intent.” “Prussia is paying court to +France.” “Austria is coquetting with the French.” Thus tittle-tattle and +recrimination was indulged in by the Cabinets of the great Powers quite +as seriously as by the gossips at a village tea. + + * * * * * + +The entire family returned for the autumn to Vienna. + +I was very eager to keep my little Rudolf away from the influence of his +grandfather, who was determined to inspire in him military tastes, which +were already awakened, probably through a long line of soldier ancestry. +My studies of natural science had taught me that such tendencies could +be inherited. On my boy’s birthday his grandfather brought him a sword. +I remonstrated:— + +“You know very well that my son shall never be a soldier?” + +“Would you tie him to your apron strings? Never mind, good soldier blood +will tell; let him grow up, and see what profession he chooses—the +noblest of all, I am sure—the military.” + +“Martha fears he may die in battle,” said Aunt Marie. “As though the +same fate might not overtake one in bed.” + +“If a hundred thousand fell in battle,” I said, “would the same fate +have been theirs in peace?” + +Aunt Marie was always ready with an answer, “No, it would have been +their destiny to have died in war.” + +“Suppose they had been bold enough to refuse to go to war,” I suggested. +“Impossible,” shouted my father, and then the old controversy began. + +The Greek fable of the hundred-headed hydra illustrates so perfectly the +manner of argument between two convinced opponents. No sooner have you +sliced the head off one point and started to attack the second, when the +first head has grown on again. + +The following were my father’s favourite and unconquerable arguments in +favour of war:— + +1. War was the decree of God Himself (see Bible). + +2. Wars have always been and always will be. + +3. Without war population would increase too fast. + +4. Permanent peace would corrupt, weaken, relax, and degenerate the +race. + +5. War best develops self-sacrifice, heroism, and fine character. + +6. Human beings will always differ in opinions, interests, and desires, +hence perpetual peace is impossible. + +None of the above wise sayings can be maintained under argument, but +each in turn can be set up as a fresh defence when the preceding one +topples. For example, obliged to drop argument No. 4 and admit that +peace is more apt to secure happiness, prosperity, and progress, my +father would agree, “War is an evil, but (arguments 1 and 2) +inevitable.” Then I would prove that by international agreement and law, +war could be avoided; he would acknowledge that it could, but ought not +(No. 5). If the argument for peace upsets the claims of Nos. 4 and 5, +and shows that war hardens and brutalises men, then he would admit it, +but quote No. 3. This argument sounds hugely humane and learned, but is +the least sincere of all. Wars are not waged for the benefit of +posterity. When you have proved the fallacy of 3 the other returns to 1, +and so the trick can be carried on till it becomes a labyrinthal puzzle. + +The lovers of war reason in a circle where one can always see and +follow, but never catch them. That their arguments often proceed from +opposite points of view and nullify each other matters nothing to them, +and proves that they are arguing a position they have not thought out +for themselves, but are bolstering up opinions which have been handed on +to them. I did not see this clearly at the time I carried on the +argument with my father on peace and war, but I always came away from +the combat fatigued and dizzy, and I realised later that it came from +whirling in this circle which his lack of logic necessitated. + + * * * * * + +New Year’s eve, 1866. As the first hour of this momentous year struck, +we were sitting about my father’s table celebrating the engagement of +Lilli and Conrad. My father arose and offered his New Year’s toast:— + +“My dear children and friends: The year ’66 begins well, for long have I +desired Conrad for a son-in-law. May we hope that this year may bring +Rosa her ideal also. And you, Martha, may your husband be promoted to +the rank of Colonel. For you, Dr. Bresser, I may wish hosts of patients, +although it does not fit in with the spirit of my wishes for health and +happiness. And for you, my dear, fatalistic Marie, may destiny bring you +the grand prize of a full indulgence, or anything else you may be +wishing for. For my Otto, my son, I can only wish him every distinction +in his final examination, that he may acquire every soldierly virtue, +and some day be an ornament to the army, and a pride to his old father’s +heart. And for myself, who knows no greater joy than the welfare and +fame of my fatherland, I can only wish that the coming year may bring +back to my Austria the province of Lombardy, and—who knows—Silesia also. +And may we take back from the insolent Prussian this land which they +stole from the great Maria Theresa.” + +A chill fell upon the company as my father closed his toast. Truly, none +of us felt any pressing need for these two provinces. + +“No, father dear,” I replied, “we must not forget that in Italy and +Prussia it is also New Year’s Day, and we will wish them no evil. May +the year ’66 and all the years to come help us to grow more united and +happy.” + +“Oh, you fantastic idealist,” said my father, shrugging his shoulders. + +“Not that,” said my husband in my defence. “The wish is not one of an +enthusiast and dreamer, for science assures us that it must be fulfilled +some day. The world has slowly been growing better since the beginning, +and it must go on, although we do not note it from year to year. We all +know that men are happier, and better, and freer than in the primeval +days.” + +“If you are so sure of eternal progress, why so often complain of +reaction and the relapses into barbarism in our day?” asked my father, +tauntingly. + +“Because”—Frederick took out his pencil and drew a spiral—“because the +movement of progress goes on like this. It continually ascends, although +at times appearing to go backwards. This coming year, if war is forced +upon us, may be represented by one of these backward curves. Such events +hurt civilisation materially as well as morally.” + +“How unsoldierly you speak, Tilling.” + +“These are universal matters; the opinions of a soldier or civilian have +no different weight here, for the truth is always the same. If a thing +is red, must one obstinately call it blue because one wears a blue +uniform, or black because one wears a black coat?” + +“A what?” said my father, who, when the argument went against him, was +apt to appear hard of hearing. Since it is difficult to repeat a long +argument, the discussion inclined to drop. + +Upon our return home, I asked my husband: “What did I hear you say? +There is prospect of war? Never, never will I allow you to go into +another campaign.” + +“How can your passionate ‘Never, never!’ help in the matter? The nearer +the fatal day comes, the less possible it will be for me to resign. +Immediately after Schleswig-Holstein it would have been possible, but +not now.” + +“Ah, that unlucky Schmidt & Sons the bankers!” + +Again I found myself anxiously following developments in the newspapers +and reports. “Be prepared! Be prepared!” was now the cry. “Prussia is +preparing!” “Austria is quietly preparing!” “The Prussians claim we are +preparing; it is not true, it is they who are preparing.” And thus the +variations were sounded in my anxious ear. + +“Why is all this commotion about armaments,” I asked my father, “if +neither party plans to use them?” He answered me with the old saying: +“In times of peace prepare for war.” + +Thus each is keeping the eye on the other, and each accuses the other of +warlike motives. So again begins the endless circle—the serpent with his +tail in his mouth. + +On the morning of March 12 my father burst into my room beaming with +joy: “Hurrah,” he cried, “Good news!” + +“Disarmament?” I asked, delighted. + +“On the contrary. Yesterday a great council of war was held. We are +ready on an hour’s notice to send out 800,000 men, and I tell you, my +child, Silesia is ours whenever we choose.” + +“Oh God! Oh God!” I groaned, “must this affliction come upon us once +more? Who can be so devoid of conscience that for greed and ambition——” + +And my father, denying that it was greed or ambition, only justice and +patriotic ardour which pressed for war, harangued on the subject in his +illogical manner, jumbling his arguments together, proving that all +wished for peace, but if war came it must be met—until I was quite +frantic, and said, beside myself with emotion:— + +“You know well, that not only you, but the whole council want war, then +why not say it out frankly? Why all this falsehood? Why tell the people +they hope for peace when they are madly arming? Show your teeth and your +closed fists, but do not the while whisper soft, false words of +reassurance. If you are wildly eager to draw the sword, do not pretend +that you are only caressing the hilt.” + +He rose to the height of passion, and finally I burst into exhausting +tears. My father was so amazed that he did not utter a word. + +Now came a time of hopes and fears, ringing the changes on “Peace is +secure,” “War is certain.” But once this word “war,” this little seed of +thought, finds its way to the front, it seems inevitably to produce—war. + +News came that Prussia was arming the Silesian fortresses. Austria +disclaimed any intention of attacking Prussia and demanded that the +latter should disarm. Prussia declared herself innocent of warlike +intentions, but strengthened her standing army, hence Austria felt +compelled to continue her preparations. So the dual game continued, and +became a triple game as Italy armed herself with haste. + +The excitement became universal and more violent every day. Every +newspaper and speech announced that war was in sight. Bismarck was hated +and reviled on every side. Letters were received from Aunt Cornelia in +Prussia telling that the war was anything but wished, and that Bismarck +was no less hated in his own country. She said the army was reported as +refusing to go out in a war against brothers; that Queen Augusta had +thrown herself at her husband’s feet to pray for peace. Had perhaps our +beautiful Empress also done the same and with tears begged for +disarmament, who knows? Perhaps the Emperor himself wished for peace, +but it seemed that not even the throne could stand against the pressure +and strain on every side. + +On June 1 Prussia declared to the Assembly that she would disarm if +Austria and Saxony would. Vienna responded accusing Prussia of planning +an attack in concert with Italy. Austria would call the German Alliance +to arms and decide the case of the Duchies. Holstein should co-operate. +Prussia declared that this broke the treaty, and they moved into +Holstein. Bismarck issued a circular letter. The press cried for war and +predicted a victory to strengthen the national confidence. + +On June 11 Austria proposed that the Alliance should take a hand against +Prussia for helping herself to Holstein. On June 14 the vote stood nine +to six—accepted. Oh, those three terrible votes! All was over. +Ambassadors are dismissed. The Alliance requests Austria and Bavaria to +go to the rescue of Hanover and Saxony, who have already attacked the +Prussians. + +On the 18th, Prussia’s war manifesto appeared. On the same date +Austria’s troops marched out, and on the 22nd Prussia issued her first +army orders. + +King William said:— + + To the last I have worked for peace with Austria, but it was refused. + +Kaiser Francis Joseph announced:— + + Prussia shows her desire to set might in the place of right, therefore + this unholy war of German against German cannot be avoided. Before the + judgment seat of history and Almighty God I summon him who has brought + this misery down upon our families and country. + +The war is always the desire of “the other side.” It is always the other +one who chooses to overcome justice with might, “German against German +makes an unholy war”; quite right to step beyond Prussia and Austria and +appeal to Germany. But why not in every war reach to the higher plane, +and recognise it as a war of humanity against humanity? and regard every +battle as an unholy contest? + +And what good would it do to summon the aggressor before the judgment of +History? Has not History always given the right to the victor? The +laurels of History have always been placed on the conqueror’s brow, and +he has been called great and the promotor of civilisation. + +And why summon him before the Judgment seat of God? Is He not the same +Lord of Hosts who begins as well as ends every war with His unchangeable +will? Such contradictions! Are we not expected to consider two opposite +principles as equally holy? Are the God of Love and the God of War one +God, compelling war as well as justice, demanding national hatred as +well as love of humanity? + + + + + BOOK IV + 1866 + + + + + CHAPTER I + + The Austro-Prussian War—Frederick again to the front—The Red + Cross—Reports and Letters—The Custozza victory—Austria has + reverses in Bohemia—Discussion of the press. + + +The greatest of all human misfortunes was again upon us, and, as usual, +the public was jubilant. Regiments marched out (how would they return?) +with blessings and good wishes and followed by the shouting rabble of +street urchins. + +Frederick had been ordered to Bohemia before the declaration of +hostilities, when I was still confident that matters would blow over, so +I was somewhat spared the agony of parting. When my father came +triumphantly with the news, “Now the war is begun,” I had been alone a +fortnight, and I had made up my mind for the worst, as does a doomed man +in his cell when he knows that the death-sentence must come. + +I raised my hand imploringly: “Father, one wish! Leave me to myself.” + +Not being fond of pathetic scenes he hastily retired, and I, crushed in +spirit, wrote in my red journal:— + + The death-sentence! A hundred thousand men will be executed. Will + Frederick be among them? And for that matter, who am I that I should + not perish with them? Oh that I were already dead! + +On the same day I received from Frederick these hasty lines:— + + My wife! Be brave and do not lose heart. We have been happy. That past + no one can take from us even if to-day the decree “it is finished” + should be issued for us as for many others. To-day we meet the enemy. + Perhaps I shall recognise some of the old Prussian comrades—even my + cousin Gottfried. We march upon Liebenau with the advance guard of + Count Clam-Gallas. There will be no leisure for letters—at most a line + to assure you of my safety. But on this leaflet—in case it be the + last—I wish I could put into one single word all the love I bear you. + I can find only this: “Martha!” You know what that means to me. + +Conrad had also been ordered to march. He was full of ardour and felt +enough hatred of the Prussians to make his start a pleasure. Still, +parting with Lilli was hard, for the marriage licence had arrived just +two days before. + +“Oh, Lilli, Lilli, why have you put me off so long? Who knows if I shall +ever return?” + +Upon his departure her remorse was pitiful, and she wept bitterly in my +arms. I consoled her with the thought that had she been his wife it +would have made the parting even harder. + +The family now removed to Grumitz, and I joined them, oppressed with the +premonition of widowhood. Occasionally in the midst of my dull grief +would come the bright thought: “He is alive. He will come back.” Then +the horror of agony that he might be wounded, perishing for water, or +that heavy waggons were rolling over his torn limbs, or that flies were +in his open wounds, or, worse yet, that they were throwing him into the +trench while yet he lived! + +I would spring up with a shriek at this thought. + +“Shame, Martha,” my father would remonstrate; “you will become insane if +you brood in this way. Drive such wicked fears from your mind.” + +Again he would say, “Your husband is a staff officer, and will not be +neglected as a common soldier. Besides, you should think about the +grandeur of the result of the war, and not about your own petty nervous +feelings.” + +“Yes, not to think about it. That is always the way we treat human +misery. All kinds of barbarity exist because we are trained not to think +about it.” + +The Red Cross was a new organisation. I read Dunant’s pamphlet, which +urged its necessity. The tract was a heart-rending appeal. He had +hurried to the field of Solferino, and told the world what he saw. Hosts +of wounded lying five and six days without help. What could a single man +do to save this mass of misery? Many needed only a drop of water or a +bite of bread; others were buried still breathing. He spoke out, and for +the first time—the world echoed the cry. The Geneva Convention was +called and the Red Cross was founded. + +Why had not Austria sent delegates? Why is everything new met either +with opposition or indifference? The law of mental inertia and the +sanctified custom are to blame. My father argued: “The idea is all +right, but impracticable!” How could military authority allow private +service on the field? And then there were spies! And the expense! Is not +war costly enough without it? Volunteer nurses were an unnecessary +burden. Tactics came before friendly offices. It was even argued that +this unnecessary burden would increase the cost of supplies and bring a +rise in prices. + +Such is official wisdom! so learned, so prudent, so heartless, and so +immeasurably stupid! + +The first engagement took place in Bohemia at Liebenau, June 25. + +“It is a magnificent beginning,” said my father. “Heaven is with us. Our +‘Iron Brigade’ will reduce these windbags. They will punish these +fellows well.” + +(However, the next news showed that, after five hours of fighting, this +same brigade, forming a part of the advance guard of Clam-Gallas, +retreated to Podol. I learned later that Frederick was in this +engagement, and the same night General Horn attacked Podol.) + +“But,” continued my father, “even better news comes from the south. At +Custozza, dear children, we have gained a most glorious victory. I have +already said it: Lombardy must become ours. I regard the war as decided. +We must send some of our regulars and finish off these Italians, and +then it will be easy to deal with these ‘tailors’ apprentices.’ This +impertinent Prussian militia is not fit to engage with regular soldiers. +They are all from the shops, the bench, and mere rubbish, and they +cannot stand against such blood and iron as our men are made of. Hear +the good news from the paper this morning: ‘The cattle-plague in +Prussian Silesia has broken out in a highly threatening form.’” + +“Cattle-plague—threatening! Is this your good news? Nice thing we must +accept as pleasure in these war days. However, the black and gold +frontier posts will undoubtedly keep the plague from crossing over to +us.” + +But my father went on reading the pleasant intelligence:— + + Fever is raging among Prussian troops. Such results must necessarily + abound in the villages, with the miserable shelter, unhealthy swamp + land, and bad treatment. Austrians have no idea how miserably the + Prussians handle their men. The nobles do as they please with the + common people. Three ounces of salt pork is all that is allowed for + each man. They are unaccustomed to forced marches and the hardship of + short rations, and are close to starvation. + +“The papers are full of startling news. You ought to keep them, Martha.” +And I have kept them. This one ought always to do, and when a new +struggle is in prospect one should read not the latest news but the +accounts of the preceding wars, and weigh how little truth is contained +in all these boastings and the prophesying; _that_ would be instructing. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + More and more reverses for Austria—A soldier’s abhorrence of war—Poor + Puxl—My husband’s letter declares that this is his last campaign. + + +“How extraordinary! Defeat after defeat is ours. First the capture of +Podol by moonlight; Clam-Gallas barricaded; the village taken and +burned. Then they conquer Gitchin. Oh, those cursed needle-guns, how +they mowed down our men rank after rank! The enemy’s two great army +corps have joined and are even now pressing down against Münchengratz.” +Thus my father lamented, telling us the terrible news. But his +confidence was unshaken. + +“Let them come, every man of them, down into Bohemia, and we will +annihilate them yet. We will surround them; the people will rise against +them, and when there is no escape, no retreat—hemmed in—we will give +them the finishing touch. It is a disadvantage for them to be in the +enemy’s country, for you have not only the army but the people against +you. At Trautenau the inhabitants poured boiling water and oil on to the +Prussians.” + +A cry of horror and disgust escaped me. + +“War is horrible, I grant,” said my father, “but what would you have?” + +“Then never again dare tell me that war ennobles a people. Admit that it +unmans them, brutalises and turns men into tigers and very devils. +Boiling oil! Ugh!” + +“Self-defence and righteous revenge are justifiable, Martha. Do you +think we should take their needle-guns and bullets without return? Our +brave fellows are cut down like defenceless cattle. But we will beat +them yet, for we are too numerous and too well disciplined. I +acknowledge a few mistakes have been made; we should not have waited, +but pushed across the Prussian frontier from the start. Our choice of +marshals may not have been altogether wise. But I will not find fault, +for the decisive battle is yet to come. We are now concentrating a +hundred thousand strong at Koniggratz. There will our northern Custozza +be fought and won.” + +Frederick was to fight there also. His last letter had said so. I have +still in my possession all his hurried little notes, written in pencil, +on horseback, in the tent, illegible save to me, and sent whenever he +found opportunity to do so. Some came into my hands even after the +campaign was over, and I have them as mementos to this hour. They are +not the clever descriptions or careful dispatches of the war +correspondent. There are no details of the strategy, no rhetorical +pictures of the battle-scenes. Here are some of them:— + + A lovely summer night in camp—the ground is covered with exhausted men + after a long forced march. Tents have been pitched for staff officers + only. In mine there are three beds, and my two comrades are asleep. By + the feeble light I am writing to my beloved wife. Puxl lies on my bed. + Poor, tired dog! I almost regret that I brought him with me. He is + sleeping and dreaming of his lover and master Count Rudolf Dotzky. And + I, Martha, am dreaming of you. True, it is a waking dream, but I see + you sitting in the far corner of the tent, and I dare not move for + fear the image will vanish. + + I stepped out a moment. Straggling figures dragged themselves up to + our camp fires; they had been left on the road. But many more are + still lying in the ditches and corn-fields. The heat of the march was + fearful. The brazen sun burned into our brains, the knapsacks and + muskets galled our shoulders. None have complained, though many fell + from sunstroke, never to rise again. This June night is clear and + enchanting, but nightingales and roses and jasmine are not for us. We + hear stamping and neighing horses, voices of restless men, the even + tramp of the guard. Later we shall hear the croak of the raven, and + smell the powder, blood, and corruption. Astonishing how blind is + mankind! Those who curse the fearful fires that burned the martyrs for + the glory of God, even those glorify the battle-field. The torture + chambers of the Inquisition fill them with abhorrence, but how proud + they are of their arsenals! + + * * * * * + + How aesthetically our battle-fields are painted! Upon a hill-top + stands a group of generals; the field-marshal, with the glass at his + eyes, is dictating to his staff as he sits proudly on a white charger. + One hand is stretched dramatically toward the smoke-covered plain. Or + he is waving his sword and looking backwards, as if saying to those + behind, “Follow me, my children!” Pictures give the magnificent and + scenic effects of war without the horrors. They give the superb detail + of line and the elevations and landscape, not the flowing blood, the + mangled forms, and scenes of disgust. To see only the glitter of arms, + the clouds of smoke, the prancing horses, the floating banners, the + whirl of action, might inspire a battle-song or an epic, or a + masterpiece of painting. + + * * * * * + + The village is ours—no, the enemy has it—it is once more ours—finally + it is the enemy’s, but no longer can it be called a village, nothing + but a heap of smoking ruins. The inhabitants (was the village not + theirs?) had abandoned it early—happy for them—for the shot and shell + hit all alike, old and young, women and children. One family had + remained behind in this place which yesterday we took, lost, retook, + and lost again—an old couple with a married daughter in childbed. The + husband chanced to be one of my regiment. “For God’s sake, Colonel,” + he said, as we approached the village, “send me over there to the + house with the red roof, for there lives my wife with her crippled old + parents. They could not get away.” Poor devil, he arrived only to see + his wife and child killed by an exploding shell, and the old people + buried beneath the debris. + + Fighting in the open country is terrible enough, but fighting in the + midst of homes and human haunts is ten times more cruel. Crashing + timbers, burning buildings, smothering smoke and fumes, maddened + animals, every building a fortress or barricade, and every window a + gun-hole! There was a breastwork heaped up with corpses, the defenders + having used the slain as a rampart to shoot behind. I shall never + forget that wall in all my days. One man penned in among the rest was + still alive, for I saw him move. + + Living still! that is the most horrible condition for the uncared-for + wounded. If only some angel, either of compassion or death, might + touch these poor wretches with a tender hand! + + * * * * * + + To-day we had a little cavalry skirmish in the open field. A Prussian + dragoon regiment came up, dropped into line, and, with their bridles + drawn and sabres over their heads, they galloped down on us. We sprang + to meet the attack. No bullets were exchanged. A few paces apart both + regiments broke into a thundering “hurrah” (like intoxicated Indians + or barbaric Zulus); and so we fell upon each other, horse to horse and + knee to knee, sabres swinging and crashing down upon the men from both + sides. We were soon in such a muddle that we could not use our + weapons. The horses reared and pranced, clanging their hoofs. Once I + fell and saw above me these frightful crashing feet within an inch of + my head—it was not a pleasant thing. + + * * * * * + + Again on the march, with a few skirmishes. Another great sorrow. It + ought not to haunt me so when so many are in despair. I should have + left poor Puxl at home with his little master, for, as he ran after + me, the splinter of a shell tore off his front legs. I heard the + mournful howl, but must press on and desert the poor beast, who may + not die for twenty-four, no, even forty-eight, hours. “Master, + master,” he seemed to cry, “don’t forsake poor Puxl, and his little + heart is breaking.”