Chapter IV: Part SEVEN: Continued (2)

Of course it was not possible for me to answer them all, and this the more because I had not ceased to carry on my literary labors; at that time I was writing my novel _Die Tiefinnersten_, and My Own, who assisted me as much as he could in my correspondence and in editing the review, was working at a second sequel to his _Kinder des Kaukasus_.

Many of the letters were really so interesting that they could not be left unanswered. One day, after the evening meeting of the Peace Society, which had been held under my chairmanship, I got such a beautiful letter, glowing with such genuine enthusiasm, that the desire awoke in me to become acquainted with the writer. The signature was that of one of my own rank, also a canoness, and this very circumstance astonished me. It is not consonant with the nature of the aristocratic women of Austria, particularly of the elder canonesses (_Chorschwestern_) of the nunneries, to be enthusiastic in behalf of politically revolutionary ideas, and to give spontaneous and frank utterance to such enthusiasm. So I answered the letter by going myself to the writer’s residence, and, as I did not find her at home, I left my card with a few hearty words on it.

The following day she hastened to me, and as a result we formed a cordial friendship. To-day I have no dearer friend than the Countess Hedwig Pötting, and Hedwig has no truer friend than I. We absolutely understood each other. And an equally profound mutual understanding arose between her and my husband. Her views so absolutely coincided with his, that they came to the conclusion they must have been brother and sister in some previous incarnation, and they called each other _Siriusbruder_ and _Siriusschwester_.

Intimate friendship rarely exists without nicknames, and so I used to be called, not only by Hedwig but also by My Own, not Bertha but _Löwos_, and I used to call Hedwig _die Hex_ (the witch). That does not sound very friendly, but as it was the pet name which her own idolized mother—a splendid old lady of clear and open mind—called her by, I also adopted it. Die Hex helped me faithfully in my life work; she became one of the officers of the Union; she adapted my novel, _Die Waffen nieder_, for young people under the title _Marthas Tagebuch_ (“Martha’s Diary”); she gave me much useful counsel; and in many trying hours was a support and comfort to me.

“Yesterday at Erlaa received a very valuable gift”; this entry I find in my diary of May, 1894. Erlaa is the name of a castle in the vicinity of Vienna, occupied by Duke Elimar von Oldenburg and his family. There we were often invited to dinner. The castle is surrounded by a splendid park, and I remember how, during that May time, the intoxicating perfume of elder blossoms poured in at the open terrace doors, and what a sweet tumult thousands of songsters made in the shrubbery. The duke’s consort—she was called duchess from courtesy, but, inasmuch as she was morganatically married, she had only the baronial title—was a striking personage of tall, overslender, willowy figure. Being very musical, she delighted in attracting artists into her house, and she herself, as well as the duke, used to spend many evenings at the piano and melodeon, or with the violin and cello. The duchess—since every one gave her that title, I will call her so too—was not particularly well disposed to me. I discovered that afterwards. Coming from a sternly puritanic family, she found my free religious views rather repugnant to her. I have letters from her in which she attempted to convert me to stricter articles of faith; but I learned through remarks that she made to others that she accused me of “materialism,” that my novel _Die Tiefinnersten_ had particularly displeased her, because in it—according to her idea—I ridiculed everything ideal, profound, or sacred. Now the novel ridicules only the stilted and mystical style of those who are always making use of the words “profound” and “inmost,” when they cannot find anything clear to say.

The circumstances connected with the gift mentioned in my diary were these: in the course of a conversation at table, when the subject of peace was mooted, the duke said to me: “I am not the first one of my family, baroness, to be interested in your cause. My father’s brother, Prince Peter von Oldenburg, worked in his day for the abolition of war. Although on his mother’s side he was grandson of the Emperor Paul, and although he held the rank of a general in the Russian infantry and was at the head of the Stavodub regiment of dragoons, he was a militant friend of peace. He did not regard the matter simply as an ideal and as a dream to be realized in centuries to come, but worked strenuously to bring it about; he traveled from court to court, laid his ideas before the Queen of England and the King of Prussia; yet at that time, thirty years ago, his efforts remained fruitless....”

