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.