... What torments one most is to think that the + dying faithful creature misjudged me. It cannot know that when a + regiment is flying to attack, leaving behind so many comrades, one + cannot command “Halt!” for a little dog ... and he must have thought + me merciless. Many would say, shrugging their shoulders, how can one + mind such trifles amidst such great events and such gigantic + misfortunes? But not you, my Martha—you will weep for Puxl. + + What goes there? A spy? One? No, seventeen. There they came in four + rows, four in a row, marching with bowed heads, surrounded by a square + of soldiers. Behind, in a waggon, lies a corpse, and bound to it a + twelve-year-old boy—the dead man’s son—all condemned to die. I + withdraw, but hear the firing and see the smoke, and I shudder. The + boy is dead too. + + At last a comfortable night in a bed! A poor little town! Provisions? + Yes, taken from the inhabitants on requisition. All they had for the + coming month. “Requisition!” It is a good thing to have a pretty name + for an ugly act. But a night’s sleep and a meal mean a great deal to + me just now. When I was about to tumble into bed, an orderly came in + and brought me something for which I pressed his hands, rewarded him + handsomely, and promised to do something for his family. What the fine + fellow brought me gave me the keenest pleasure, and freed me from an + anxiety which I had been unable to shake off for thirty-six hours—he + had brought me our Puxl. He was alive, beside himself with joy, though + badly mangled. Ah, such a scene of reunion! He interrupted his greedy + drink ten times to bark with joy. I bound his poor legs and gave him + some supper. Finally we both slept, and in the morning when we woke he + licked my hand again and again, stretched out his small body, breathed + deep—and was no more. Poor Puxl, it is better so. + + * * * * * + + Another day and its horrors. With my eyes shut it comes to me in + frightful pictures. Nothing but desecrating agony! How can some men + give their war reminiscences with such delight? Do they lie and paint + the scenes in story-book fashion for the sake of heroics? The more + horrible things are, the more gloriously do they describe them; the + more shocking the scenes, the more indifferent and easy they make it + appear. Writers seldom speak of these horrors with disapprobation, + indignation, or rebellion. Some may, perhaps, heave a few sentimental + sighs of sympathy, but they are ever ready to sing the glories of + war—“Lift your heart to God and your hand against the enemy, ra-ra, + Hurrah!” + + To-day two pictures impressed themselves upon me. Rocky heights, with + _jagers_ climbing up them like cats. They were ordered to “take” the + height. The enemy was firing down. As the bullets from above struck + them, they threw out their arms, dropped their rifles, and rolled + crashing to the bottom, and over the rocky projections they were + smashed to pieces. The other scene: A rider, a little way from me, was + struck by a shell, which ripped the lower part of his body off, + disembowelling him. The horse swerved, and carried this mangled, + bleeding mass, which at a short distance fell to the ground and was + dragged over the stones by the galloping animal. + + * * * * * + + An artillery section stands with its wheels sunk deep in the mire of + water-covered road. Dripping with sweat and blood from the cruel + blows, the horses drag at the sinking guns. One has dropped, but the + lash keeps falling on the poor beast, who cannot move. Does not the + man see this? Yes, but he is responsible for his guns and must fulfil + his duty. The tormented, willing, faithful creature does not + understand it, and has made his most desperate efforts. What must it + think?—think, as animals think, not articulately, but insensately; not + in words but in feelings, which are all the more acute because they + can find no expression. And with its only expression, a shriek of + pain, the poor thing sank; and that shriek rings in my ears yet, it + even haunted my next night’s dream. To sense the pain of one artillery + horse and then multiply it by one hundred thousand—for that is the + usual number slaughtered in a long campaign—gives one some idea of the + mass of agony men heap upon these poor unfortunate dumb brutes—these + same men who go with pleasure to meet their foes. The men are supposed + to know why they go, but the poor beast knows no reason why he is hewn + into helpless agony. What anguish they endure—and terror so great that + sweat drenches their bodies! And then the fever of the wounds, the + terrible thirst, which is suffered by these miserable, abused one + hundred thousand horses! This was my dream, and I awoke in a fever + reaching for my water-bottle. + + * * * * * + + Another street fight. The crashing timbers and falling walls were the + more horrible for the battle-cries, shots, and explosions of shell. + From a wrecked house there flew over my head a window-frame, and the + chimney fell to dust, stifling the air and stinging our eyes with the + plaster dust. Fighting along the narrow lanes and streets, we finally + came upon the open market-place. In the middle, on a high pillar, + stood a statue of the Virgin Mother, with the Child in one arm, + stretching the other in blessing. Here the struggle became one of + demons—hand to hand. They were hacking at me and I was laying about me + with terrific force. What I hit I do not know, for in such moments one + loses the memory. Yet two terrible pictures remain in my mind: A + Prussian dragoon, strong as Goliath, tore one of our officers out of + his saddle, and split his skull at the feet of the Madonna. The gentle + saint looked on unmoved. Another Goliath of the enemy’s dragoons + snatched my neighbour, bent him backwards, so that I heard his spine + crack, and threw him lifeless under the same blessed lady’s + outstretched hand. + + * * * * * + + From the heights we saw again a spectacle. A bridge fell with a train + of waggons crossing it. Were they filled with wounded? I could only + see that horses, waggons, and humans sank for ever into the rapid + water. It was counted lucky, for it was the enemy’s loss: our men had + sawed the timbers as a successful strategy. Another picture from this + height disclosed our own Khevenhüller’s regiment inveigled into a + swamp from which it could not extricate itself. While sinking into the + morass, the enemy’s shell killed them all. But they could not mutter a + sound with their noses, eyes, and mouths filled with mire. This, we + were told, was a tactical mistake. Any one is apt to err, and what + does it matter if a few of the chess-board figures are lost? That the + slime is in their eyes and mouths does not count; only the mistake is + deplored, but the tactitian will make up for it, and may be decorated + with orders and promotions yet. Too bad that lately our 18th Battalion + should fire all night upon another one of our regiments till daylight + disclosed the error, and sad also that another troop was led into a + pond through a conflict in orders, but little things like that will + happen to the best players of the game of war. + + * * * * * + + I have settled it. This shall be my last campaign. When I come back I + quit the service. When a man has learned to look upon war with the + horror that it produces in me, it would be a lie and a crime to stay + in its service. As you know, I have always gone into battle with + repugnance, but this detestation is so increased, this condemnation + and decision has become so strong, that all the reasons with which I + had held my judgment have ceased to argue in me. Our mutual study of + the question has proved to me that the greatest souls in the world + share this conception of war with me. Whatever comes, I am determined + that at the end of this campaign I shall for ever close my military + life. I cannot serve the god of war any longer. I have come to this + conviction as some people change their old ideas of religion, which + they gradually find have rested on folly and superstition; and so I + can no longer keep up the deception, or kneel to the delusion, that + army proclamations and cannon roars are consecrated things. Without + any respect for the ritual of the god Mars, with its weird human + sacrifices, I abjure for ever the cruel worship. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + Austria ruined at the battle of Koniggratz—Dr. Bresser with the + wounded—I go to the seat of war to search for my husband—The + scenes on the way—More horrors described—I meet Frau Simon—A night + journey—Am carried back to Vienna exhausted—Return to Grumitz. + + +The battle of Koniggratz ended in a terrible defeat which seemed +decisive. My father told the news in such a tone as though it had been +the end of the world. There was neither letter nor telegram from +Frederick. Was he wounded or worse? Conrad had reported himself as +untouched. The lists had not yet arrived, but the loss in killed and +wounded was reported as forty thousand. + +I wept for hours when the third day came without a line. While there was +hope, I could still weep; had all been over my woe would have been +without expression. My father was terribly depressed, and Otto full of +revenge. He wished to join a corps of volunteers recruiting in Vienna. +It was reported that the victorious commander of the southern campaign +was to replace the defeated marshal of the north. + +But no news came of Frederick. + +A few days later there was a letter from Dr. Bresser, who was busy in +the neighbourhood of the battle, and wrote of the infinite misery and +need of help, which was beyond imagination. He had joined Dr. Brauer, +who had been sent by the Saxon Government, and a Saxon lady, another +Florence Nightingale, was to arrive two days later. She came from the +hospitals of Dresden to help in Bohemia. The two surgeons were planning +to meet the lady at the nearest station to Koniggratz, and Bresser +begged us, if possible, to send quantities of bandages and such supplies +to this station, that they might be delivered into his hands. This +letter awoke in me a resolution which I did not dare tell my family: I +would take the box of bandages myself. + +I announced that I would go to Vienna and prepare supplies for the +doctor, and so managed to get away without difficulty. I could easily +announce from there my real intentions to the family without their +interference. + +I had some doubts as to my want of experience, but I felt the compelling +gaze of my husband fixed upon me, and he seemed to be stretching his +arms from a bed of pain, and my only thought was: “I am coming, I am +coming.” + +I found Vienna a mass of confusion. Everywhere my carriage passed +vehicles of wounded men. I made my preparations hurriedly and started +for the North Station. Here the crowds of wounded and dying were +arriving, and the public crowded in with supplies and looking for +friends; there were nurses, nuns, physicians, men and women from every +rank, and the officials were busy pushing back the crowds. They sent me +off too. But I protested: “I want to take the next train north,” but was +informed that there were no trains for passengers, in order to keep the +lines open for the arrivals of the wounded. Only one train would go out, +and that was exclusively for the Relief Corps. + +“May I go by that train?” + +“Impossible.” The voice within kept calling for me to come. I was about +to despair when I caught sight of the President of the Relief Corps. I +rushed to him: “For pity’s sake, help me, Baron S——. You know me! +Baroness Tilling, General Althaus’s daughter. You are about to send a +train to Bohemia. My dying husband needs me there. If you have a heart, +let me go with that train.” + +With many misgivings he finally arranged to put me in the car of a +surgeon who accompanied the train. It would be ready in an hour. I could +not stay in the waiting-room; everything was turned into a hospital, and +everywhere lay and crouched the wretched neglected forms of the mangled +and wounded. And train after train came in with more wounded, and they +were as quickly placed and carried away. At my feet was laid a man who +gasped unceasingly, making a continuous gurgling sound. I stooped to +speak a sympathetic word, but covered my face in horror. He no longer +looked like a human being, his under jaw was shot away, and his eyes +were hanging from their sockets. He was reeking with decay and +corruption. My head sank back against the wall. But the sickening idea +came into my head—could it be Frederick? I looked again. No, it was not +he. + +As they carried the poor gurgling wretch away the regimental doctor +said, “He need not go back to the hospital, he is already three-fourths +dead.” And with that the agonized creature threw up both his hands in +pleading to heaven. + +The hour passed, and I started with the two surgeons and four Sisters of +Charity and several soldiers. The carriage was hot and filled with a +mingled odour of hospital and incense, and I felt deathly sick. I leant +back in my corner and closed my eyes. + +“Are you ill?” asked the sympathetic young surgeon. “I hear you are +joining your wounded husband at Koniggratz. Do you know where to look +for him?” + +“No, but I expect to meet Dr. Bresser.” + +“I know him. We visited the battle-field together three days ago.” + +“Visited the battle-field?” I repeated, shuddering. “Oh, tell me about +it.” + +The surgeon told his story, and I put it afterwards into my journal as I +remembered it. From there I copy it now. I had remembered it quite +accurately, for into every scene my imagination thrust one fixed +idea—that there would be found my wounded Frederick, calling for me:— + + Behind a little hill the ambulance corps lay protected. Beyond, the + engagement had already begun. The very earth and air trembled with the + heat and explosions. Clouds of smoke and roaring artillery filled + space. Orders came that we should fetch the wounded from the field. It + takes some heroism to march into the midst of a battle when none of + the fury of the conflict is in the mind to urge you on. The corporal + in charge of the relief ordered the men to a point where the enemy had + opened fire. Across the open ground they met groups of wounded and + slightly wounded dragging themselves and helping each other. One fell + insensible, but not from a wound but sheer exhaustion. They explained: + “We have eaten nothing for two days. After an enforced march of twelve + hours and a bit of sleep, we were called to the fight unrefreshed.” + + The relief patrol push on. Let them look out for themselves, the + surgeons were urged on to the more desperately wounded. They might be + picked up on the way back, after help had been rendered to those lying + thick in the battle. Everywhere lies a bleeding mass. The wounded + swarm about thicker and thicker, creeping and dragging themselves over + mounds of corpses, all stretched in mangled positions with the + death-writhings still evident—hands clawing the ground, eyes and + tongues projecting, teeth gnashed, and mouths gaping as the last + breath had been drawn. So they lie, with their limbs and bodies + mangled into shapelessness and stiffened with the death-agony. + + Down through a little ravine the patrol pushed. Here the dead and + wounded were lying in heaps together. The shrieks for help, the + begging, weeping, and lamenting, mixed with the cries for water. Alas, + the provisions were soon exhausted, and what can a few men do in all + this mass of hopelessness? If every helper had a hundred arms they + could not do half of the rescue work. But they work like heroes till, + suddenly, there comes the signal horn calling to another part of the + field, while the broken wretches piteously beg not to be deserted. An + adjutant comes in hot haste. Evidently a general has been wounded. The + surgeons must follow, begging the poor fellows to have patience for + they will return. But the promise was never meant and never believed. + + On, on they must follow the adjutant. Cries and groans to right and + left are unheeded, and though some of the rescuing party falls, they + are left with the rest. Men writhing with horrible wounds, torn by + horses’ hoofs, crushed by passing guns, seeing the rescuers, rear + themselves and call for help with a last effort. But on, on, over them + all! + + * * * * * + +So it goes on, page after page, in my journal. One account tells how a +shell burst over a group of wounded who had just been bandaged and +relieved, tearing them to pieces. Again, it tells how the fighting broke +out around the ambulances, a fleeing and pursuing troop sweeping down +the wounded, dying, and surgeons, all together; or when terrified +riderless horses, maddened with agony, rushed over the wounded on the +stretchers, throwing them crushed and lifeless to the ground. Again, the +most frightful scene of all is described: A hundred helpless men lay in +a farmhouse where their wounds had been dressed, when a shell set the +place in a blaze, and their shrieks will ever remain in the memory of +those who heard it—and in mine, for I fancied again, while the surgeon +spoke, that Frederick was there, and I heard his voice out of the place +of torture, and I fell back in my seat. + +“Oh, dear lady,” the surgeon exclaimed, “I must not try your nerves.” + +But I had not yet heard enough to slake my thirst for the horrible; I +would hear more, and I said, “No, no, continue: How was the next +morning?” So he continued:— + + A battle-field by night is hideous enough, but under the glorious sun + the fiendish work of man seems doubly fiendish. What the night made + seem ghostly, the daylight revealed as absolutely hopeless. Then one + first realises the countless dead—in the streets, the fields. + + There is no cannonading, no rattle of musketry, no drums or + trumpet-blasts, no flags, no regimentals; the only sound is the low + moaning of the poor wretches who are dying without aid. The steaming + earth is saturated with red puddles that shimmer, reek, and clot in + the sun. Everywhere lie scattered the abandoned sabres, bayonets, + knapsacks, cloaks, broken carriages, waggons, and cannon, the + half-dead horses staggering up and down and hideously bellowing out + their dying shrieks. There is a little hollow into which the wounded + had dragged themselves, but it is clear that a battery had driven over + them, the hoofs and wheels crushing them into a pulpy oozing mass + while still alive—yes, hopelessly alive. + + But even more hellish than all this is the certain appearance of that + vile scum of humanity, the ghouls which creep in the wake of the + battle, to plunder and spoil the dead. They slink among the corpses, + mercilessly tearing off their valuables, mutilating and hacking even + the living if they still have life enough to defend themselves, + snatching out their eyes to make them unrecognisable. + + And so they lie, day after day, these poor wretches, for the Sanitary + Corps, though they work untiringly, cannot stop for the hopeless ones + who beg that they be shot or stabbed in their helpless misery. From + above the carrion crows are watching from the trees, preparing to + descend for their dinner. Even the starved village dogs come and lick + the open flesh. + + Then comes the great interment. They dig long shallow trenches, and + the bodies are thrown in helter-skelter, heads up and heads down. Also + they heap the bodies into mounds and cover them with a few feet of + dirt. Let the rain wash it away, who cares? + +“Now, will you hear what happened the next day?” + +“Oh, I can tell you that,” I interrupted. “In the capital of the +victorious country the reports have arrived. In the forenoon, while the +hyenas of the battle-field work round the trenches, the people in the +churches are singing “Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” and in +the evening, wife and mother of those who have been buried—while yet +breathing perhaps—put lighted candles on their window-sill, for the city +has to be illuminated for a sign of joy.” + +“Yes,” said the surgeon, “such comedy is marked in the cities—and yonder +the tragedy continues....” + + * * * * * + +What a terrible journey it was! Long after the surgeon ceased to tell +his story we caught glimpses from the windows of the effects of the war. +True, there were no scenes of devastation, but everywhere families were +hurrying with their belongings, leaving home to go they knew not where, +for the cry, “The Prussians are coming,” filled them with terror. We +passed many trains carrying the wounded to the inland hospitals. The +stations were crammed with men waiting to be carried farther. They had +been brought by waggons and cots from the field, and were waiting to get +either to the hospitals or cemeteries. At every halt the Sisters of +Charity in our party immediately busied themselves, but I was useless. +The uproar about the stations was like a bewildering dream; people were +running about confusedly, the troops were taking the trains to go +farther, the wounded and bleeding were swarming everywhere, and the +screams of women added to the frightful conditions. Cannons and baggage +waggons rumbled by; trains followed, carrying the reserves from Vienna. +The soldiers were crammed in cattle-trucks and freight-cars—just as +cattle are sent to the slaughter—and were they not, I could not help +thinking, were they not being sent to the big political shambles where +the official butchers seek their profits? They rushed by on the rattling +wheels like the wind, and a howling war-song pealed from the cars. An +armed host marching through the fields or roads on foot or horse, with +flags flying, has a certain antique touch of the poetic, more of the +movement of free will in it; that the railroad track, this symbol of +modernism and civilisation which brings the nations nearer together, +should be used to thrust men into the battle to let barbarism loose is a +hideous contradiction. And even the clicking telegraph, mastering the +lightning to do man’s will, to advance his interests, to relieve his +anxieties, to bring his life into immediate and close touch with his +fellows—to think that it should be used in the service of barbarity! Our +boast before the barbarians is, “Behold our civilisation, our railroads, +our telegraph lines,” and then we debase these things by using them to +enforce and multiply our own savagery. + +Such thoughts deepened and embittered my sorrow. Happy were they who +were simply weeping and wringing their hands, whose souls did not rise +up in wrath against the whole hideous comedy, who did not accuse nor +arraign any one with the blame—not even that Lord of Armies whom they +believed to be the loving author of all their misery! + +Late in the evening I arrived at Königinhof, my companions having left +me at an earlier station. What if Dr. Bresser failed to meet me? My +nerves were quite shattered by the night’s experiences, and only my +extreme anxiety about Frederick sustained me. + +The station in Königinhof was overflowing with wounded men; they were +lying everywhere—in every nook and corner, on the ground, and on the +stones. The night was very dark, there was no moon, and only a few +lanterns lighted the station. I sank on to a bench, put my luggage on +the ground before me, overcome with the desire for sleep. I began to +realise the absurdity of my coming. What if Frederick were already at +home, or perhaps dead and buried? Oh, to be able to sleep and forget it, +and perhaps even never wake again to behold all this world of horror! At +least, let me not live on and find Frederick among the “missing.” Was +perhaps my boy at home calling for me? What if I did not find Dr. +Bresser? What should I do in that case? Luckily I had a little bag with +money about my neck, and money always affords some help out of +difficulties. And I involuntarily felt for the bag. The fastenings were +torn off—it was gone. What a blow! Still, the floods of misfortune on +all sides made my loss seem slight to me. I rose to look for the +station-master, and suddenly caught sight of Dr. Bresser. In my +excitement I fell about his neck. + +“Baroness Tilling!” he exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?” + +“I have come to assist. Is Frederick in one of your hospitals?” + +His negative reply was a relief as well as a disappointment. But how +could he know of all the wounded? I would search for myself. I asked for +Frau Simon. + +“She is here, and a splendid woman—quick, decisive, prudent. She has +discovered that the need is the greatest in a near village. We are going +there together.” + +“Let me go along with you, Doctor.” He tried to dissuade me, but after +some argument he introduced me to Frau Simon as an assistant, and in a +few minutes we started on our journey in a hay-waggon which had just +brought some wounded men to the station. We sat upon the straw, possibly +still wet from blood, and started on our long uncomfortable ride. The +ricketty waggon with its straw-covered boards was pure torture to me, +accustomed to springs and cushions. I was sound and well, what must it +have been to the mangled and shattered bodies which were carried over +rough roads in this waggon? My eyes were heavy; the discomfort and +excited nerves prevented sleep, but leaning on the Doctor’s shoulder, +half dreaming, I heard bits of the conversation which my companions +carried on half aloud. + +They spoke of the lack of surgeons and instruments. Even bread was not +to be had, and in many places the water had been so polluted that it +could not be used. Every roof-covered space was crammed with wounded men +dying and raving in their last agonies, and in their ravings they +blasphemed God. + +“Mr. Twining of London must have heard these curses,” said the Doctor, +“when he proposed to the Geneva Red Cross that, when the condition of +the wounded is hopeless, they should be offered the consolations of +religion and then be put out of their agony in the most humane manner, +thus preventing them from dying with curses of God upon their lips.” + +“How unchristian,” cried Frau Simon. + +“Unchristian to give them such gracious relief?” + +“No, but the idea that such curses are a sin. The christian God is not +unjust, he takes the fallen soldiers to Himself.” + +“Mohammed promises paradise to every Turk who slays a christian,” +replied Dr. Bresser. “Believe me, dear madam, the gods that are +represented as both inciting war and blessing murder are deaf both to +curses and to prayers. Look up and see the planet Mars overhead. Every +two years it shines there, and is unconscious of its consecration to the +god of war. That same blood-red star shone down upon Marathon and +Thermopylæ, the curses of the dying were heaped upon it, but it +indifferently and peacefully kept its perfect circuit round the sun—even +as to-day. Unlucky stars? There is no such thing—man is the only enemy +of man—and his only friend.” + +But finally sleep overcame me, and it was a relief to get rid of the +unendurable images that filled my brain. How long I slept I do not know, +but I was suddenly roused as by a shock. But no, it was not a noise or +vibration which woke me; it was a pestilential, stifling odour that +filled the air. By the clear light of the moon, which had risen, we saw +the cause of the intolerable stench; a church wall which had served as a +breastwork was banked up with countless corpses, from which a black +cloud of fluttering ravens rose as we approached, and fluttered back +again upon their feast as we passed on. + +The driver whipped up the horses, and we jolted madly out of the range +of the frightful odour. Terror held my throat like a screw, or I should +have shrieked. + + * * * * * + +As we arrived at our destination, Frau Simon complained that I should be +more of a burden than a help, but I roused all my courage and begged to +be allowed to assist. We found ourselves in the middle of the village, +at the gate of a chateau which had been deserted by its owners and +filled from cellar to roof with wounded men. We got out, and I pulled +myself together with all my force. We passed the gate of the chateau, +meeting stifled sounds of woe on all sides. Everything was dark, and we +had forgotten to bring along any means of lighting. Some matches from +the Doctor’s pocket served for a few seconds to give us a flash of the +terrible picture. Our feet slipped in the bloody slime, and we could do +nothing but add our despair to the multitude groaning and sighing about +us. + +Frau Simon and the Doctor hurried out to search for the village priest, +and left me alone in the dark among these wailing people, and in this +stifling odour, shuddering to the bones. But the Doctor returned, +saying, “No, you must come with us, you shall not stay in that +purgatory.” I waited in the open air in the waggon for half an hour, +when the expedition came back quite unsuccessful. The pastor’s house was +in ruins and no light was to be found. We must wait for the daylight, +and how many of these miserable creatures would perish after all the +hope our coming had wakened in them? + +Those three hours seemed endless, marked not by the ticking of the +clock, but by the fitful groans and helpless cries of the wounded. At +last the day broke. Now for duty. First the frightened, hiding villagers +must be found and made to help. Some buried the dead, others cleared the +choked wells, everything was collected that would furnish food and +clothing. A Prussian surgeon with his staff arrived, and before long +some of the general distress was relieved. First we visited the crowd of +wounded in the castle—my husband was not among them; then I went with +Dr. Bresser into the village church, where a hundred men, mangled and +feverish, lay on the stone floor. I almost fainted with terror as I +looked for the one beloved face—it was not there. I sank beside the +altar, filled with inexpressible horror. And this was the temple of the +eternal God of Love! The niches were full of pious images—saints with +folded hands and lifted faces which were crowned with circlets of gold. +I heard a poor soldier cry: “O Mother of God, Holy Mother, one drop of +water, have mercy!” All eternity he might have called to that painted +image. Ah, miserable men, your petitions to God will be in vain till you +obey the law of love which He has stamped upon your own souls. So long +as hate and murder are not subdued in your own hearts, you can hope for +no compassion from Heaven. + +Oh, the experiences of that dreadful day! At the sight of one scene, +which my pen shrinks to describe, I heard Mrs. Simon exclaim:— + +“It is astonishing what human nature can endure.” + +What is most astonishing to me is that human beings will bring each +other into such situations of agony; that men will not swear before God +that war shall cease; that, if they are princes, they do not break their +swords; and, if they have no other power, that they do not, in thought +and words and deeds, devote themselves to the one passionate cry, +“Disarm! Disarm!” + +I remember that in a barn, where we found a heap of wounded and dead who +had been forgotten there for more than a week, my poor strength finally +forsook me and I swooned away. + +When my consciousness returned I found myself in a railway car, Dr. +Bresser sitting beside me. He was bringing me home. I had not found my +husband—thank God I had not found him among those terrible scenes—and a +faint hope took possession of my heart that some news of him was +awaiting me in Grumitz. + + * * * * * + +Whatever the future held for me in sorrow or joy, it would never be able +to blot out the memory of the gigantic misery which I had witnessed, and +I was resolved that I should cry it into the ears of my human brothers +and sisters until they should no longer look upon war as a fatality, but +as an unspeakable crime. + +I slept nearly the entire way to Vienna; at the station my father met +me, embraced me silently, and said to the Doctor:— + +“How can I thank you for taking this crazy young woman under your +protection——” + +“I must be off. Put the young woman to bed. Do not scold her, she has +been terribly shaken. Give her orange-flower water and rest. Good-bye.” + +We picked our way through the long rows of ambulance waggons and +carriages to our own conveyance. I had only one question on my lips, but +had not the courage to ask it till we were started: “Any news from +Frederick?” + +“Not up to yesterday, when I came here in answer to the telegram to meet +you,” was the reply. “However, when we get home there may be news. How +silly of you to give us such a fright! To go right into the midst of +those savage enemies and needle-guns—the worst might have happened; but +never mind, the doctor said I should not scold you.” + +“How is my boy, my Rudolf?” + +“He is crying for you, and hunting all over the place. But you seem +strangely indifferent about the rest of us.” + +“How are they all? Has Conrad written?” + +“The family is all well, and a letter came from Conrad yesterday. So +Lilli is happy, and you, too, will see Tilling back all safe and sound. +There is nothing good to report from the political centre. Have you +heard of the great calamity?” + +“I have seen and heard nothing but calamity and misery.” + +“Oh, beautiful Venice has been given—handed over on a platter—to the +intriguing Louis Napoleon, and in spite of winning the victory of +Custozza. Venice as well as Lombardy lost! But that gives us peace in +the south, and Napoleon on our side, and a chance to revenge ourselves +yet on the Prussians. But you are not listening, so I will obey +Bresser’s orders, and see that you rest.” + +“Martha, Martha, he is here,” shouted my sisters from the chateau garden +as they rushed to meet us. + +“Who?” + +“Frederick.” + + * * * * * + +It was true. He had arrived the evening before, having been transported +with other wounded from Bohemia. A slight bullet wound in the leg was +all, and he was never in danger. + +But joy was hardest of all to bear. The terrors of the day before did +not more completely rob me of my senses. I had to be lifted from the +carriage to bed, and for several hours lay in delirious unconsciousness. +When I found myself conscious in my own bed, I believed I had only +wakened from a terrible dream, and had never been away. My aunt recalled +me to realities:— + +“Quick, Martha, get up. Frederick is dying with impatience to see you.” + +“Frederick, Frederick.” All these days I had called this name with pain, +and now it was with a cry of joy. It was not a dream—I had been away, +had come back, and would see my husband. + +Alone I went to his room, and sank sobbing upon his breast:— + +“Frederick!” + +“Martha!” + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + Restored happiness—Prussians still press toward Vienna—War practically + over—Quiet country life—Military school—My only brother + Otto—Description of flying troops—Peace in sight—Victory of + Lyssa—Our plans of retirement—Conrad comes home—He describes his + enthusiasm for war. + + +Thus for the second time my beloved husband was restored to me from the +dangers of war. + +Who was I, that this tide of woe should have passed over and left me +safe and happy on the shore, when so many thousands had sunk beneath the +flood of misery? Happy indeed were those who were simple-hearted enough +to lift up their glance to heaven and express their deep gratitude to +the Almighty Guide, and feel that for this special blessing a divine +Providence had chosen them. Those who speak such gratitude think they +are humble, but they do not realise how arrogant and self-important they +really are. When I thought of the poor wretches and the broken hearts +and the mourning mothers and wives, I could not be so immodest as to +take all this as a favour sent from God to me. I remembered how our +housekeeper swept one day from a closet a swarm of ants. Fate had in +just such a way swept over the fields of Bohemia. The poor workers had +been ruthlessly scattered, crushed, and killed—only a few were unhurt. +In the case of the ants, would it seem reasonable and just to imagine +those few remaining ones would send up prayers of gratitude to the +housekeeper? + +However great was our joy of reunion, I could not unload the burden of +sorrow and suffering I had seen. Though I could not help and nurse and +endure like those other courageous women, yet I felt a compassion toward +my brother men that I could never drown in selfish contentment again. I +would settle this account with the world some day. + +Yet, though I could not feel triumphant and grateful, I could love with +a hundred fold more tenderness than ever before. “Oh, Frederick, +Frederick,” I would repeat with tears and caresses, “have I found you at +last?” + +“Yes, and you rushed off to find me and nurse me—was that not heroic and +foolish of you, Martha?” + +“Foolish, I agree. I imagined I heard you call. But heroic, no! If you +only could know how cowardly I was in the face of misery! If you had +been lying there I could have been brave. Such horrors as I have seen I +shall never forget. Oh, this world is so beautiful, and how can men make +it so terrible? A world in which we two can find such happiness and fill +with such unchanging love, how can any one spoil it by stirring up such +flames of hate to bring death and agony?” + +“I have seen horrible things too, Martha—one thing I shall never forget. +Who do you suppose sprang at me during our cavalry engagement at Sadowa? +Gottfried von Tessow.” + +“Aunt Cornelia’s son?” + +“Yes; he recognised me in time, and dropped his sword, which he held +ready to sink into my skull.” + +“Where was his duty? How could he spare his King’s and country’s enemy? +How dare he think first of friend or cousin?” + +“The poor boy! His arm dropped, and suddenly a sabre swung from the +officer next to me, who wished to defend my life——” and Frederick +covered his face with his hands. + +“Killed,” I asked, shuddering. He nodded. + +“Mamma, mamma!” came from the next room, and Lilli appeared with my +little Rudolf. I rushed to him, and eagerly pressed him to me. “Ah, +poor, poor Aunt Cornelia.” + + * * * * * + +It looked as though the war was practically over. The quarrel with +France and Italy ceased when Austria abandoned Venice. Prussia offered +liberal terms, and our emperor was anxious lest Vienna, his capital, +should be besieged. Prussia’s other German victories, and the entry into +Frankfort, awoke a certain admiration which success always brings, and +imbued even the Austrians with the feeling that Prussia might be +destined to perform a certain historical mission in her victories. + +The words “truce” and “peace” became contagious, and one could almost +count upon their coming true, in the same way as war threats gave rise +to war. My father admitted that the needle-gun had exhausted our ranks. +He did not wish to contemplate a march on Vienna, which meant the +destruction of his estate in Grumitz. That would have been too much for +even his bellicose spirit. His confidence in Austria’s invincibility was +sadly shaken, and in common with the rest of mortals he felt it was best +to put a stop to the run of luck, for no doubt some day the tide would +turn with an opportunity for vengeance. Vengeance follows vengeance! +Every war leaves one side defeated with the belief that the next war +will give them satisfaction! And so one struggle invites and demands the +next—where will it end? How can justice ever be established if in +punishing an old wrong another is committed? Can one obliterate +ink-stains with ink, or oil-spots with oil? Yet they say nothing but +blood can wash out blood. + +At Grumitz a gloom settled over every one. The villagers prepared for +the coming of the Prussians, hiding their possessions. Even our family +silver was secreted. We read and talked of nothing but the war. Lilli +had heard nothing from Conrad for days. My father’s patriotism was +deeply wounded, and though Frederick and I were blissfully happy in our +reunion, yet the unhappiness of the rest affected us painfully. Over a +letter from Aunt Cornelia we shed bitter tears for she had not yet +learned of her only son’s death. + +As we sat all together in the evening there was no music or cheerful +chatter, no jokes or games, only the repetition of stories of woe and +death. + +Any possibility of the prolongation of the war filled my brother Otto +with enthusiasm, for in that event the seniors of the military academy +had been promised to be called into the service. He longed for this +privilege—straight from the military school into the battle-field. Just +as a girl graduate longs for her first ball, for which she has been +taught to dance, and the light and music, so the young cadet welcomes +his first engagement in the great artillery dance for which he has been +learning to shoot. + +Frederick and I had decided that upon the declaration of Peace he would +resign from the army, and that under no circumstances would our son be +educated at school where the whole education was bent upon awakening in +boys the thirst for military glory. I questioned my brother Otto, and +found that in the schools they taught that war was a necessary evil (at +least acknowledging, in the spirit of the age, that it is an evil), at +the same time the chief incentive to all the noblest manly +virtues—courage, endurance, and self-sacrifice. Through war comes the +highest glory to men and the greatest progress to civilisation. +Alexander, Cæsar, and Napoleon, conquerors and empire builders, were to +be regarded as the supreme types of human exaltation. War’s successes +and benefits were described in high colours, but its wretched results +were piously ignored. There was complete silence as to the barbarity, +degeneration, and ruin which it brought. + +I remembered my own girlish enthusiasm for war, and could hardly blame +my brother that he looked upon a possible call to battle with +impatience. + +I offered one day to read the report of a retreat of our army, and Otto +impatiently said, “I would rather not hear it. If it were the enemy +retreating that would be different.” + +“Retreats are generally passed over in silence,” remarked Frederick. + +But my father hastily added, “A well-ordered retreat is not a flight. +Why, in ’49——” + +But I knew the old story of ’49, and headed it off by beginning to +read:— + + About four o’clock our troops began to retreat. We surgeons were + caring for several hundred wounded, when suddenly the cavalry broke in + on us. A general rush brought on tremendous confusion of artillery, + cavalry, infantry, and baggage, all joining in the flight. Men, horse, + and waggons were mingled together. We were swept from our work. They + shouted to us, “Save yourselves!” as the shell burst overhead. We were + carried forward by the surging mass, we knew not whither—— + +“Enough! enough!” cried the two girls. + +“The censor of the press should stop such stuff from appearing,” +exclaimed my father angrily. “It takes away all pride in the profession +of war.” + +“Yes, if they should destroy all joy in war it would be such a pity,” I +said in an undertone. + +“At least,” continued my father, “those who take part in a flight ought +to be quiet about it—it is no honour. The rascal who shouted ‘Save +yourselves!’ ought to be shot. A coward raises a yell and thousands of +brave men are demoralised and run with him.” + +“And in the same way,” responded Frederick, “when some brave fellow +shouts ‘Forward!’ a thousand cowards sweep after him, inspired with his +courage. Men cannot be called either cowardly or brave, for every one +has his moments of strength and weakness. When crowded together we move +as a herd, dependent upon the mind of our fellows. One man rushes, +shouting ‘Hurrah!’ and the rest do the same. Another drops his gun and +runs and the rest follow. In each case it is the same impulse, yet in +the one case they are praised for courage and in the other blamed for +cowardice. Bravery and fear are not fixed qualities, neither are joy and +sorrow: they are merely different states of mind. In my first campaign I +was drawn into such a wild confusion of flight. The official reports +called it a well-ordered retreat, but it was, in fact, a complete riot. +We rushed madly on, without orders, panting and shrieking with despair, +the enemy goading us with bullets. This is one of the most horrible +phases of war, when men are no longer gallant soldiers but beasts, and +hunt each other as prey; the pursuer becomes a blood-drunken savage and +the pursued is filled with the delirium of terror like a poor animal at +bay. All the sentiments of patriotism, ambition, and noble deeds with +which he has been educated for the battle are forgotten—he is merely +possessed with the instinct for self-preservation and filled with the +wildest paroxysms of terror.” + +Frederick’s recovery progressed, even as the feverishness of the outer +world lessened, and daily we heard more of peace. The Prussians advanced +without obstacle, and surely and slowly approached Vienna, passing +through the City of Brunn, where they had already been given the keys. +But their march was more like a military promenade than an activity of +war, and by July 26 the preliminaries of peace were announced. + +Another political event of the day was that Austria had, at last, joined +the Geneva Convention of the Red Cross. + +“Does that satisfy you?” asked my father as he read the news aloud. “You +call war barbarism, but you see it also progresses with civilisation and +becomes more humane. I am in favour of all these efforts to relieve the +wounded. Even from the stand-point of statesmanship it is wiser, for it +is well that the sick should be made fit for service again.” + +“You are right, papa. The important thing is that they be made useful +material for future battles. But no Red Cross can alleviate the agonies +I have witnessed. With multiplied men and means they could not conjure +away the results of one battle——” + +“Not conjure it away, but mitigate it—what we cannot prevent we should +seek to mitigate.” + +“For what I have seen there is no mitigation. We should turn the rule +about: what we cannot mitigate we ought to prevent.” + +That war must cease was daily becoming a fixed idea with me—and that +every human being should work to this end. The scenes I had witnessed +after the great battle haunted me, especially at night, when I would +awake with the most terrible oppression of heart and pricking of +conscience just as if I were being commanded to stop it. And only when +fully awake would I realise my entire incapacity to stem such a tide—as +well might I face the swelling waves of the sea, and command them to dry +up. + +Frederick and I had made very definite plans for the future. At the +close of the war he was to resign, and we would retire to some small +country place, and live with his pension and my allowance in a simple +way. + +Frederick intended to take up the study of international law and science +apart from its sentimental and utopian aspect, and make himself capable +of grasping the practical side of all these ideas. He felt that the +world was coming into a new era of thought, and he desired to lead his +life into these lines along with our domestic pleasures. + +We had not communicated our thoughts to my father, who had quite other +ambitions for our future. + +“You will be a colonel at a very early age, Tilling,” he said one day, +“and in ten years you will certainly be a general. A fresh war will +certainly give you the command of an entire corps, and you may even +reach the rank of commander-in-chief, who knows. It may come to your lot +to restore the glory of the arms of Austria, which is for the moment +under a cloud. When once we adopt the needle-gun or some more effective +weapon we shall soon have the best of these Prussian gentlemen.” + +“Who knows,” I suggested, “we may even make it up with the Prussians and +become their allies.” + +My father shrugged his shoulders. “If women would only keep out of +politics! Our honour and our position as a Power of Europe demand that +we should punish these insolent braggarts, and take back the states +which they have annexed. What! friendship with these dastardly enemies! +Never! unless they come and humbly beg for it.” + +“In that event,” remarked Frederick, “we would set our feet upon their +necks. Alliances are only sought with those whom we fear or need as a +protection against a common foe. In statecraft egotism is the ruling +motive.” + +“Yes, indeed,” my father replied, “when that ego represents our own +fatherland everything else is secondary.” + +“We can but wish,” replied Frederick, “that communities may adopt the +same rules of behaviour as is demanded of individuals, which does away +with the law of the fist and the vulgar self-seeking, and declares that +our own interests are best advanced when we are in harmony with the +interests of others.” + +“What’s that?” asked my father, with his hand to his ear, but Frederick +wisely dropped the discussion. + + * * * * * + + I shall arrive at Grumitz to-morrow at one o’clock. + + CONRAD. + +The delight with which this dispatch was received by Lilli can be +imagined. No welcome is so loving and gracious as that given to him who +returns from war. Naturally he would have preferred to return +victoriously, to have aided in conquering for his emperor, but it was +honour enough to have fought at all—and to be among the fallen was a +specially glorious fate. Otto said that in the military academy every +one who was left dead on the field was specially inscribed in the roll +of honour, and the more ancestors one could boast as having fallen in +battle, the prouder were the descendants, and the less value should they +place upon their own lives. To show one’s appreciation of such ancestors +need one actively and passively rejoice in all kinds of bloodshed in +war? + +Perhaps it is better that so long as war exists there should be plenty +that find pleasure and inspiration in it. Alas! this class is daily +growing less, while the armies are daily increasing. Where will it +finally lead? + +But Conrad did not think so far ahead, and my brother Otto was his +envious admirer—of the hussar uniform, the scar that decorated his chin, +which he got in passing through a rain of bullets—all this surrounded +him with a halo of glory. + +“I will admit it was an unfortunate campaign, but I have brought back +glorious memories of it.” + +“Oh, tell us, tell us!” Lilli and Otto cried. + +“The details are gone, but the whole lies behind me like a dream, for +powder gets into one’s head in such a strange way. The moment the order +comes to march, the intoxication and the fever begin, even at the very +moment of suffering the pain of farewell from loved ones. But when +surrounded by comrades, filled with the demand of patriotic duty, +marching with the bands playing and the flag fluttering, I would not +have turned back even to the arms of my sweetheart. Nor would I be +worthy of her if I did. One never doubts one is marching to victory. The +needle-guns, you say? Ah, they alone were the cause of our defeat—their +bullets fell upon us like hailstones. Also Benedek’s generalship was +poor. They should court-martial him. If I were ever general I should +play a forward game, ever advancing on the enemy. However, since the +Emperor did not put me in charge, the tactics were not my fault. We +officers and soldiers were ordered to fight, and fight we did. And that +was the glorious sensation of it. The anticipation, the suspense, +waiting for the order to charge—the consciousness that in the next +moment we should be creating history—the delight in one’s own courage, +with Death to the right and left—bidding this awful mystery defiance——” + +“Just like poor Gottfried Tessow,” murmured Frederick to me. “Of course +it is all from the same teaching.” + +Conrad continued eagerly: “One’s heart beats higher, one’s pulse +quickens, there awakes—that is the peculiar ecstasy of it all—there +wakes the mad delight in battle, the ferocious hatred of the foe, the +blazing passion for one’s menaced fatherland—and on we rush, and hewing +down becomes a mad revelry. One feels as if transported to another +world. Ordinary feelings have changed to their opposites. Life itself is +our prey; to slay is the law. The only motives that do not disappear in +the conflict are magnificent heroism and self-sacrifice. To this add +powder, smoke, and battle-cries. It is a sensation unparalleled—there is +nothing like it—except perhaps a lion or tiger hunt, when one stands +face to face with maddened beasts.” + +“Yes,” Frederick added, “while man was still subject to attack from two +or four-legged savages, to protect his life by killing the latter was a +delight. The hereditary thirst for blood has not completely died out of +civilised man, and since in Europe we have no longer beast nor barbarism +to fight, we create an artificial enemy for ourselves, and the hunt goes +thus: You here, have red coats, and over there blue coats. Three claps, +and presto, the red coats are changed into tigers and the blue coats +become wild beasts to them. Again attention! Trumpets blow, one, two, +three; drums beat; now begin; eat each other up. And if 100,000 such +beasts eat each other up at X——, history records the famous X—— battle. +Then the men who clapped their hands assemble about a green table in +X——, lay down their maps, rearrange the frontier lines, haggle over who +shall pay the bills, sign a paper which figures in history as the Peace +of X——. The magicians clap again three times, and order the red coats +and the blue coats, ‘Now, dear children, embrace each other again as men +and brethren.’” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + The Prussians at Grumitz—Otto gets into trouble—A dinner with friend + and foe—Rosa and Prince Henry are engaged—The Prussians leave and + cholera breaks out in our midst—Servants are the first victims, + then sisters—The lover’s suicide—The only son dies, father follows + him, cursing war. + + +The Prussian troops were quartered everywhere about Grumitz, and the +villagers were possessed with terror of the hated enemy, whose name +became the synonym of every evil, and when the quartermaster approached +to arrange quarters for his men they trembled as if the wolves were upon +them. An occasional patriot sent a rifle bullet from some place of +hiding after the foe, and his quick execution forced the villagers to +suppress their hatred. Much to the surprise of the villagers, when they +quartered the soldiers, they found the “enemy” was usually a very +good-natured friendly lot, who punctually paid their bills. + +I was sitting one morning near a big window in the library, which gave a +wide view over the surrounding country. A troop of horsemen suddenly +came in sight. “Prussians coming for quarters,” I thought. Seizing the +glass, I saw a group of possibly ten surrounding what appeared to be a +hunter. If the prisoner had fired upon them there was little hope for +him. I ran to the library and called my aunt and father. + +“The Prussians, the Prussians!” I exclaimed breathlessly. + +“The devil take them,” my father exclaimed, while Aunt Marie rushed to +make final preparations for the enemy, whom for several days she had +expected. + +“Where is Otto?” I asked. “We must warn him from speaking out his hatred +of Prussia.” + +“Otto went out early to hunt birds. And how fine the youngster did look +in his new hunting-suit. How proud I was of him.” + +The house was suddenly all in an uproar of loud voices and hasty steps. +Franz the footman, pale with terror, flew into the room, and as though +he were shouting “Fire!” called out “The Prussians, the Prussians, and, +your Excellency, they have a prisoner—your son—who is said to have fired +on them.” + +My father, with an exclamation of alarm, hurried down the steps. His +heart stood still. The situation before us was terrible; I dared not +think of the conclusion. But it was soon all over, for father returned +with Otto with the explanation that in crossing the field he had +stumbled and accidentally discharged his rifle. They had seized him, but +learning who he was, had brought him to the house, and had accepted his +explanation. + +“It would be impossible for an honourable soldier, and the son of a +soldier, to act like an assassin,” they said, as they released him. + +Later, I asked Otto if he was really innocent. + +He answered, “I hope in the future to have plenty of opportunities to +shoot a few of them, but never would I be guilty without offering my own +breast to their bullets.” + +“Bravo, my boy,” cried my father. But I did not share the enthusiasm. +Words which tossed about and cheapened human life so boastfully had a +most repellent sound to me. + +We had as our self-invited guests two colonels and six subordinate +officers, and with the cellar full of provisions, and comfortable beds, +they were treated with every courtesy given to friends. + +The Prussians bore distinguished names, and among them was a Prince +Henry of the house of Ruess. Our enemies seemed to be very courtly +gentlemen, with the most approved conventional manners of the best +society. It is true that in these days we do not war with Huns and +Vandals, but it is slightly hard to realise that the other side can +possibly stand for the same civilisation as our own. + +“O God, thou who protectest those who trust in Thee, hear us as we pray +for Thy gracious mercy. Protect us from the rage of our enemies, that we +may praise Thee to all eternity.” + +The priest in Grumitz prayed thus daily. Certainly these elegant, +gentlemanly fellows could hardly be considered as raging enemies as they +took the ladies in to dinner. Perhaps God had this time listened to the +prayers of the other side, and had protected them from our “rage”—or +perhaps it was the needle-guns which had done it. At any rate it was a +queer pious jumble to me. As we chatted with the stately colonel and the +tall lieutenant, mention of war was shunned with the greatest caution on +both sides. The strangers were treated as though they were guests +travelling for pleasure, and the real state of things was never hinted +at—that they were quartered with us as conquerors. + +The gentlemen enjoyed the soft summer moonlight on the terraces—the same +moonlight which so lately had lighted up the mouldering corpses against +the churchyard wall. And under this soft light the Prussian Prince Henry +lost his heart to our beautiful Rosa; and to our astonishment my father +made no objection, so the engagement was announced to the family. + +I had believed that my father’s hatred of the Prussians would make it +impossible for him to accept one as a son-in-law, but he separated +altogether the individual from the nation. We often hear people protest: +“I hate them as a nation, not as individuals.” This is quite as sensible +as if one were to say: “I hate wine as a drink, but the drops I swallow +with pleasure.” But popular sayings are not expected to be rational. + +Perhaps the possibility of an alliance for his daughter with a princely +house flattered my father, at any rate he said yes with apparent +pleasure. + +But Otto rebelled at the idea: “How would it be should war break out +again, and I were obliged to chase my brother-in-law out of the +country?” However, he was soon converted to the famous theory of the +difference between nations and individuals. I confess I never could +understand it. + + * * * * * + +How quickly happy surroundings swallow up misery, and how soon are +catastrophes forgotten! Gradually the pictures of terrors which I had +experienced in the few previous weeks faded from my thought. I realised +this and my conscience pricked me at times when the laments of the +villagers reached us. Many had lost their worldly goods, others their +friends; reports came of financial troubles, and it was even rumoured +that the cholera had shown itself among the Prussian troops. One case +had also occurred in our village, but we comforted ourselves that it was +of no consequence. + +“Do you realise, Martha,” Rosa said to me one day, “what a blessed thing +this war has been to me—though I know it is something terrible. I should +never have been so happy and met Henry, and he—where would he have found +such a love as mine?” + +“I wish I might think it with you, Rosa, and believe that your two happy +hearts might outweigh the many thousands of broken ones.” + +“Oh, we must not think of the individual losses when the war brings such +great gain to the conquerors and the whole nation. You should listen to +Henry. He says the Prussians have won a grand result, and the entire +army is enthusiastic for its generals. This victory has done so much for +German civilisation and commerce. He says the prosperity of Germany—I +forget the word—its historical mission—but you should hear him talk +about it.” + +“I should think he would have other matters than politics to talk with +you.” + +“Oh, he does talk about everything, and I sympathise with it all and am +so proud and happy that he has played such a glorious part in this war +for his King and country.” + +“And carries you off as his booty,” I replied. + +The future son-in-law quite suited my father, and certainly he was a +fine young fellow. He gave him his blessing with all manner of protests. + +“My dear Ruess, you suit me exactly as a man, as a soldier, and as a +prince”—this he repeated in manifold expressions—“but as a Prussian +officer, I maintain the right—family matters aside—to wish that Austria +may fully revenge herself for this victory which you have snatched from +her. Separating politics from personal questions, I hope I may live to +see my son take the field against Prussia. Old as I am I would be +willing to accept a command to fight William I. and humble the arrogant +Bismarck. I acknowledge the military readiness of the Prussian army and +its strategic leaders, and would think it quite a matter of course if in +the next campaign your own battalion were compelled to storm our capital +city, and even burn down your father-in-law’s house, in short——” + +I interrupted: “In short, your confusion of sentiments is frightful—your +inconsistencies are as intermingled as are the infusoria in a drop of +putrid water. You fill one with repugnance through your paradoxical +conceptions—to hate the whole and love its parts; to think one way as a +citizen and the opposite as a man. No, let us have it the one way or the +other. I prefer the savage Indian’s way. He never thought of anybody as +an individual, but wanted the scalp of every member of the other tribe.” + +“Martha, my daughter, do not give vent to such savage sentiments, they +are quite unsuitable to the times, which have grown so refined and +humane.” + +“Rather say that our boasted civilisation is a lie upon our inherited +barbarisms. What right have we to claim to be humane until we cast off +the savage custom of making war? Do you call your speech to Prince Henry +sensible where you assure him that you love him as a son-in-law and hate +him as a Prussian; value him highly as a man and detest him as a +lieutenant-colonel; that you bless him as a father and in the same +breath grant he has the right to fire upon you if necessary? Forgive me, +father, but can you talk thus and call it common sense?” + +“What did you say? I did not catch a word.” The convenient deafness had +come on again at the right moment. + + * * * * * + +After a few days the guests departed, and all was quiet again at +Grumitz. + +The marriage of my two sisters had been postponed until October. Prince +Henry planned to quit the service, having earned sufficient honours in +the glorious campaign. He would retire on his laurels and on his +estates. + +The two pairs of lovers parted painfully but joyfully, content in the +certainty of their future happiness. + +Certain happiness? There is in reality no such thing, least of all in +times of war, for then misfortunes swarm thick as gnats, and the chance +that one may be standing on the spot which may be spared the descending +scourge is at best a small one. + +True, the war was over and peace concluded. A word had been enough to +let loose all the terrors of hostility, and a word should also suffice +to relieve us from the results. Hostilities were suspended, but what can +suspend the persistent consequences? The seed of future war had been +sown, and the fruit of the war just closed ripened still further into +want, demoralisation, and plague. To stop and think about it was now +useless, for the cholera was raging throughout the country. + +One morning the Vienna paper, opened at breakfast, brought the following +item:— + + The cholera death-rate increases. The military and civil hospitals + report many cases of genuine Asiatic cholera. Every measure is taken + to stop its spread. + +I was about to read these lines aloud, when Aunt Marie exclaimed, as she +read a letter from a friend in the neighbourhood:— + +“Dreadful! Betty writes that in their house two persons have died of the +cholera, and that her husband is ill.” + +“Your Excellence, the schoolmaster wishes to speak to you.” + +The teacher entered, looking pale and bewildered. + +“Count Althaus, I must report that the school is closed, for yesterday +two children were taken ill and to-day they are dead.” + +“The cholera!” we cried out. + +“There is no doubt. There is great terror in the village, and the +doctors who have come from the town say that the horrible disease has +taken hold of the entire population.” + +We looked round in dismay, pale and speechless. Here, again, was the +frightful enemy, Death; and each in turn saw his bony hand stretched +over the head of some loved one. + +“We must go away!” said Aunt Marie. + +“Where?” replied the schoolmaster, “for the disease is spreading +everywhere.” + +“Across the frontier.” + +“Across the frontier——” + +“But quarantine will be set up, and you will not be allowed to pass.” + +“Oh, how terrible! will they prevent people leaving a region of +pestilence?” + +“Certainly. Healthy neighbourhoods must protect themselves against +infection.” + +“Then we will remain and await God’s will,” answered my father with deep +emotion. “You, Marie, who believe so strongly in destiny, I cannot +understand why you should wish to run away. You say the fate of every +one will overtake him. Yet I would rather have you and the children go +away. Otto, you must eat no more fruit.” + +“I will write to Bresser,” said Frederick, “and have him send us +disinfectants.” + + * * * * * + +What happened immediately after this I cannot tell in detail, for this +breakfast scene was the last I found in the red book. I must depend upon +my memory for the next few days’ happenings. + +Terror possessed us all. The sword of Damocles hung over each head, and +is it not a horrible thought to feel that one’s friends and even oneself +should be so helplessly and uselessly destroyed? In such a case to stop +thinking is the better part of valour. + +Flee? The idea possessed me on account of the safety of Rudolf. My +father insisted upon the family taking flight, and the following day was +decided upon. He meant to remain and face the danger with the villagers. +Frederick declared he would remain, and I would not leave his side. + +The two girls, Otto, and Rudolf, were to go with Aunt Marie—but whither? +That was not settled at once. At first to Hungary—and then farther. The +young people busily flew to their preparations and packing. To die just +as life was beginning to unfold its happiness to them would be a tenfold +death. + +The boxes were brought to the dining-room that all might work together. +As I brought Rudolf’s clothes in my arms my father demanded, “Why does +not the maid do that?” + +“I do not know where Netti is hiding. I ring and she does not come.” + +He despatched another servant to find her, who in a short time returned +with an anxious countenance: + +“Netti is in her room. She is—she is——” + +“Speak out!” shouted my father, “what is she?” + +“She is—already—quite—black.” + +A shriek came from every lip. The plague, the horrible plague, was in +our very house. What was to be done? Could one leave the poor girl to +die alone? But was it not certain death to whoever approached her and +those whom this person might afterwards approach? It was as if we were +surrounded by murderers or flames, and death grinned at us from every +corner and followed every step. + +My father ordered the doctor to be fetched immediately. “And you, +children, hurry your departure.” + +“Oh, I feel so sick!” exclaimed Lilli, turning pale and clutching a +chair. + +We all sprang toward her. “What ails you?” “Don’t be silly!” “It is only +fear.” + +We dared not think, but hurried her to her room, and soon she showed +most aggravated symptoms of the dread disease. This made the second case +of cholera in the castle in one day. + +It was terrible to see her suffer and to be unable to help. Frederick +did everything possible to relieve her, but nothing availed. When the +attack subsided cramps followed, which seemed to make every bone crack, +tearing the quivering frame with agony. The poor victim tried to moan +but could not—her voice failed, her skin turned cold and blue, and the +breathing difficult. + +My father strode up and down wringing his hands. Once I stood before him +and dared to say: “Father, this is war! Will you not curse it now?” But +he shook me off without reply. + +After ten hours of suffering, Lilli died. Netti died before, alone in +her room, for we were all occupied with Lilli, and no servant would +venture to approach one who had “turned black.” + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile Dr. Bresser had arrived, and took command of the household, +bringing with him every known means of relief. I could have kissed his +hand. + +The two bodies were carried to a distant chamber, and strictest measures +of disinfection were taken. The odour of carbolic acid to this day +brings back the memory of those terrible days. + +The intended flight was a second time set on foot. On the day of Lilli’s +death the carriage stood waiting to carry away Aunt Marie, Rosa, Otto, +and my son—but the coachman declared himself unable to drive, seized by +the invisible destroyer. + +“Then I will drive myself,” said my father. “Quick, is everything +ready?” + +Rosa came forward and said, “Drive on! I must stay and follow Lilli.” + +It proved the case. The next sunrise found the second daughter in the +vault of death. And in the horror of it all our departure was given up. + +In my anguish a sudden scorn seized me for the gigantic folly which had +brought on all this misery. When Rosa’s corpse had been carried out my +father sank on his knees with his head against the wall. + +I seized him by the arm. “Father, this is war!” No answer. “Father, do +you hear? Will you at last curse war?” + +He sprang to his feet. “You bring me back to my duty as a soldier, I +must not forget that my entire fatherland offers its sacrifice of blood +and tears.” + +“What benefit can come to the fatherland through the suffering and death +of its people? What gain through lost battles and the shortening of +these young lives? Oh, father, I plead with you—curse war! See from the +window the black coffins—they are for Lilli and Rosa, and perhaps there +will be a third—and why, why?” + +“Because God wills it, my child.” + +“God—always God. All that folly and savagery—the wilful sin of +man—always hiding under this shield—God’s will!” + +“Do not blaspheme, Martha, even while the hand of a reproving God is +clearly visible.” + +The footman appeared, announcing that the carpenter refused to carry the +coffins into the chamber where the dead young countesses lay. + +“Then I will see to it myself,” said my father, and he strode to the +door. + + * * * * * + +The post brought nothing but sorrow—news of the ravages of the pest; +love-letters that would never be answered—for Prince Henry knew nothing +of what had happened. A letter to Conrad announcing Lilli’s sickness +brought him four days later to the castle. + +“Lilli!” he cried. “Is it true?” + +We nodded. He remained quiet, without shedding a tear, and softly said +to himself, “I have loved her all these years. I will go to the +churchyard. She waits for me.” + +He rushed out, and there upon her grave he shot himself. + +The war had carried off many an officer, so the tragedy of this indirect +death was quite blunted. Besides, this event was swallowed up by a +misfortune which sounded the deepest agonies of all our hearts. Otto, +the adored and only son, was in the clutch of the destroying angel. All +day, all night, with alternating hope and despair, he suffered. + +When all was over his father threw himself upon the body with such a +piercing shriek that it rang through the house. We had to tear them +apart, and for hours and hours the old man poured out his cries of +anguish—giving vent to groans and roars, and rattling shrieks of +desperation. His son, his Otto, his pride, his all! + +After this outbreak he succumbed to a dumb apathy. He lay as one +motionless and unconscious, and was put to bed. + +When he came to himself, Frederick and I and Aunt Marie were at his +bedside. He could not speak, and was struggling for breath. Then he +began to shake and toss about, as if in the last symptoms of the +cholera, though he had shown no other sign. At last he uttered one +word—“Martha.” + +I fell on my knees beside him. “Father, my poor, dear father!” + +He lifted his hands over my head. + +“Your wish—is fulfilled. I curse—I cur——” He sank back. All was over. + +“How dreadful,” said Aunt Marie, after we had buried him, “he died with +a curse on his lips.” + +“Console yourself,” I answered. “If only that curse would fall from +every lip—what a blessing to humanity.” + + * * * * * + +Such was the cholera week at Grumitz. In seven days ten of our group +were taken. In the village over eighty died. Stated thus coldly it makes +a scarcely noteworthy report. Told as a story it seems an extravagant +tale. But it is neither a dry fact nor an overdrawn romance. It is a +cold, palpable, sad reality. + +I stood resigned in daily expectation that death would take the rest of +us. I actually wept in anticipation of it. Yet in the thought of their +deliverance I still had sweet moments. And as this hope and compassion +and love still glowed in us as individuals, might it not some day come +to dominate the general relations of the whole human family? The future +belongs to Goodness. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + Summer in Switzerland—Researches in International + law—Seclusion—Frederick enters the peace army—Off to Berlin—The + battle-field of Sadowa—Francis Joseph weeps for his dead soldiers. + + +We spent the remainder of the summer in Geneva, Dr. Bresser having urged +us to flee from the infected country and the scene of so much sorrow. +The depth of apathy and resignation which had overcome me made flight +seem almost useless and distasteful to me; besides, I did not wish to +leave the graves of my family. But the doctor conquered my objections +when he appealed to my duty as a mother, and begged me to take little +Rudolf out of danger. + +We chose Switzerland because Frederick wished to become acquainted with +the men who had formed the Red Cross society. He wished to be on the +spot, and inform himself as to their object and further aims. + +He had resigned from the military service, and took a half-year’s leave +of absence awaiting its acceptance. + +I was now rich—very rich. The entire family being gone—all was mine. + +“Look, Frederick,” I said, as the notary delivered the title-deeds to +me, “what would you say if I should praise the war because it has +brought all this advantage to me?” + +“Then you would not be my Martha. I see you are thinking of the +heartlessness which can rejoice over material prosperity won by the +destruction of another’s good. Individuals are ashamed of such feelings, +but nations rather delight in each other’s destruction, and dynasties +openly and vaingloriously admit them. Thousands have perished in untold +misery—we have ruined them to win for ourselves territory and power. So +let us thank Heaven for our victories!” + +We lived in quiet retirement in a little villa, close to the shores of +the lake. I was still so overwhelmed with what I had passed through that +I had no desire to meet strangers. My sympathetic husband quite +understood my desire to weep out the sorrow of my torn heart in +solitude. It is quite fitting that those who have been so mercilessly +thrown out of this beautiful world should have some sacred time allotted +them in the memory of those who have been so cruelly robbed of their +companionship. + +Frederick often went into the city, making his study of the Red Cross. +Of this period I have no daily record, and what Frederick told me of +those days has nearly passed out of my recollection. My one impression +of this time, given me by every element of our environment, was that of +quiet, ease, and the cheerful activity of the neighbourhood. Every one +seemed so peaceful and good-humoured. Hardly an echo of the war reached +us. It was already alluded to as an anecdote of history which had +changed the map but slightly. The terrific cannonading in the Bohemian +fields was an interesting episode, a little more than a new Wagnerian +opera, perhaps. History had recorded it in its pages, but it was soon +forgotten by those who lived outside the stricken boundaries. We saw +mostly French newspapers, and they were filled with the latest +happenings in literature, drama, music, and the coming exposition. The +sharp duel between the Prussians and Austrians was an old story. What +happened three months ago and thirty miles away, what is not in the Now +and the Here, soon slips out of the memory and loses its hold on the +heart. + +October found us in Vienna settling the many affairs of my inheritance, +and preparing for a considerable stay in Paris. The projected exposition +offered Frederick the best opportunity to carry out his idea of calling +a congress together with the idea of forming a league of peace. + +“The professions of arms I have laid down through my convictions gained +in war. Now I enlist in the army of peace. Truly, it is a small army +with no weapons save love and justice, but every great thing must have +its small beginnings.” + +“Ah,” I sighed, “it is a hopeless work. What can a single man do against +this stronghold, backed by centuries of custom and millions of men?” + +“What can I do? I cannot foolishly hope personally to bring about such a +revolution. I simply remarked that I would join the ranks of the peace +army. I did not suppose as a soldier that _I_ could save my country or +conquer a province. No, the single man can only _serve_. Still more he +_must_ serve. One inspired with a purpose cannot help working for it. He +stakes his life for it, even though he knows how little this one life +counts. He serves because he must. Not the State alone demands +allegiance; sincere, strong convictions also oblige compulsory service.” + +Before going to Paris we planned a visit to Aunt Cornelia in Berlin. We +broke the journey at Prague in order to spend “All Souls’ Day” on the +battle-field of Sadowa. + +War will have its charm so long as historians persist in setting up for +the leaders monuments of glory built out of the ruins of battle, and +crown the Titans of public murder with laurels. Tear away the mask of +glory and show its horror, and who would be madly ambitious enough to +grasp for such fame? + +It was twilight when we arrived, and sadly and silently we proceeded to +the dread battle-field, filled with depression and grief. The snow was +falling, the bleak trees were swaying in the wailing November wind. Tier +after tier the graves stretched out before us, but not as in the quiet, +restful churchyard. These were not the graves of aged and weary pilgrims +of life gone to their eternal rest, but of young men in the height of +their youthful vigour, exulting in the fulness of their manhood, full of +rich expectation in the future. Violently and mercilessly they had been +hurled into the ditch and the dust of the earth shovelled over them. Who +counts the broken hearts, the mangled bleeding limbs, the cries of +despair, the flooding tears, the hopeless prayers, the agonising pains, +the shrieks, the maddening submission to death—all is entombed in the +eternal silence. + +We were not alone on this burial field. The day had brought many both +from the home country and the enemy’s country, both sought their loved +ones in these acres of death. For hours we had heard the sobs and +murmurs of lament, for many mourners had come with us on the train. + +I heard a poor, heart-broken father say, “Three sons have I lost—each +one more noble and better than the other—oh, my three sons!” I can hear +it yet above all the other lamentings for fathers, husbands, and +brothers which were poured out around us. + +All about us black-robed figures knelt, and some, with sobs of pain, +staggered from place to place hopelessly searching their dead. But few +single graves were to be seen, and few were marked by stone or +inscription. + +Everywhere the earth was heaped up, and we knew that even under our feet +the soldiers’ bodies were mouldering. + +Many officers and soldiers wandered among the other mourners. Evidently +they had shared in the terrible contest, and were now making this +pilgrimage to honour their fallen comrades. + +We went to that part of the field where the largest number of friends +and foes lay entombed together, in one enclosure. To this place the +majority of the pilgrims found their way, for here, naturally, they +might expect their lost loved ones to be buried. Around this spot they +set up their crosses and candles, and here they laid their wreaths and +flowers as they knelt and sobbed out their sorrowing hearts. + +A tall, slender man, of noble presence, in a general’s cloak, approached +this central burial ground. All gave way reverently to him, and in +hushed whispers I heard: “The Emperor.” + +Yes, it was Francis Joseph, the ruler of the country, the supreme war +lord, and he had come on this All Souls’ Day to offer his silent prayers +for the souls of his dead children, his fallen warriors. There he stood, +with his bowed head uncovered, in agonized and devoted homage before the +majesty of Death. He stood long and motionless in profound meditation. I +could not turn my eyes from his face. What thoughts were passing through +his soul, what sentiments oppressed his overwhelmed heart? I knew he had +a good and tender heart. I felt my mind yield to his thoughts, and I +felt that I was thinking as he was thinking as he stood there with bowed +head:— + +“You, my own poor, brave soldiers—dead ... and for what? We did not +conquer; and my Venice, too, is lost, ... so much is lost, and all your +young lives lost too. And you offered them so devotedly—for me. Oh, if I +could give them back, for I never desired this sacrifice! It was for +yourselves, your country, that you were led out into this war. Not +through me, although I was compelled to give the command. Not for me +have my subjects fought. No, I was called to the throne for their sakes, +and any hour I would have been ready to die for the good of my +people.... Oh, if I had but followed the impulse of my heart and never +said ‘Yes’ when all about me shouted ‘War! war!’ Yet, could I have +resisted? God is my witness that I could not. What impelled me I do not +fully realise, but I know the pressure was an irresistible force outside +me—from you—yourselves—my poor dead soldiers.... Oh, what have you not +suffered? And how sad—how sad it all is! And now you lie here—and on +other battle-fields, snatched away by shot and shell and grape and +sabres—by cholera and fever.... Oh, had I only said ‘No!’ And you, +Elizabeth, begged me to! Oh, if I had only said it! The thought that—is +unendurable that.... Oh, it is a wretched, imperfect world—too much +agony—too much woe!” + +As I watched him, thinking thus for him, my eyes searching his +features—just as I came to the “too much agony, too much woe”—he covered +his face with both hands and broke into tears. + +So passed All Souls’ Day of 1866 on the Sadowa battle-field. + + + + + BOOK V + TIME OF PEACE + + + + + CHAPTER I + + Visit to Berlin—Aunt Cornelia—Aunt Marie’s death—Vienna again—Politics + and conscription. + + +In Berlin there reigned an evident spirit of jubilation. Even the +useless street-loafer had an air of conscious victory. “We have given +the other fellows a good thrashing” seemed to give a certain air of +conscious victory to every one. Yet nearly every family mourned for some +never-to-be-forgotten dead which lay on the battle-fields of Germany and +Bohemia. + +I dreaded meeting Aunt Cornelia again, for Gottfried had been her idol, +her all; to measure her sorrow, I had only to fancy losing my Rudolf, if +he were a young man—no, I did not dare think it out. + +With beating hearts we entered Frau von Tessow’s house. Even in the +entrance the deep mourning of the house was felt. We were led into my +aunt’s bedroom, which she seldom quitted, except to go to church on +Sunday and for one hour each day, which she spent in Gottfried’s little +study. Here she took us, and showed us the letter which he had left on +his desk:— + + MY OWN DARLING MOTHER—I know that you will come here when I am gone + and find this letter. We have already parted, and it will please you + and surprise you to get these last words, so hopeful and cheerful. + Have courage, I shall be back. We are two undivided hearts which hang + on each other, and nothing can tear them apart. I prophesy that I + shall win stars and crosses in this fortunate campaign, and then come + home and make you a grandmother six times over. I kiss your hand, your + dear benign forehead, my most adored of all little mothers. + + YOUR GOTTFRIED. + +When I embraced the dear lady, we both broke into loud sobs. Frederick’s +eyes were wet as he silently pressed her to his heart. Tears were +sufficient words to express all we felt. + +Our visit was a most sorrowful one, but Frederick was able to give the +poor mother the self-same comfort he had brought to me, in assuring her +of the instantaneous and painless death of Gottfried. + + * * * * * + +We were suddenly called from Berlin by the dangerous illness of Aunt +Marie. Upon returning, we found her at the point of death. + +“It is my turn now,” she said, “but I am glad. Since my dear brother and +the three children were torn away, I have had no delight in life. It has +been a great comfort, my dear Martha, to know that you are happy, and +since your husband escaped the dangers of two wars and the cholera, it +is evident that you are destined to grow old together. Try to educate +our little Rudolf to be a good Christian and a good soldier, that his +grandfather in heaven may rejoice over him. I shall constantly pray for +you from above that you may live long and contented.” + +After three days of lingering, this last friend of my childhood passed +away, resigned, as she had lived, happy in the hope of heaven. She left +her small fortune to Rudolf, and appointed our old friend, the Cabinet +Minister, as trustee, and since business affairs kept us in Vienna for +some months we saw much of him. + +Twice a week he dined with us, and though he had now retired to private +life was still fond of discussing politics. Frederick tried to turn the +conversation away from political gossip, in which the other revelled +upon the subject of the rights of humanity. The old gentleman could not +follow Frederick, for he merely saw political science from the +stand-point of gaining an advantage, and not of giving right and justice +the first place. + +I usually sat near by with my needlework, but only listened. The old +statesman would hardly think it proper for a woman to mix into such deep +subjects. He little realised that I made it my business to record all +these discussions in my note-book. + +Frederick made no secret of his opinions, although he realised the +thankless part one plays in defending theories which are generally +thought to be impracticable and grotesque. + +“My dear Tilling, I have an important piece of news to-day,” said the +Minister one afternoon with an air of importance. “It is rumoured in +government circles that the ministry of war is recommending general +obligatory military service.” + +“What? the same system which before the war was so ridiculed?” + +“Yes, we did have a prejudice against it, but Prussia has shown its +advantages. From your enthusiastic moral, democratic, and liberal point +of view, it would seem the ideal thing to have every patriot give +himself to his fatherland for service, then ... if we had already +introduced conscription, could little Prussia have vanquished us?” + +“That simply means that with our added force we would have +counterbalanced the enemy’s forces. If conscription were introduced +generally how could it benefit anybody? The chess game of war would +simply be played with greater numbers. The proportion would be the same, +and the decision of victory would cost—instead of hundreds of thousands +of slaughtered—millions perhaps.” + +“But do you consider it fair that only a small part should be sacrificed +for the benefit of another class, who, chiefly because they are rich, +may stay at home? No, indeed; the new law will change all this—every one +must serve and none can buy his freedom from it. Besides, the educated +and intelligent make the finest material for soldiers.” + +“But the enemy will also have the educated class, both sides will suffer +by the loss of such priceless material—the intellect from which +civilisation is to gain its inventions, arts, and scientific +discoveries. Should they be set up as targets for the enemy’s bullets?” + +“Pshaw! What can rummaging of the scientists, the dreams of the artists +and inventors, help to advance the power of a nation?” + +“How can you say that!” exclaimed Frederick. + +“Besides, these men need spare but a short period from their research, +and a few years of strict discipline will do them good. In the present +state of things we must pay the blood tax, and it ought to be equally +shared.” + +“If through this it could be diminished, something would be gained—but +it is only increased. I fully hope the plan fails. No one can tell where +it will lead. Each Power will try to outdo the other, and we shall no +longer have armies, but armed nations. Men will be drawn more and more +into the service; the time will be lengthened, the costs will increase, +and without actual battle and bloodshed, nations will be thrown into +ruin, simply through their preparation for war.” + +“You look too far into the future, dear Tilling.” + +“One can never look too far ahead. We should think to the end in our +undertakings—were we not just now comparing war to a game of chess? It +is a poor player who only looks a single move ahead. Let us develop the +thought of conscription to the extreme measure—what if, after the limit +of number and age has been reached, a nation should recruit its women +too? The others would imitate it. And then the children—and the rest +would imitate it. And in the armaments, in the instruments of +destruction, where would be the limits? Oh, it is a savage blind leap +into the dark.” + +“You are a rash dreamer, Tilling. If war were preventable, it would +indeed be a good thing, but since that is impossible, every nation must +prepare to win in the ‘struggle for existence,’ as your new-fangled +Darwinism calls it.” + +“And if I did show you a practical way to wipe out war, you would +consider me only a silly faddist, riding the humanitarian hobby, as the +war party sneeringly calls it.” + +“There is no practical means of doing away with war so long as we have +to deal with human passions, rivalries, opposing interests, the +impossibility of agreeing on all questions——” + +“Such agreement is unnecessary,” interrupted Frederick. “Where +differences arise, courts of justice, not the sword, can decide.” + +“Sovereign states appeal to such a settlement? Never! Nor would the +people.” + +“The people? Rulers and statesmen are opposed, but never the +people—their love for peace is sincere, while the claim of the diplomats +is always hypocritical. More and more the people cry for peace as the +standing armies grow, for the halo of self-sacrifice will grow dim when +every man must serve. Besides, who are the enthusiasts for the glories +and dangers of war? Those who are safely outside them—the politicians, +the professors, the stay-at-homes. When their safety is threatened they +sing another song. Then more and more every one must look upon it with +horror, and that sense will grow when poets, thinkers, lovers of +humanity, timid people, when all these will, each from his own special +point of view, curse the wretched trade they have been forced into.” + +“However, they will be very careful to keep silent and not pass as +cowards, or fall out of favour with their superiors.” + +“Keep silent? Not always. I have kept silent for many years, but as I +speak, soon many will break out. When convictions possess one’s soul, it +speaks out. It took forty years for mine to find expression. It took +decades to ripen in me; perhaps the masses may need as many +generations—but the hour will come when they will at last speak out.” + + + + + CHAPTER II + + New Year’s reflections—Distrust between the French and Germans—Quiet + again—Paris—Napoleon’s plan for disarmament—Frederick’s work for + peace—A daughter born—Happiness and study—The gay world—War talk + again—Repose in Switzerland—Sylvia’s illness. + + +New Year, ’67! We celebrated it alone, my dearest Frederick and I, and +as the clock struck twelve, I sighed:— + +“Do you remember poor father’s toast last year at this very hour? I dare +not wish you a happy New Year. Behind the future there often lies +concealed so much that is terrible and which mortal wishes cannot +avert.” + +“Then let us to-night rather look back than toward the future. What you +have endured, my poor brave wife! So many loved ones you have buried—and +those days of horror on the battle-field in Bohemia!” + +“I shall never regret having seen those cruel sights. They make me able +to sympathise with my whole soul in your efforts.” + +“We must educate our Rudolf to continue in these ideas. Perhaps in his +lifetime these things may come to pass—hardly in ours. What a noise +there is upon the streets! They greeted the last New Year with as much +enthusiasm—and it brought such frightful suffering. How forgetful men +are!” + +“Do not scold them for forgetting. Some of our anguish is already +passing into the shadows, and I am filled with the happiness of the +present—what bliss to have you, my own love. We were not to speak of the +future; but what lies before us looks so good—we have love, unity, +riches, all that life has to offer. We will travel, see the world and +all that is beautiful and wondrous in it. During times of peace the +world is so fair—and peace may last many, many years. Yet if war comes +you are no longer in it, and Rudolf is safe, for he shall never be a +soldier.” + +“But if, some day, every man is liable to serve?” + +“Oh, nonsense! We shall travel, give Rudolf a pattern education—we will +follow our ideals—in working for peace, and we—we will love each other.” + + * * * * * + +The carnival of this year brought with it the usual balls and affairs, +from which my