“What!” I exclaimed; “and nobody heard anything about it!”

“My uncle kept on resolutely with his efforts,” continued the duke. “I possess the draft of a letter addressed to Bismarck in 1873, in which he set forth his ideas,—also without result.”

“Oh, if I might see that letter!”

“It has never been published, but you shall have a copy of it.”

With the heartiest thanks I accepted the gift. Here is the letter written to the aged Chancellor:

Your Serene Highness:

Fearing that I may have no opportunity for a serious conversation with
you during your busy sojourn in St. Petersburg, I am bold enough to
present in writing what, by word of mouth, would probably be less
explicit and evident.

My letters to your gracious sovereign, as well as my application to M.
Thiers and the steps that I have taken in trying to induce my imperial
master to assure the peace of Europe forever, are well known to your
Highness. With the same object in view I applied to the ex-Emperor
Napoleon in the year 1863, and I have reason to believe that during
and after Sedan he must have regretted having acted in opposition to
my views and those of so many other right-thinking men.

Who knows better than your Serene Highness the situation of Europe and
Germany? Is it satisfactory or not? The answer to this question I
leave to the great statesman whose name will be immortal in the
history of the world.

Surely every right-thinking person was rejoiced at the meeting of the
three emperors in Berlin. The visit of your Emperor at St. Petersburg
strengthens the opinion that a guaranty for peace is to be found in
the friendship of two powerful imperial states existing side by side.
But how contradictory to the peace idea are the enormous military
establishments of all states! Even Russia is now introducing the
Prussian system of universal conscription, and, although the Prussians
regard this as a guaranty of peace, yet that increase of the army and
of the military budget is a heavy burden for Russia, diminishing its
resources for prosperity.

During my visit with M. Thiers in Versailles last year he said to me:

“Que voulez-vous que nous fassions? Nous sommes les faibles, les
vaincus, mais du moment qu’il y aura des propositions de désarmement
de la part des vainqueurs, nous sommes prêts à entrer en
négociations.”[6]

I reported this conversation to my emperor and wrote as follows to
yours:

“A solemnly serious, fateful moment has come. In the scales of Destiny
the mighty word of the German Emperor is of heavy weight. The history
of the world is the tribunal of the world (_Die Weltgeschichte ist das
Weltgericht_). William the Victorious is chosen by the God of battles
to bear the immortal name of the Blessed, as founder of peace.”

This historical mission he shall and must fulfill: God has aided him
to make the volcanic center of revolutions harmless for a long time to
come, and, we hope, forever. Now it must be his task to extirpate _en
principe_ the root of evil, the highest potency of sin,—war; for never
will a permanent prosperity obtain on earth as long as governments (1)
act contrary to Christianity; (2) stand in the way of true
civilization.

What, according to the notions of the law, is the essential
characteristic of the _civis_? Obedience to the laws. But war is a
disorganization of legal conditions; therefore it is the renunciation
of civilization. In the present circumstances civilization is only an
illusion, consisting purely of intelligence for material objects, such
as railways, telegraphs, and the invention of instruments of
annihilation.

After the tremendous successes of the German arms in the last war the
question arises, with whom and for what object shall any other war be
waged? Prussia’s position in Germany and vis-à-vis to Austria and
Denmark is clear; Italy united; France harmless and on good terms with
Russia,—all this is a guaranty of peace.

What problem, then, is before us now? That of combating revolutionary,
communistic, democratic ideas, that are opposed to religion, the
monarchical principle, and the social foundation of the State.[7]
Subversive ideas, however, are not overcome by bayonets, but by means
of wise ideas and regulations, which must proceed only from those who
reign by the grace of God and are chosen by Providence to establish
the happiness of nations.

The peace idea would be the very best means of meeting the French idea
of revenge. Although the French are not to be relied on as a nation, I
am persuaded that the notion of a perpetual peace would nevertheless
appear plausible to the propertied and intelligent mass of the
population, even if the government conducted by M. Thiers should be
supplanted by another; for the motto of the French is _gagner pour
jouir_, and I believe that the mass of the population would prefer
_jouissance_ rather than _gloire_.