mourning kept me. But society as a whole still kept up the +mad round of pleasure, although almost every family had sustained its +losses. The young people had plenty of opportunities to dance, even if +some few aristocratic houses did remain closed. Those who had returned +safely from the battles were the favourites of the ladies, and all +conversations were of the past war and the coming of the needle-guns and +conscriptions with which to win the future victories. Victories? When +and over whom? No one had any idea, but revenge—even if only for a loss +at cards—is the universal feeling. + +With the coming of spring, once more the “black spot” appeared in the +horizon—a “question,” as they called it. This time the question was +Luxembourg. + +Of what great importance was Luxembourg to the world? I must take up my +studies again as I had in the former war, and my investigations led me +to the following:— + +Luxembourg belonged to the King of the Netherlands and at the same time +to the German Bund. (This according to the treaties of 1814–16. Ah, +these treaties are themselves the roots of quarrels.) Prussia was +privileged to garrison the capital. Now as she (Prussia) had broken with +the Bund in 1866, how could she keep this right? That was the +“question.” With the Peace of Prague the connection was dissolved. Why +did the Prussians maintain their right? An intricate affair, to be sure, +and of course the only sensible way to settle it would be to slaughter +fresh hundreds of thousands. Every enlightened statesman would admit +that. The Dutch never valued this possession, and King William III. was +planning to sell it to France for his own profit. Secret negotiations +were on foot. Quite right, secrecy is the soul of diplomacy. The people +need not know anything of such differences. If the matter comes to +blows, it is time enough for them to shed their blood. The reason for +shedding it is of no importance to them. + +In March the Prussians were informed that the King had telegraphed his +acceptance to France, and German public opinion was outraged. Who is +this “public opinion”? Certain editorial writers, perhaps. The Reichstag +discussed the question hotly, but Bismarck remained very +cool—nevertheless he took occasion to make preparations for war with +France, and the latter also prepared. + +It was the old tune I recognised, and I feared a fresh outbreak in +Europe, with so many leaders to poke the fire. One is amazed at such +firebrands; have they no idea how great is their crime? + +Years later I heard of a conversation between the Crown Prince Frederick +of Prussia with Professor Simon:— + +“If France and Holland have already made terms, that means war!” + +The Crown Prince answered with intense excitement and feeling:— + +“You have never seen war or you could not utter that word so carelessly. +I have seen it, and let me tell you it is the supreme duty to avoid war +if there is any possibility.” + +This time it was avoided. Luxembourg was declared, by a counsel in +London, to be neutral, and Prussia withdrew. Friends of peace breathed +again, but many were dissatisfied—not the French Emperor, he wished for +peace, but the war party. Many Germans, too, considered the submissive +policy wise. But why should not states as well as individuals accept a +verdict submissively? Is it not more sensible to bow to the settlement +of reason than force? What this London conference attained could always +be secured by rulers if they wished to avoid war, and thus accomplish +what Frederick III. (The Noble) declared to be their highest duty. + + * * * * * + +May found us in Paris, seeing the great exhibition. It was my first +visit, and I was dazzled by its brilliancy. The empire was in its +highest splendour. Many European rulers were visiting there, and it +seemed almost like a great international capitol—this French city which +was in three short years to be bombarded by its eastern neighbour. + +All the nations were assembled in this great peaceful and profitable +pageant of industry—this productive, not destructive, strife of +business. All the riches which art and manufacture contribute to use and +beauty were here displayed, and one felt proud of the progressive times +one lived in, and how natural it was to feel that never more should all +this development be threatened by the brutal processes of destruction. +And I breathed easily when I realised that all these royal guests +commingled in congratulatory festivities. Certainly they would never +again exchange shots with their mutual entertainers and hosts. All this +splendid public recognition and congratulatory association seemed like a +pledge that an era of unbroken peace and plenty had come. Never again +would these civilised nations draw the sword—only barbarians and tartar +hordes would be capable of that. + +In the midst of it all it was rumoured that the Emperor was seeking the +earliest suitable opportunity to present his favourite idea to the +Powers for _general_ disarmament. The information came from reliable +sources. + +What government could refuse such a suggestion without unmasking its +desire for conquest? What nation would not revolt at such a refusal? The +proposal must succeed. + +Frederick was not so confident as I. + +“First of all,” he said, “I cannot believe Napoleon will ever propose it +since the war party is too strong. Occupants of thrones cannot govern +public opinion; they are prevented by their closest advisers. In the +second place, one cannot command a great organic body to cease to exist +as such. It would set itself in opposition.” + +“Of what great body are you speaking?” + +“Of the army. As a body, it has life and has the power to sustain its +existence. As an organism, it is to-day full grown, and if universal +conscription is introduced it is on the point of enormous expansion.” + +“And yet you plan to oppose this thing!” + +“Yes, but not by stepping up and crying, ‘Die, monster!’ Such an +institution would hardly respond by stretching itself dead at my +command. I will urge war against this monster by introducing another +living, though still fragile form, which as it unfolds will finally wipe +the other out. It was you, Martha, who introduced me to the ideas of +modern scientists. An inexorable law is changing and moving the world, +and what is opposed to it must go. Politicians, rulers, and soldiers +seem not to have the slightest notion of this truth. A few years ago I +was just as blind to it.” + +We lived at the Grand Hotel, but since I had not laid aside my mourning, +we did not seek acquaintances. Of course Rudolf was with us but he did +not make many long excursions with us, for the time had come for him to +learn, and he spent much of his time with his English tutor. + +The world which opened to us here was all new to me. There had come +together, from the four corners, the rich, the famous—and I was fairly +confused by the turmoil, the fêtes, the luxuriousness, all so enchanting +and interesting. But I longed for the quiet and peace of home as +ardently as one wishes for the gay world when entirely shut out from it. + +We kept ourselves outside the hubbub and sought only the acquaintance of +the prominent thinkers who could be of benefit not only to our mental +life, but also who could help further Frederick in his new idea. We were +busy at home collecting what we called a “Peace Protocol,” a sort of +scrap-book on the history of the peace ideal as it had developed from +the beginning. It soon grew into quite a volume. (Since I have carried +it down to the present day it has grown into several.) But, as a whole, +it is but a small drop as compared to the oceans of war literature which +flood our libraries. But when we reflect that in a single acorn is +hidden the possibility of a whole oak-forest we need not be discouraged +when the history of a new movement can be chronicled in a few pages. + + * * * * * + +And now came the fulfilment of a cherished hope. A girl was born to us. +We knew the joy of having a son, and now we should realise the promise +of happiness which a little daughter might bring to her parents, and of +course our little Sylvia would unfold into a paragon of beauty, grace, +and cleverness. Happiness makes us so selfish. Under the fair sky of our +domestic heaven all else seemed to evaporate; even the terrors of the +cholera faded into a cloud-like dream, and even Frederick slackened in +the pursuit of his ideal. No doubt much discouragement as well was the +reason for this, for everywhere his plans met with shrugs and doubts, +and even pitying smiles and condemnation. The world seems to prefer to +be swindled and kept wretched. Every proposed plan to wipe out misery +and woe is dubbed “Utopian,” and even put aside as childish. + +However, Frederick never entirely lost sight of his aim. His studies led +him into correspondence with learned men of every type. He planned to +write a great book called _War and Peace_. + +The winter after Sylvia’s birth was quietly spent in Vienna, and the +following spring we visited Italy. Our new programme demanded that we +should know other countries. Those were lovely days, and I am sorry I +kept no note of them in my red book. The next winter found us again in +Paris, and this time we plunged into the great whirl. We rented a small +furnished house where we could entertain our friends, by whom in turn we +were constantly invited. Our ambassador presented us at court, and we +were frequently the guests of the Empress. All the foreign embassies +were open to us, as well as those of foreign notabilities. The literary +stars of the times were all invited to our home except the greatest of +all—Victor Hugo—who was in exile. + +In all this fascinating whirl of amusement it is easy to drift into the +heartless and thoughtless life, to forget the real problems which lie +beyond it all, and even domestic shipwreck is apt to be the result. But +we steadfastly kept our hold on the hearthstone, and neither did we +forget our deep and universal interests. Every morning a few hours were +devoted to the domestic side and to our study, and we succeeded in +getting a great deal of real happiness even in the midst of all this +round of pleasure. + +As Austrians we found much sympathy expressed in Paris, even suggesting +revenge upon the Prussians for our defeated army. But such consolations +were all rejected, and we assured our sympathetic friends that we +desired only peace, for revenge never made anything right. If old blows +were wiped out by fresh ones, when would the dreadful business of war +cease? + +We assured our friends that we hoped the present peace would never be +broken again, and we were given to understand that this was also the +wish of Napoleon III. We were closely associated with many of his +intimates, and they gave us the assurance that he actually desired to +propose a general disarmament. But the populace was seething with +discontent, and many of the imperialists considered it impossible to +remove the antagonism against the French throne, except by diverting +their attention by a foreign war, a sort of grand promenade against the +Rhine. That the Luxembourg matter failed to bring this about was +considered unfortunate. But the newspapers continued to say much about +the unavoidable war between Prussia and France. + +The brilliant season reached even more extravagant heights with the +spring-time, and we began to long for rest. We were overwhelmed with +invitations to visit the country-houses of our friends. But we refused +to think of it, and not desiring to return to Grumitz on account of the +unhappy memories, we settled in a quiet spot in Switzerland, and +promised our Parisian friends that the following winter would find us in +their midst again. + +And what a refreshment was this summer with its long walks, its long +hours of study, and longer hours of play for the children. But there +were few pages in the little red book, which always meant a mind free of +care, and peace. + +Europe as a whole also seemed tolerably peaceful. There were no “dark +spots,” and no more talk of revenge. But the only thing which annoyed us +was that Austria had introduced conscription; and that my Rudolf, like +the rest, must some day also become a soldier was a thing I could not +bear to contemplate. + +“And yet people dare dream of freedom!” I exclaimed. + +“A year of volunteering is not much,” said Frederick, trying to comfort +me. + +I shook my head. “Even a day is too much. To have to pretend for a +single day to do willingly what you detest—to live a lie—is abhorrent, +and I mean to train my son for the truth.” + +“Then he should have been born a few centuries later, my dear,” replied +Frederick. “To be a perfectly true man and a perfectly free one seems +impossible in our day. The deeper I go into my studies the more I see it +so.” + +Double time was now possible to Frederick for his work, and in our quiet +summer we determined to return the next winter to Paris, not for gaiety, +but to devote the entire season to the one object of our lives. We +wished to help bring about some practical results, and hoped to be able +to co-operate with the plans of the Emperor for disarmament, for we +might get his ear through our friends. Through our old friend the +Cabinet Minister we hoped also to get to the ear of the Austrian +government. Frederick also had influential relatives at the Berlin +Court, through whom such a plan might be brought to the consideration of +Prussia. + +But our return to Paris was disarranged. Our little Sylvia, our +treasure, became seriously ill. These anxious hours filled with fear of +death threw everything else into the background. But she did not die. In +two weeks the danger was past. Then the winter’s cold delayed our +departure till March. + + + + + BOOK VI + + + + + CHAPTER I + + Paris in March 1870—War party pushes the Emperor—His plan of + disarmament dropped—Our new home in Paris—The French and German + question—Menace and rumours again—France makes demands and then + threats. + + +Forebodings? There were none in my mind when we again entered Paris on +that beautiful sunny March day in 1870. It was all cheer and promise, +but one knows now what horrors were hanging over it all. + +We engaged the same little house which we had occupied the year before. +The same servants awaited us, and as we drove through the streets on our +way home, we met many acquaintances, who were driving at that hour, +among them the beautiful Empress, who graciously saluted us in passing. +Violets were being sold everywhere, and the air was full of the promise +of spring. + +This season we were determined to avoid the gaiety; we declined all +invitations, seldom went to the theatre, and kept ourselves quite apart, +spending our evenings at home or in the society of a few choice friends. + +Our plans regarding the Emperor’s scheme of disarmament were at a +standstill, for the time seemed not ripe for such an idea. The people +were in a turmoil, and the throne itself seemed not on the surest +foundations. We grew accustomed to hear that the only safety of the +dynasty would be in a fortunate campaign. There seemed no possibility of +war, and yet talk of disarmament was dropped for the Bonaparte halo +largely depended upon its military glory. Neither Prussia nor Austria +responded to our plan. Expansion of the army was everywhere the fashion, +and our dream of disarmament fell upon deaf ears. + +“The time is not ripe,” said Frederick. “I may need to abandon my hope +to help personally to hasten the peace of the nations. What I can +contribute is small indeed, but from the first hour it dawned upon me, +it possessed me with the conviction that it was the one most important +thing in the world. I must be faithful.” + +If for the moment the project for disarmament must be postponed, yet I +was content that there was no immediate threat of war. At court and +among the people those who believed the dynasty must be rebaptized in +blood had to give up all hope of glory in a charming little campaign on +the Rhine. There were no French allies, the harvest had failed, forage +was scarce, the army had to sell its horses, the extra recruits had been +cut off by legislation, and above all there was nowhere any political +complication; in short, so Ollivier proclaimed from the forum: “The +peace of Europe is assured.” + +Assured! How the word rejoiced me. The papers repeated it, and thousands +rejoiced with me. What greater good can be given to the majority of +humanity than the assurance of peace? + +The worth of this lulling security, of which the statesmen assured us in +June 1870, we all realise now. We might have known then and always in +the future that we mistake when we put our innocent trust into the +statements of diplomats. How can peace ever be secure when any hour +these meddlers can turn up some agitation? We can never be secure from +war until some other means for settling differences is provided. + + * * * * * + +In Paris again society scattered itself, but we remained in town for +business, since we had decided to buy ourselves a home there; but many +of our friends owned houses in the near neighbourhood of Paris, and we +visited them all several times during the early summer. I clearly +remember that it was in the salon of the Princess Mathilde that I first +got wind that there was a new agitation in the air. It was said that a +prince of Hohenzollern was a candidate for the vacant Spanish throne. It +seemed of little consequence who should sit on the Spanish throne, but +it cut me to the heart when I heard some one make the remark: “France +will not tolerate that!” I knew what this phrase always meant: “we will +not tolerate.” + +The subject was idly dropped, and none of us realised the fearful result +of the doubtful Spanish succession. But the point obtruded itself more +and more, privately and in the newspapers. Everybody declared that +Prussia wished purposely to provoke war. Yet letters from Berlin assured +us that the Spanish throne was not considered a question of any +importance. + +We were deeply interested in our house and its furnishings, and little +realised the approaching storm that began to threaten louder and louder. + +On the 19th of July the French declared war against Prussia. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + War declared—Excitement in Paris—Which side?—We remain in Paris—A + little history—First days of war—Paris a fortress—A Republic + declared—My husband’s fate. + + +“War is declared!” These three words, what do they mean? The beginning +of a conflict which is the result of a political intrigue, and, +incidentally, a half million of human beings are sentenced to death. +Does he who signs such a declaration realise that he is plunging his pen +in fire, in bloody tears, and in the poisons of plague and disease? + +So on account of a vacant throne seeking an occupant, and unreasonable +dissensions between two monarchs, the storm was brought upon us. + +I remember the peculiar frame of mind which took possession of me when +this war broke out. The whole population was in a ferment, and who could +escape the infection? Naturally, according to old custom, the beginning +of the campaign was regarded as a triumphant march; that is, of course, +a patriotic duty. The “Marseillaise” was heard at every corner. At every +theatrical performance the leading actress or singer—at the opera it was +Marie Sass—must appear before the curtain in the costume of Joan of Arc +and, carrying the national colours, must sing this battle-song—the +audience rising and generally joining in the chorus. Frederick and I +realised one evening the might of this popular enthusiasm, and were +compelled to rise to our feet—compelled because we were electrified. + +“See, Martha,” exclaimed Frederick, “this spark which spreads from one +to another, uniting the whole mass and making every heart beat higher, +is love——” + +“Do you believe so? It is a song inspiring hate.” “That makes no +difference; a common hatred is but another form of love. When two or +three or more are bound together by the same feeling, they love one +another. When the time arrives for a nobler, broader aspiration than the +interests of nationality, namely, the cause of humanity, then our ideal +will be attained.” + +“Ah, when will that time come?” I sighed. + +“When? One can speak but relatively. As a length of time compared with +our personal existence—never; when compared with the existence of our +race—to-morrow.” + +When war breaks out the inhabitants of neutral states divide into two +camps; one siding with this, the other with that party, as if there were +a great stake in which every one had a share. We were unconsciously +influenced by our earlier interests. Frederick was of Prussian descent +and the German language was my own. The declaration of war had been made +by the French on such insignificant grounds—mere pretences—that we must +recognise the cause of the Prussians as more justly representing that of +defence, since they were forced into the contest. It was inspiring to +note with what enthusiasm the Germans, but so shortly before at strife +among themselves, now trooped together. + +On the 19th of July, in his address from the throne, King William said:— + + The German and French nations, both in like degree enjoying the + blessings of Christian civilisation and increasing prosperity, are + called to a more beneficent rivalry than the bloody one of arms. But + the ruler of France, instigated by personal interests and passions, + has been able, through misleading statements, to excite the + justifiable though excitable vanity of our great neighbours. + +The Emperor Napoleon on his part issued the following proclamation:— + + Because of the arrogant claims of Prussia we were obliged to protest. + These protests have been met with ridicule. Events followed which + indicated a contempt for us. Our country has been deeply incensed + thereby, and instantly the battle-cry has been heard from one end of + France to the other. There is nothing to be done except to consign our + fate to the lot drawn by war. We do not war against Germany, whose + independence we respect. We have the most earnest desire that the + people who compose the great German nation may be the arbiters of + their own destiny. What we desire is the establishment of a condition + of things which will insure our present security and make our future + safe. We desire a permanent peace, founded upon the true interests of + peoples; we wish that this miserable condition should end, and that + all nations use all possible means to secure general disarmament. + +What a lesson, what a striking lesson this document is when we consider +it in connection with the events which followed. In order to be sure of +safety, in order to attain permanent peace, this war was begun by +France. And what was the result? “The Terrible Year” and enduring +hatred. No, no; one does not use charcoal to paint a thing white, not +asafoetida to perfume a room, nor war to secure peace. + +I could not believe that the war would be a long one. What were they +fighting about? Really nothing at all. It was a sort of grand parade, +undertaken by the French from a spirit of adventure—by the Germans as a +duty of defence. One might expect a few sabre thrusts, and the +antagonists would again shake hands. Fool that I was! As if the results +of war bore any adequate relation to its cause. The course of it +determines the result. + +We would gladly have left Paris, for the enthusiasm of the people pained +us immeasurably. But the way eastward was blocked; our house was not +finished—in short, we remained. All of our acquaintance who could get +away had fled, and, excepting a few literary men, we had no visitors. A +young writer, the later famous Guy de Maupassant, once expressed my own +feelings so perfectly that I entered his words in my journal:— + + War—when I think of this word I shudder as if one talked of the + Inquisition, or of a distant, horrible, unnatural thing. War—to kill + one another, cut each other down! And we have to-day—in our times, + with our culture, with our extensive knowledge in the higher planes of + development, which we flatter ourselves to have attained—we still have + schools to teach men how to kill, to kill in the most scientific + manner and as many as possible. + + It is wonderful that the people do not rise against this thing, that + the whole of society does not revolt at the mere mention of war. He + who rules is in duty bound to avoid war, as the captain of a ship is + bound to avoid shipwreck. When a captain loses his ship he is required + to answer for it, in case it is discovered that he