Even in Prussia the multitudinous lawsuits against persons who try to
get rid of compulsory service show how many feel that it is a burden;
and God forbid that the alleviation should ever proceed from below
instead of from above.

The latest history of Russia is an edifying example of what the will
of a noble, humane, and magnanimous monarch can do to benefit his
people. So when two monarchs, related by race and friendship, clasp
hands, may God aid them to make their union a blessing for their
countries and for suffering mankind.

In my memorial to your emperor I said, “Only a fool or a knave can
think of a state without an armed force”; and in my letter to M.
Thiers I wrote, _abolir la force armée serait une idée criminelle et
insensée_.

One cannot express one’s self more energetically on this point. In
Prussia, to abolish a system to which it owes its historical position
would be as imbecile as for Russia to think of holding the Poles in
control and of protecting the tremendous frontier from the Black Sea
to the Pacific Ocean against savage tribes, without an army. The
question, therefore, is simply this: What numerical extension should
one give to the principle of universal compulsory service, and in what
proportion should the military budget stand to the other expenditures
of the State?

In my humble opinion it should be thus regulated:

1. _En principe_ abolish war between civilized nations and let the
governments guarantee to each other the possession of their respective
territories.

2. Settle questions at issue by an international commission of
arbitration, after the example of England and America.

3. Determine the strength of armaments (_die Stärke der bewaffneten
Macht_) by an international convention.

Even should the abolition of war be relegated by many to the domain of
fairy tales, I nevertheless have the courage to believe that therein
lies the only means of saving the Church, the monarchical principle,
and society, and of curing the State of the cancerous evil which at
the present time is preventing its perfection; and, on the other hand,
through the reduction of the war budget, of procuring for the State
the following means for its internal development and prosperity: (1)
reduction of taxes; (2) improvement in education and promotion of
science and art; (3) increase in salaries, especially of teachers and
the clergy; (4) improvement in the condition of the laboring classes;
(5) provision for beneficent objects.

The accomplishment of such lofty, purely Christian, and humane ideas,
proceeding directly from two such mighty monarchs, would be the most
glorious victory over the principle of evil; a new era of blessing
would begin; one cry of jubilation would ring through the universe and
find a response among the angels of heaven. If God is on my side, who
can be against me, and what worldly power could resist those who would
act in the name of the Lord?

This is the humble opinion of a man growing old, heavily tried by
fate, one who, not fearing the opinions of the world or its criticism,
looking to God and eternity, merely following the voice of his
conscience, seeks nothing else on this earth than a quiet grave beside
his dear ones who have gone before.

_Dixi et salvavi animam meam._

With the highest consideration, I have the honor of being

Your Serene Highness’s most devoted servant
Peter, Prinz von Oldenburg

St. Petersburg, April 15 (27), 1873

What answer Bismarck gave, or whether he replied at all, Duke Elimar did not know.

There is surely nothing more interesting than such old authentic letters. They show how ideas later become facts, and how events which afterwards develop were, long before, thoughts in men’s minds. Here I find also among my correspondence the following letter from Björnson. In view of the disunion of the Scandinavian countries, which eventuated ten years later, it assumes a quite especial significance:

Schwaz, Tirol, July 20, 1894

My dear Comrade:

—But be consoled; when Norway becomes mistress of her external affairs
(this is the object of the struggle) we shall go immediately to Russia
and demand a permanent court of arbitration for all disagreements. If
that succeeds,—and why should it not?—we will proceed to all other
matters. As soon as our relationship to Sweden permits of it, we shall
transform our army into an internal police force.

One example is stronger than a thousand apostles! The great majority
of the Norwegians have wholly lost belief in the beneficence of
armaments and are ready to set the example.

At the same time Sweden is arming on a scale quite extraordinary for a
people not rich. The general feeling in Sweden—so I am told—threatens
Norway with war, merely because Norway desires to have charge of its
own affairs.

Sweden might educate us by means of war to be good comrades in arms!
It would be the first time in history that the two great opposites had
stood in such blunt opposition,—on the one side a permanent court of
arbitration for all eventual quarrels, and no army any more; on the
other side, war to compel us to keep a larger army and to enter a
firmer military alliance.