has been remiss in + duty. Why should not every government be called to account when it + declares war? If the people understood how to refuse to allow + themselves to be killed without just cause, war would cease. + +Ernest Renan, also, let us hear from him:— + + Is it not heart-breaking to think that all that we men of science have + sought to accomplish during the past fifty years is destroyed at a + blow; the sympathy between peoples, the mutual understanding, the + fruitful, united work? How such a war destroys the love of truth! What + lies, what defamation of a nation will from now on, for the next fifty + years, be believed by each of the other, and divide them for an + incalculable time! How it will retard the progress of Europe! We + cannot build up in a hundred years what these men have torn down in + one day. + +I also had the opportunity of reading a letter which Gustave Flaubert +wrote during those first July days to Georges Sand. Here it is:— + + I am in despair at the stupidity of my countrymen. The incorrigible + barbarism of humanity fills me with the deepest grief. This enthusiasm + inspired by not one reasonable idea makes me long to die that I may + not witness it. Our good Frenchmen will fight: first, because they + believe themselves called out by Prussia; secondly, because the + natural condition of man is that of barbarism; thirdly, because war + possesses a mystical element which carries mankind away. Have we + returned to a war of races? I am afraid so. The horrible battles which + we prepare for have not a single pretext to excuse them. It is simply + the pleasure of fighting for fighting itself. I regret the bridges and + tunnels that will be blown to pieces, all this superb work of man + which will be destroyed. I notice that a member of the Chamber + proposes the plundering of the Grand Duchy of Baden. Ah, I wish I were + with the Bedouins. + +“Oh!” I cried, as I read this letter, “if we had only been born five +hundred years later—that would be better than the Bedouins.” + +“Mankind will not take so long to become reasonable,” replied Frederick +confidently. + +It was again the era of proclamations and army orders. + +Always the same old song, and always the same enthusiasm and applause of +the populace! There was the same rejoicing over promised victories as if +they had been already won. + +On the 28th of July Napoleon III. published the following proclamation +from his headquarters in Metz. I copied this, not out of admiration, but +because of anger over its everlasting hollow phrases: + + We defend the honour and soil of our native land. We will be + victorious. Nothing is too great for the sturdy endurance of the + soldiers of Africa, the Crimea, China, Italy, and Mexico. Once more + they will show what a French army inspired by a love of country is + capable of accomplishing. Whichever way we turn outside our borders we + find the marks of the valour of our fathers. We will prove ourselves + worthy of them. Upon our success hangs the fate of freedom and + civilisation. Soldiers, do your duty, and the God of Battles will be + with you. + +Oh, of course, it would not do to leave out “the God of Battles!” That +the leaders of vanquished armies have a hundred times promised the same +does not prevent the claim of special protection being set up at every +fresh campaign in order to awaken the same confidence. Is anything +shorter than the memory of a people or anything feebler than their +logic? + +On the 31st of July King William left Berlin and issued the following +manifesto:— + + To-day, before I leave to join the army, to fight with it for the + honour and preservation of all dearest to us, I proclaim a general + amnesty for all political offences. My people know that we were not + guilty of enmity and breach of faith. But being attacked we are + resolved, as were our fathers, in firm reliance upon God, to endure + the struggle for the rescue of our country. + +Defence, defence, that is the only dignified sort of death; therefore +both sides cry: “I defend myself.” Is that not a contradiction? Not +quite—for over each a third power rules—the might of the old hereditary +war spirit. If they would only defend themselves against that! + + * * * * * + +“O Monsieur, O Madame, what news!” With these words Frederick’s butler +and the cook behind him rushed into our sitting-room. It was the day of +the battle of Wörth. + +“A dispatch has arrived. The Prussians are as good as absolutely +crushed. The city is being decorated with tri-coloured flags, it will be +illuminated to-night.” + +In the course of the afternoon further despatches proved that the first +was false—a manœuvre of the Bourse. + +On the 7th of August there was a rumour of disaster. The Emperor +hastened from St. Cloud to the seat of war. The enemy had crossed the +frontier and was marching inland. The papers could not express their +indignation in strong enough terms. I had imagined that the shout _à +Berlin_! meant a similar invasion. But that these eastern barbarians +should dare the same thing, should march into beautiful and beloved +France—this seemed pure, audacious villainy, and must be stopped at +once. + +The provisional Minister of War published an order calling upon all +able-bodied citizens between thirty and forty years of age to enrol +themselves in the National Guard. A ministry for defence of the interior +was organised. The appropriation was increased from five hundred to a +thousand million of francs. It is refreshing to notice how free the +authorities are with the money and lives of others. An unpleasant little +occurrence disturbed the convenience of the public; if one wanted to +change a bank-note he was obliged to pay a broker ten per cent. There +was not sufficient gold to keep the notes of the Bank of France at par. + +Now followed victory after victory on the part of the Germans. + +The aspect of Paris and its inhabitants underwent an astonishing change. +In the place of the proud, boastful, war-loving humour, dismay and +vindictive anger appeared. The impression that a horde of vandals was +ready to devour the land was widespread. That the French had called down +this storm upon themselves they never considered; or that they had done +it to prevent some Hohenzollern in the distant future from conceiving a +fancy for the Spanish throne—that they also forgot. The most astonishing +stories were told of the ferocity of the invaders, “The Uhlans, the +Uhlans!” the words had a sort of fantastic demoniac sound, as if they +had talked about the armies of Satan. In the imagination of the people +these troops became demons. Whenever a particularly bold stroke was +reported, it was at once ascribed to the Uhlans. They were said to be +recruited to serve for booty and without pay. Mixed up with these +recitals of terror were stories of occasional triumphs. To lie about +success is naturally the chief duty of the sensationalist, for, of +course, the courage of the populace must be kept up. The law of +veracity—like many other laws of morality—loses its force in times of +war. Frederick read to me the following:— + + Up to the 16th of August the Germans have lost one hundred and + forty-four thousand men, the remainder are on the verge of starvation. + The reserves from Germany, the “landwehr” and “landsturm,” are + arriving; old men of over sixty, with flint-lock muskets, carrying on + one side a huge tobacco pouch, on the other a big flask of brandy, + with a long clay pipe in the mouth, are staggering under the weight of + the knapsacks, coffee-mills, and packages of elderberry tea. Coughing + and groaning, they are crossing from the right to the left bank of the + Rhine, cursing those who have torn them from the arms of their + grandchildren to thrust them into the clutches of death. The reports + we get from the German press of victorious battles are all the usual + Prussian lies. + +On the 20th of August Count Palikao informed the Chamber that three army +corps, which had united against Bazaine, had been thrown into the +quarries of Jaumont. It is true no one had the remotest idea where these +stone quarries were, or how it happened that the three army corps were +kept there. From tongue to tongue the joyful tidings spread, and +everybody acted as if they had been born in the region of Jaumont, and, +of course, knew all about the quarries. At the same time there was a +current report that the King of Prussia had become insane over the +condition of his army. + +All sorts of atrocities were reported; the excitement among the +population increased hourly. The engagement of Bazaine near Metz was +described as if the Bavarians had been guilty of most inhuman barbarity. + +“Do you believe this?” I said to Frederick. “Do you believe these +stories of the good-natured Bavarians?” + +“They are possible. Whether a man is Bavarian or Turk, German, French, +or Indian, makes no particular difference; when he takes his life in his +hands and fights to destroy others he ceases to be human. All that is +awakened and strongest within him is the beast.” + +Metz is taken. The report resounded through the city like a shriek of +terror. + +To me the news of the capture of a fortress brought relief rather than +dismay. Were we not probably nearer the end? But after every defeat each +side strains itself to the utmost for a fresh trial of strength; +possibly the fortune of war may turn. Usually the advantage is first on +one side next on the other; on both sides there is certain sorrow and +certain death. + +Trochu felt himself called upon to arouse the courage of the population +by a fresh proclamation, calling upon them with the motto of Bretagne, +“With God’s help for our native land.” That does not sound quite new to +me—I must have heard something similar to it in other proclamations. It +did not fail of its effect, however; the people were encouraged. Next we +were told Paris must be fortified. Paris a fortress! I could scarcely +grasp the thought. This city, the lode-star of the whole civilised rich, +art- and life-loving world; the radiating point of splendour, of +fashion, of the intellect—this city must fortify itself, that is, must +be the aim of the enemy’s attacks, the target of bombardment, and run +the risk of destruction through fire and hunger? And these people +proceeded to the work with gaiety of heart, with the zeal of pleasure, +with self-sacrifice, as if they were bringing to completion the noblest, +most useful work in the world. Ramparts to be manned by infantry were +built with embrasures, earthworks were thrown up before the gates, +canals were covered, and surmounted by parapets, powder magazines were +built, and a flotilla of barges, carrying cannon, was put upon the +Seine. What a fever of activity; what an expenditure of strength and +nerve; what monstrous cost of labour and money! If all had only been so +cheerfully and nobly devoted to works of true utility—but for the +purpose of destruction, which had no object except that of a strategic +checkmate, it was inconceivable! + +To be prepared for a long siege the city was amply provisioned. But it +is the experiences of ages that no fortification has existed which has +been impregnable—capitulation is solely a matter of time. Yet +fortifications are still erected, they are still provisioned, +notwithstanding the mathematical impossibility of maintaining them, in +the long-run, against starvation. + +The preparations were made on an enormous scale. Mills were erected and +stockyards filled; yet the hour must come when the corn would all be +ground and the flesh all eaten. But so far ahead as this no one thought. +Long before that the enemy would be driven from the country. The entire +male force of the city was enrolled in the National Guard, and all +possible were drawn from the country. What difference did it make if the +provinces were laid in ashes? Such insignificant events were not to be +considered when there was prospect of a national disaster. On the 17th +of August sixty thousand provincial troops had already arrived in Paris. + +With an ever-increasing activity events followed events. All around +there was heard but one expression, “Death to the Prussians.” A storm of +the wildest hatred was gathering—it had not yet broken out. In all the +official reports, in all the street disturbances we heard of but one +aim—“death to the Prussians.” All these troops, regular and irregular, +all these munitions of war, all these busy workmen with spade and +barrow, all that one saw and heard, in form or tone, surged and +threatened “death to the Prussians!” Or, in other words, it sounds +really like the cry of love, and inspires even tender hearts—“all for +our country”—but it is one and the same thing. + +“You are of Prussian descent,” I said to Frederick one day, “how do +these expressions of hatred affect you?” + +“You asked me the same question in the year 1866, and then I answered, +as I must to-day, that I suffer under these demonstrations of hatred, +not as a Prussian, but as a man. When I reflect upon the feelings of +these people from a national stand-point, I can only regard them as +justifiable; they call it the sacred hatred of the enemy, and this +sentiment forms an important incentive to military patriotism. They have +but one thought—to free their country from the presence of the +antagonist. They forget that they caused the invasion by their +declaration of war. They did not do it themselves, but it was their +government in which they believed. They waste no time in reflections or +in recriminations; the misfortune is upon them, and every muscle, every +nerve is strained to meet it, or with reckless self-sacrifice they will +all go to destruction together. Believe me, there is untold capacity of +love in mankind; the pity of it is that we waste it in the old rut of +hatred. And the enemy, the ‘red-haired, eastern barbarians!’—what are +they doing? They were called out and they invade the land which +threatened theirs. Do you remember how the cry, _à Berlin, à Berlin_, +resounded through the streets?” + +“Now the others march upon Paris! Why do the Parisian shouters call that +a crime?” + +“Because there is neither logic nor justice in that national feeling +whose chief principle is, we are we,—that is, the first,—the others are +barbarians. That march of the Germans from victory to victory fills me +with admiration. I have been a soldier and know what an inspiration the +idea of victory has, what pride, what intense delight. It is the reward +for all suffering, for the renunciation of rest and happiness, for the +life at stake.” + +“Why do not the victors admire the vanquished, if they know all that +victory means to those who are soldiers like themselves? Why do not the +army reports of the losing party contain the sentence: The enemy has won +a glorious victory?” + +“Why? I repeat, the war spirit and patriotic egotism are the destruction +of all justice.” + +On the 28th of August all Germans were ordered to leave Paris within +three days. I had the opportunity to see the effect of this order. Many +Germans had been citizens of Paris for ten and twenty years, had married +Parisians, but were now compelled to leave everything—home, business, +and property. + +Sedan! The Emperor had surrendered his sword. The report overpowered us. +Then truly a terrible catastrophe had occurred—Germany had won, and the +butchery was over. + +“It is over,” I cried. “If there are people who are citizens of the +world, they may illuminate their windows; in the temples of humanity Te +Deums can now be sung—the butchery is over.” + +“Do not rejoice too soon,” Frederick warned me. “This war has long lost +the character of a battle game of chess, the whole nation is in arms. +For one army destroyed ten new ones will spring out of the soil.” + +“Is that just? These are only German soldiers, not the German nation.” + +“Why always talk of justice and reason in the presence of a madman. +France is mad with pain and terror, and from the stand-point of the love +of country her rage is just, her sorrow sacred. Personal interest is not +considered, only the loftiest self-sacrifice. If the time would only +come when the noble virtues common to humanity could be torn from the +work of destruction and united for the blessing of the race! But this +unholy war has again driven us back a long way from the attainment of +this goal.” + +“No, no, I hope the war is at an end.” + +“If so, which I much doubt, the seeds of future wars are sown and the +seeds of hate, which will outlast this generation.” + +On the 4th of September another great event occurred. The Emperor was +deposed and France was declared a republic. With the destruction of the +throne, the leaves were torn out of the book of France which told the +story of Metz and Sedan. It was Napoleon and his dismissed generals who, +through cowardice, treachery, and bad tactics, had been responsible for +all this disaster—but not France. France would now carry on the war if +the Germans still dared to continue the invasion. + +“How would it have been had Napoleon and his generals been victorious?” +I asked when Frederick told me this latest news. + +“Then they would have accepted his success as the success of France.” + +“Is there any justice in that?” + +“Why will you not break yourself off the habit of asking that question?” + +My hope that with Sedan the war would end was soon dissipated. The +frenzied orations, the atrocious pamphlets which were now made and +published and rained down upon the unfortunate Emperor and Empress, and +the unlucky generals, were absolutely disgusting. The rough masses held +that they could lay upon these few the responsibility for the general +disaster. The preparations for the defence of Paris were carried on with +rapidity. Houses which might serve as protection to the approaching +enemy were torn down, and the region around the city became a desert. +Crowds of country people filled up the already crowded city, and the +streets were jammed with the waggons and pack-horses of these people, +laden with the remains of their household goods. I had seen the same +sight in Bohemia, and now was fated to see the like misery and a similar +terror in the beautiful streets of the most wonderful, most brilliant +city of the world. + +There came at last the news of the prospect of better things, there was +the chance that peace might be arranged. + +On the contrary, the breach became much wider. For some time past German +papers had suggested the retention of Alsace-Lorraine. The former German +provinces were to be annexed. The historical argument was not quite +tenable, therefore the strategical reason was made more prominent: as a +rampart they were absolutely necessary in case of future wars. It is +well known that the strategic grounds are the most important, the most +incontestible—the ethical reasons must take second rank. On the other +hand, as France had lost in the struggle, was it not fair that the +winner should hold the prize? In case of the success of the French, they +of course would have claimed the provinces of the Rhine. What is war for +except for the extension of the territory of the one or the other +antagonist? + +In the meantime the victorious army did not halt in its march on +Paris—the Germans were already at her door. The consent to the cession +of Alsace-Lorraine was officially demanded. In response the well-known +reply was given: “Not an inch of our territory—not a stone of our +fortresses.” + +Yes, yes—a thousand lives—not an inch of earth. That is the foundation +principle of the patriotic spirit. “They seek to humiliate us!” cried +the French patriots. “We would rather be buried under the ruins of +Paris.” + +We attempted to leave the city. Why should we stay among a people so +embittered by hate that they clenched their fists if they heard us speak +German. We had succeeded in making arrangements for departure, when I +was seized by a nervous fever of so dangerous a character that the +family physician forbade any attempt at removal. + +I lay upon my bed for many weeks, and only a dreamy recollection of that +time remains. In the careful hands of my husband, and the tender care of +my children, my Rudolph and my little Sylvia, all knowledge of the +fearful events then occurring was shut out, and when I recovered winter +had set in. + +Strassburg had been bombarded, the library destroyed; four or five shots +a minute were said to have been fired—in all, one hundred and +ninety-three thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two. + +Should Paris be starved into submission or bombarded? + +Against the last the conscience of civilisation protested. Should this +rendezvous of all nations, this brilliant seat of art, with its +irrecoverable riches and treasures, be bombarded as any common citadel? +It was not to be thought of; the whole neutral press, I learned +afterwards, protested. The press of Berlin approved the idea, considered +it the only way to end the war and conquer the city. No protest availed, +and on the 28th of December the bombardment began. + +At first greeting it with terror, it was not long before the Parisians +chose for a promenade the localities from which one could best hear the +music of cannon. Here and there a shell fell in the street, but there +was seldom a consequent catastrophe. Rarely could any news from the +outside world be obtained, and that only through carrier pigeons and +balloons. The reports were most contradictory; one day we were informed +of successful sallies, the next, that the enemy was about to storm the +city, set fire to it, and lay it in ashes; or we were assured that +rather than see one German enter within the walls the commandant would +blow all Paris into atoms. + +It became daily more and more difficult to obtain food. Meat was not to +be had; cattle and sheep and horses were exhausted, and the period began +when dogs, cats, rats, and mice were a rarity, and finally the beloved +elephant at the Jardin des Plantes must be served up. Bread was scarce. +People stood in rows, hours at a time, in front of the bakers in order +to receive their tiny portion. Disease broke out, induced by famine. The +mortality increased from the ordinary eleven hundred a week to between +four and five thousand. + +One day Frederick came into the house from his daily walk in an unusual +state of excitement. + +“Take up your note-book, my zealous historian,” he cried. “To-day there +is wonderful news.” + +“Which of my books?” I asked. “My Peace Protocol?” + +Frederick shook his head. + +“Oh, for that the time is past. The war now being carried on is of so +mighty a character that it will drag its martial spirit long after it. +It has sown broadcast such a store of hatred and revenge that future +battle harvests must grow therefrom; and upon the other side it has +produced for the victors such magnificent revolutionary results that a +like harvest may be brought about by their haughty martial spirits.” + +“What is it that is so important?” + +“King William has been proclaimed Emperor at Versailles. There is now +really a Germany, one single empire—and a mighty one. That is a new +event in the world’s history. And you can easily perceive how this great +result will redound to the honour of the work of war. The two most +advanced representatives of civilisation on the continent are the ones +who from now on for some time to come will cultivate the war spirit—the +one in order to return the blow, the other in order to maintain the +position won; here out of hate, there out of love; here from a spirit of +retaliation, on the other side out of gratitude. Shut up your peace +protocols—for a long time to come we shall stand under the bloody and +iron sign of Mars.” + +“Emperor of Germany!” I cried, “that is indeed glorious. I cannot help +rejoicing over this news. The whole barbarous slaughter has not been in +vain if a great, new empire has been born.” + +“From the French point of view the war is doubly lost. And it is to be +expected of us that we should not regard this contest from the onesided +German stand-point alone. Not only as human beings but from a narrower +national feeling we should be excused if we regretted the success of our +enemies of 1866. And yet I will acknowledge that the union of divided +Germany is a desirable thing, and that the readiness with which all +these German princes joined in offering the imperial crown to the +gray-haired victor is inspiring and admirable. Only it is a pity that +this union was not brought about through peaceful rather than warlike +measures. It may be that if Napoleon III. had not made his demand of the +19th of July there would not have been enough patriotism among the +Germans to bring about this result. They may well rejoice; the poet’s +wish is fulfilled—they are a band of brothers. Four years ago they had +each other by the throat and knew but one common cause—hatred of +Prussia.” + +“That word hate makes me shudder.” + +“Well it may. So long as this feeling is not regarded as unjust and +dishonourable, we shall have no humane humanity. Religious hatred has +about disappeared, but national hatreds form a part of the education of +the citizen.” + +In the quiet of the next few days we had many discussions as to our +future. With the establishment of peace, which we could now hope for, we +might again dare to think of our personal happiness. During the eight +years of our married life there had been no discord, not a discourteous +or unkindly word or thought had passed between us; as the years drew on +we knew we should grow nearer to each other, and we could look forward +to an old age together—the golden evening of our lives—with sure +content. + +Many of the preceding pages I have turned over with a shudder. It is not +without repulsion that I have recorded my visit to the battle-fields of +Bohemia and the scenes of the cholera week in Grumitz. I have done it as +a duty. I had been told: “In case I die first take up my work and do +what you can to further the cause of peace among men.” + +But I have now reached a point when I cannot go on. + +I have tried; many half-written sheets lie on the floor beside me; but +my heart fails and I can only fall to weeping—weeping bitterly like a +child. + +Some hours later I again made the attempt, but the particulars of the +circumstances it is not possible for me to relate. + +The fact is enough. + +Frederick—my all!