But I trust that the struggle will end peaceably; I trust that the
general feeling in Norway in favor of the principle of “arbitration
instead of war” is also making progress in Sweden. In fact, already
the spirit of freedom in Norway—to the great annoyance of the highly
conservative court of the Swedish nobility and other great lords who
are powerful there—has spread widely in Sweden.

Accept my heartiest congratulations and gratitude, my dear Baroness;
were it not so far, I would come and make you a visit!

Your most devoted
Björnstjerne Björnson

XLV
PEACE CONGRESS IN ANTWERP AND INTERPARLIAMENTARY CONFERENCE AT THE HAGUE

Preparation for the Congress by the Belgian government · Houzeau de
Lehaye · A reminiscence of the battlefield of Sedan · Concerning free
trade · Audience with King Leopold · Invitation to the
Interparliamentary Conference · Reception the evening before · Pithy
sentences from Rahusen’s address · Opening · “No other cause in the
whole world....” · Second day of deliberation · Stanhope · Gladstone’s
proposal · Debate over the tribunal plan · Dr. Hirsch puts on the brake
· Rejoinder by Frédéric Passy and Houzeau · Randal Cremer · Concluding
festivities in Scheveningen

My memory retains as the most important events of the year 1894 our participation in the Sixth Peace Congress at Antwerp and in the Interparliamentary Conference which followed immediately at The Hague. Another festal journey into unfamiliar countries, and another stage of progress in the triumphant march of an Idea!

Before the assembling of the Congress the Belgian Minister of State, Le Bruyn, laid before King Leopold a report setting forth the remarkable growth of the movement and adducing as a proof of it the fact that in countries like Austria and Germany, which hitherto had held aloof from the cause, great peace societies had sprung into existence and found fruitful soil. The king’s reply to this report was the establishment of a committee whose duty it should be to forward the labors of the Peace Congress that was to meet at Antwerp. The committee, composed of thirty members, included the most distinguished names in Belgium, in large part officials connected with the government.

The opening session took place on the twentieth of August, in the great hall of the Athenæum. We had arrived the day before, and had looked about a little in the commercial metropolis of Belgium, and had spent the evening in pleasant intercourse with several of our friends who had journeyed thither from all parts of the world.

Our new president, Houzeau de Lehaye, was in the number,—a lively little man, full of wit and possessing the gift of fascinating eloquence. As chairman he conducted the proceedings with tact and firmness, and whenever in succeeding Congresses he took part in the debates, as he was particularly apt to do if any obstacles had to be avoided, one could always depend on his tact.

“Twenty-four years ago,” Houzeau told us that first day, “I visited the battlefield of Sedan. I have the impression of it still before me,—those corpses, those temporary graves, those flocks of ravens, the troops of maddened horses tearing over the plain, the wounded and dying lying in their gore, the teeth clinched in the agony of tetanus, the columns of prisoners of war, the heaps of discarded weapons, and in the midst of a grass plat the brass instruments of a military band surprised by the enemy in the climax of the saber song from ‘The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein.’ And I saw white sheets of letter paper, covered with the simple messages of love of mothers and sweethearts, flying round in the autumn wind until they fell into lakes of blood; and the horrible vision of countless bones and bleeding flesh all trodden down into the mire.... The peasants had fled from their villages across the neighboring boundary, and were then returning slowly to find misery and ruin, to which they would later have to succumb; and this,” he added, as he concluded his reminiscences with restrained passion, “is this to be the sum of civilization?”

Houzeau de Lehaye is a decided advocate of free trade. In his opening address, in which he depicted the errors and prejudices lying at the foundation of any defense of the institution of war, he said:

There is still another error which does not indeed involve a brutal
battle of saber and cannon, but nevertheless is not much less
calamitous. In spite of all the counter-evidence of the political
economists, in spite of repeated results based on experience, yet how
widespread is the prejudice that a nation becomes poor when the
prosperity of neighboring peoples makes too rapid advances. And in
order to preserve an imaginary equilibrium they hasten to have
recourse to a protective tariff. And this war of the tariffs is not
less destructive than the other. By a righteous retribution this
weapon chiefly wounds those that wield it. And all these errors have
their foundation in the false notion of the source of wealth and
prosperity. It is worth while to note that there is only one
source,—labor!