—was seized by a fanatical mob who, finding a letter +from Berlin upon his person, accused him of being a spy. He was dragged +before a so-called patriotic tribunal, and on the 1st of February 1871 +was sentenced to be shot. + + + + + EPILOGUE + + +When I again awoke to consciousness peace had been declared, the Commune +had been defeated. For months, attended by my faithful Frau Anna, I +lived through an illness without knowing that I was alive. The character +of my illness I have never known. Those about me tenderly called it +typhus, but I believe it was simply insanity. + +Dimly I remember that the latter part of the time seemed filled with the +rattling of shot and the falling of burning walls; probably my fancies +were influenced by the actual events, the skirmishes between the +communists and the party of Versailles. + +That when I recovered my reason and realised the circumstances of my +profound unhappiness I did not kill myself, or that the anguish had not +killed me, was owing to the existence of my children. For these I could, +I must, live. Even before my illness, on the day when the terrible event +occurred, Rudolf had held me to life. I had sunk on my knees, weeping +aloud while I repeated, “Die—die! I will die!” Two little arms were +thrown around me, and a sweet, piteous, pleading, childish face looked +into mine:— + +“Mother!” + +My little one had never called me anything but Mamma. That he at that +moment, for the first time, used the word “Mother” said to me in two +syllables, “You are not alone, you have a son who shares your pain, who +loves you above all things, who has no one in the world but you. Do not +leave your child, Mother!” + +I pressed the precious being to my heart, and to show him that I had +understood him I murmured, “My son, my son!” + +I then remembered my little girl—his child—and resolved to live. + +But the anguish was unendurable, and I fell into mental darkness. For +years—at longer and longer intervals—I was subject to these attacks of +melancholy, of which upon my restoration to health I knew nothing. Now, +at length, I have outlived them, and for several years have been free +from the unconscious misery, though not from the bitterest, conscious +sorrow. Eighteen years have passed since the 1st of February 1871; but +the deep anguish and the deepest mourning, which the tragedy of that day +brought to me, I can never outlive though I should live a hundred years. +If, in later times, the days are more frequent when I can take part in +the events of the present, can forget the past unhappiness, can +sympathise in the joys of my children, not a night passes when I escape +my misery. It is a peculiar experience, hard for me to describe, and +which can only be understood by those who have similarly suffered. It +would seem to indicate a dual life of the soul. If the one is so +occupied, when awake, with the things of the outer world as to forget, +there yet remains that second nature which ever keeps faithfully in mind +that dreadful memory; and this I—when the other is asleep—makes itself +felt. Every night at the same hour I awake with this deep depression. My +heart seems torn asunder, and I feel as if I must relieve my agony in +sighs and bitter weeping; this lasts for several seconds, without the +awakened I knowing why the other is happy or unhappy. The next stage is +a sentiment of universal sympathy, full of the tenderest compassion: +“Oh, poor, poor humanity!” Then amidst a shower of bullets I see +shrieking figures fall—and then I remember for the first time that my +best-beloved met such a death. + +But in dreams, singular to say, I never realise my loss. It often occurs +that I seem to talk with Frederick as if he were alive. Many +circumstances of the past—but no sad ones—are frequently alluded to by +us: our meeting after Schleswig-Holstein, our joking over Sylvia’s +cradle, our walk through Switzerland, our studies of favourite books, +and now and then a certain picture of my white-haired husband in the +evening sunset-light, with his garden shears, clipping his roses. “Is it +not true,” he says to me, smiling, “that we are a happy old couple?” + +My mourning I have never laid aside—not even on my son’s wedding day. +The woman who has loved, possessed, and lost—so lost—such a man must +feel that love is indeed stronger than death. With this may exist a +longing for revenge which can never grow cold. + +But how should I seek revenge? The men who were guilty of the act could +not be personally blamed. The sole responsibility rested upon the spirit +of war, and this was the only force with which I could attempt—though in +a feeble way—to settle my account. + +My son Rudolf shared my views in regard to war—which did not, however, +prevent his going into camp for the annual military drill, nor would it +hinder his marching over the border, should that gigantic European +contest break out which we are all anticipating. I might yet live to see +the dearest one left to me sacrificed to this relentless Moloch, and the +hearth of my old age fall in ruins. + +Should I live to experience that and again be driven to madness, or +should I see the triumph of justice and humanity, for which all nations +and alliances of peoples are now striving? + +My red journals are closed, and under date of 1871 I marked with a great +cross the record of my life. My so-called protocol—my peace record— I +have again opened, and of late have added much to the history of the +growth of the international idea of the settlement of the strifes of +humanity by peaceful methods. + +For some years the two most influential nations of the continent have +been watching each other, both absorbed in thoughts of war—the one in +arrogant review of past successes, the other in burning hopes of +revenge. Gradually these sentiments have somewhat cooled, and +notwithstanding, or by reason of, the great increase of our standing +armies, after ten years the voices petitioning for peace are once more +heard. + +To-day there are few to whom this dream of peace seems an impossibility. +There are sentinels on every hill, to wake humanity out of its long +sleep of barbarism, and to plant the white flag. Their battle-cry is +“War against war”; their watchword, “Disarm! Disarm!” The only thing +which can now prevent the most appalling disaster to Europe is the +universal cry, “Disarm! Disarm!” Everywhere, in England and France, in +Italy, in the northern countries, in Germany, in Switzerland, in +America, societies have been formed with the common object to educate +public opinion, and by the united expression of popular will to demand +of governments that future dissensions shall be submitted to +international arbitration, and by so doing to set justice for ever in +the place of rude force. That this is not the impossible fancy of a +dreamer has been proved by facts. It is not only people of no influence +and position, but members of Parliament, bishops, scholars, senators, +ambassadors, who stand on the list. To these is added that ever-growing +party which will shortly number millions, the party of “Labour” and of +the people, upon whose programme the demand for peace is a first +condition. + + * * * * * + +“Mother, will you lay aside your mourning the day after to-morrow?” + +With these words Rudolf came into my room this morning. For the day +after to-morrow—the 30th of July 1889—the baptism of his first-born son +is to be celebrated. + +“No, my child,” I answered. + +“But, think, surely at such a festival you will not be sad; why wear the +outward sign of sorrow?” + +“And you surely are not superstitious enough to think that the black +dress of the grandmother will bring ill-luck to the grandchild?” + +“Certainly not. But it is not suitable to the occasion. Have you taken a +vow?” + +“No, it is only a quiet determination. But a determination connected +with such a memory has all the force of a vow.” + +My son bowed his head and urged me no longer. + +“I have disturbed you in your work. Were you writing?” + +“Yes—the story of my life. I am, thank God, at the end. That was the +last chapter.” + +“How can you write the close of your life? You may live many years, many +happy years, Mother. With the birth of my little Frederick, whom I will +train to adore his grandmother, a new chapter is begun for you.” + +“You are a good son, my Rudolf, I should be ungrateful if I had not +pride and happiness in you; and I am also proud of my—his sweet Sylvia; +yes, I am entering on a happy old age—a quiet evening; but the story of +the day is closed at sunset, is it not?” + +He answered me with a quiet and sympathetic glance. + +“Yes, the word ‘end’ under my biography is justified. When I conceived +the idea of writing it, I determined to stop with the 1st of February +1871. If you had been torn from me for service in the field—luckily +during the Bosnian campaign you were not old enough—I might have been +obliged to lengthen my book. As it is, it was painful enough to write.” + +“And also to read,” answered Rudolf, turning over the leaves. + +“I hope so. If the book shall cause such pain in the reading as to +awaken a detestation of the source of all the unhappiness here +described, I shall not have tormented myself in vain.” + +“Have you examined all sides of the question, Mother?” said my son. +“Have you exhausted all the arguments, analysed to the roots the spirit +of war, and sufficiently brought out the scientific objections to it?” + +“My dear, what are you thinking about? I have only written of my life. +All sides of the question? Certainly not. What do I, the rich woman of +high rank, know of the sorrows which war brings to the mass of the poor? +What do I know of the plagues and evil tendencies of barrack life? And +with the economic-social question involved I am not familiar—and yet +these are all the very matters which finally determine all reformation. +I do not offer a history of the past and future rights of nations—only +the story of the individual.” + +“But are you not afraid of your intentions being recognised?” + +“People are offended only when the author tries to hide his intentions. +My aim is open as the day, and is found in the words on the title page.” + +The baptism took place yesterday. The occasion was made doubly important +by the betrothal of my daughter Sylvia and the old friend of her +babyhood—Count Anton Delnitzky. + +I am surrounded by the happiness of my children. Rudolf inherited the +Dotzky estates six years ago, and has been married four years to +Beatrice Griesbach, promised to him in their childhood. She is a +charming creature, and the birth of their son adds to their enviable, +brilliant lot. + +In the room looking out upon the garden the dinner was served. The glass +doors were open, and the air of the superb summer afternoon streamed in +loaded with the perfume of roses. + +Near me sat the Countess Lori Griesbach, Beatrice’s mother. She is now a +widow. Her husband fell in the Bosnian campaign. She has not taken his +loss much to heart. On the contrary—for she is dressed in a ruby brocade +and brilliant diamonds—she is exactly as superficial as in her youth. +Matters of the toilet, a few French and English novels, the usual +society gossip—these suffice to fill her horizon. She is as great a +coquette as ever. For young men she has now no fancy, but personages of +rank and position are the objects of her conquests. At present, it seems +to me, she has our Cabinet Minister in hand. + +“I must make a confession to you,” said Lori to me when we had +congratulated each other upon our grandchild. “On this solemn occasion I +must relieve my conscience. I was seriously in love with your husband.” + +“You have often told me that, dear Lori.” + +“But he was always absolutely indifferent to me.” + +“That is well known to me.” + +“You had a husband true as gold, Martha! I cannot say the same of mine. +But nevertheless I was sorry to lose him. Well he died a glorious death, +that is one comfort. Really it is a wearisome existence to be a widow, +more especially as one grows older; so long as one can flirt widowhood +is not without its compensations. But now I acknowledge I become quite +melancholy. With you it is different; you live with your son, but I +would not like to live with Beatrice. She would not wish it either. A +mother-in-law in the house—that does not go well, for one wants to be +mistress. One gets so provoked with the servants. You may believe me, I +am much inclined to marry again. Of course, a marriage with some one of +position——” + +“A Minister of Finance, for instance,” I interrupted, laughing. + +“O you sly one! You see through me at once. Look there: do you see how +Toni Delnitzky is whispering to your Sylvia. That is compromising.” + +“Let them alone. The two have come to an understanding on the way from +church. Sylvia has confided to me that the young man will ask my +permission to-morrow.” + +“What do you say? Well, I congratulate you. It is said the handsome Toni +has been a little gay—but all of them are that—it cannot be helped, and +he is a splendid match.” + +“Of that my Sylvia has not thought.” + +“Well, so much the better; it is a charming addition to marriage.” + +“Addition? Love is the sum of all.” + + * * * * * + +One of the guests, an imperial colonel, had knocked on his glass, and +“Oh, dear—a toast!” thought all, and discontentedly dropped their +special conversation to listen to the speaker. We had good reason to +sigh; three times the unlucky man stuck fast, and the choice of his good +wishes was unfortunate. The health of the young heir was offered, who +was born at a time when his country needed all her sons. + +“May he wear the sword as his great-grandfather and his grandfather did; +may he bring many sons into the world, who on their part may be an +honour to their ancestry, and as they have done who have fallen, win +fame on the field of honour. May they for the honour of the land of +their fathers conquer—as their fathers and fathers’ fathers—in short: +Long life to Frederick Dotzky!” + +The glasses rattled but the speech fell flat. That this little creature +just on the threshold of life should be sentenced to the death-list on a +battle-field did not make a pleasant impression. + +To banish this dark picture, several guests made the comforting remark +that present circumstances promised a long peace, that the Triple +Alliance——and with that general interest was carried into the political +arena, and our Cabinet Minister led the conversation. + +“In truth” (Lori Griesbach listened with intense interest), “it cannot +be denied that the perfection which our weapons have attained is +marvellous and enough to terrify all breakers of the peace. The law for +general service allows us to put into the field, on the first call, four +million eight hundred thousand men between the ages of nineteen and +forty, with officers up to sixty. On the other hand, one must +acknowledge that the extraordinary attendant expenses will be a strain +upon the finances. It will be an intolerable burden to the population; +but it is encouraging to see with what patriotic self-sacrifice the +people respond to the demands of the war ministry; they recognise what +all far-sighted politicians realise, that the general armament of +neighbouring states and the difficulties of the political situation +demand that all other considerations should be subordinated to the iron +pressure of military necessity.” + +“Sounds like the usual editorial,” murmured some one. + +The Minister went on calmly:— + +“But such a system is surety for the preservation of peace. For if to +secure our border, as traditional patriotism demands of us, we do as our +neighbours are doing, we are but fulfilling a sacred duty and hope to +keep danger far from us. So I raise my glass to the toast in honour of +the principle which lies so close to the heart of Frau Martha—a +principle dear to the Peace League of Middle Europe—and I call upon all +of you to drink to the maintenance of peace! May we long enjoy its +blessings!” + +“To such a toast I will not drink,” I replied. “Armed peace is no +benefaction; we do not want peace for a long time, but for ever. If we +set out upon a sea voyage, do we like the assurance that the ship will +escape wreck for a long time? That the whole trip will be a fortunate +one is what the honest captain vouches for.” + +Doctor Bresser, our intimate old friend, came to my help. + +“Can you in truth, your Excellency, honestly believe in a desire for +peace on the part of those who with enthusiasm and passion are soldiers. +How could they find such delight in arsenals, fortresses, and manœuvres +if these things were really regarded merely as scarecrows? Must the +people give all their earnings in order to kiss hands across the border? +Do you think the military class will willingly accept the position of +mere custodians of the peace? Behind this mask—the _si vis pacem_ +mask—glitters the eye of understanding, and every member who votes for +the war budget knows it.” + +“The members?” interrupted the minister. “We cannot praise enough the +self-sacrifice which they have never failed to exhibit in serious times, +and which finds expression in their willingness to vote the appropriate +funds.” + +“Forgive me, your Excellency, I would call out to these willing members: +‘Your “Yes” will rob that mother of her only child; yours puts out the +eyes of some poor wretch; yours sets in a blaze a fearful conflagration; +yours stamps out the brain of a poet who would have been an honour to +his country. But you have all voted “Yes” in order to prove that you are +not cowards—as if one had only oneself to consider. Are you not there to +represent the wishes of the people? And the people wish profitable +labour, wish relief, wish peace.’” + +“I hope, dear Doctor,” remarked the Colonel bitterly, “that you may +never be a member; the whole house would spit upon you.” + +“I would soon prove that I am no coward. To swim against the stream +requires nerves of steel.” + +“But how would it be if a serious attack were made and found us +unprepared?” + +“We must have a system of justice which will make an attack impossible. +But when the time for action does come, and these tremendous armies with +their fearful new means of warfare are brought into the field, it will +be a serious, a gigantic catastrophe. Help and care will be an +impossibility. The endeavours of the Sanitary or Red Cross corps, the +means of provision, will prove a mere irony. The next war of which +people so glibly and indifferently speak will not be a victory for the +one and a loss for the other, but destruction for all. Who among us +desires this?” + +“I, certainly not,” said the minister. “You, of course not, dear Doctor, +but men in general. Our government, possibly not, but other states.” + +“With what right do you deem other people worse and less intelligent +than yourself and me? I will tell you a little story:— + +“Once upon a time a thousand and one men stood before the gate of a +beautiful garden, longingly looking over the wall, desiring to enter. +The gatekeeper had been ordered to admit the people, provided the +majority wished admittance. He called one man up: ‘Tell me honestly, do +you want to come in?’ ‘Certainly,’ he replied, ‘but the other thousand +do not care about it.’ + +“The shrewd custodian wrote this answer in his note-book. He then called +a second. He made the same reply. Again the wise man wrote under the +word ‘Yes’ the figure one, and under the word ‘No’ the figure one +thousand. So he went on to the very last man. Then he added up the +columns. The result was: One thousand and one ‘Yeas’ but over a million +‘Noes.’ So the gate remained shut because the ‘Noes’ had an immense +majority. And that came about because each one not only answered for +himself, but felt himself obliged to answer for all the others.” + +“It would be a noble thing,” replied the minister reflectively, “if by +general consent disarmament could be effected. But what government would +dare to begin? There is nothing, upon the whole, more desirable than +peace; but, on the other hand, how can we maintain it; how can we look +for durable peace so long as human passions and diverse interests +exist?” + +“Allow me,” said my son Rudolf. “Forty million inhabitants form a state. +Why not one hundred millions? One could prove logically and +mathematically that so long as forty millions, notwithstanding diverse +interests and human passions, can restrain themselves from warring with +one another—as the three states, the Triple Alliance, or five states, +can form a league of peace—one hundred millions can do the same? But, in +truth, the world nowadays calls itself immensely wise, and ridicules the +barbarians; and yet in many things we cannot count five.” + +Several voices exclaimed: “What? barbarians—with our refined +civilisation? And the close of the nineteenth century?” + +Rudolf stood up. “Yes, barbarians—I will not take back the name. And so +long as we cling to the past we shall remain barbarians. But we stand +upon the threshold of a new era—all eyes are looking forward, everything +drives us on toward a higher civilisation. Barbarism is already casting +away its ancient idols and its antiquated weapons. Even though we stand +nearer to barbaric ideas than many are willing to acknowledge, we are +also nearer to a nobler development than many dare even hope. Possibly +the prince or the statesman is now alive who will figure in all future +history as the most famous, the most enlightened, because he will have +brought about this general laying down of arms. Even now the insane idea +is dying out, notwithstanding that diplomatic egotism attempts to +justify itself by its assertion—the insane idea that the destruction of +one person is the security of another. Already the realisation that +justice must be the foundation of all social life is glimmering upon the +world, and from an acknowledgment of this truth humanity must gain a +nobler stature—that development of humanity for which Frederick Tilling +laboured. Mother, I celebrate the memory of your devoted husband, to +whom I also owe it that I am what I am. Out of this glass no other toast +shall ever be drunk”—and he threw it against the wall, where it fell +shattered to pieces; “at this baptismal feast of the first-born no other +toast shall be offered but ‘Hail to the Future!’ We must not show +ourselves worthy rather of our fathers’ fathers—as the old phrase +went—no; but of our grandsons’ grandsons. Mother—what is it?” he stopped +suddenly. “You are weeping. What do you see there?” + +My glance had fallen on the open door. The rays of the setting sun fell +on a rose-bush, covering it with its golden shimmer, and there stood—the +figure of my dreams. I saw the white hair, the glitter of the garden +shears. + +“It is true, is it not,” he smiled at me, “we are a happy old couple?” + +Ah, me! + + + THE END + + + _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77705 *** |