One would think that such simple truths would not require to be stated at this late day, for it is clear enough that wealth can be increased only from the creation of material things and not through mere change of place,—from Peter’s pocket into Paul’s; a transaction which, in addition, often means the destruction of the values shuffled this way and that. But the simpler, the more self-evident a truth is, the more it is wrapped up in the veils and fogs of old prejudices and current phraseology, and therefore it does much good to hear it once again spoken out so frankly and clearly.

This time there was a Portuguese at the Congress,—Magelhaes Lima, the publisher of the radical-liberal newspaper _O Seculo_. From America came Dr. Trueblood, who has never missed any of the European Peace Congresses.

I remember a lovely trip on the Schelde in a steamship put at our service by the government. Then a trip was made to Brussels between two sessions. A deputation of five members of the Congress, conducted by Houzeau, was received in audience by King Leopold. Frédéric Passy, Count Bothmer from Wiesbaden, my husband, and I made up the deputation. We drove from the railway station to the palace. In the audience chamber the king came to meet us,—recognizable instantly even at a distance by his long, square white beard,—and Houzeau presented the rest of us. I no longer recollect anything that was said; probably it was of small consequence. I only know that the king seemed to be on very jovial terms with Houzeau de Lehaye, for he slapped him several times laughingly on the shoulder. I remember one sentence that King Leopold said to us:

“The sovereign of a perpetually neutral state, like Belgium, must naturally feel interested in the question of international pacification. But of course,” he added,—and thereby all that he had said before was “of course” taken back,—“to protect this neutrality we must be armed.”

“What we are working for in our circles, your Majesty,” one of us replied, “is that the security of treaties should rest on law and honor and not on the power of arms.”

Houzeau did not wait to be dismissed, but himself gave the signal for departure. “The train does not wait—it knows no etiquette,” said he. There was another little _tape d’amitié_ on our president’s shoulder: “You care mighty little for etiquette yourself, my dear Houzeau....”

Immediately after the Antwerp Congress the Interparliamentary Conference was opened. This year, having been invited by the Netherlands government, it met at The Hague. As we were not Parliamentarians we had no title to be present, but Minister van Houzeau had sent me the following letter under date of May 23:

Dear Baroness:

On account of my appointment as Minister I have left the committee on
organization of the Interparliamentary Conference; yet I hope, as
representative of the government, to give to the Conference the
address of welcome in September. The limited space in the hall where
the meetings are to be held will permit only a small number of guests
and representatives of the press to be present; nevertheless the
committee will doubtless assure so prominent an advocate of the peace
cause a place among the very first. It will delight me to greet you as
well as your husband here in September, and also our friend Pirquet
and, if possible, others from your country.

Our hospitable city, with its splendid beach, will permit visitors to
combine the useful with the agreeable; and the assured visit of many
prominent men will, it is to be hoped, permit the Conference, in which
the presidents of both our chambers will take part, to accomplish
something beneficial in regard to the practical promotion of
international arbitration.

With friendly greeting, your devoted
S. van Houzeau

Thus the opportunity was afforded us of being present during the notable debates of that national representative Conference which was the precursor—and, one may say the cause—of the later Conference of nations at The Hague.

On the day of the opening session, the third of September, there was a reception in the rotunda of the Zoölogical Garden. Here the participants and the guests met together. The president of the Conference, Rahusen, made an address to the foreign Parliamentarians, from which I took down in my notebook the following sentences:

If we pass beyond the boundaries of our country, do we imagine
ourselves in a hostile land? Have you had any such experience in
coming here? I believe that I am justified in saying No.

... It is a phenomenon of our time that we find a solidarity among the
nations such as did not formerly exist.

... I know well that there are still men who ridicule such ideas;
meantime let us rejoice that no one condemns them.

... The morning glow of international righteousness indicates the
setting of the old war sun. If the last rays of this sun—which,
decrepit with age, has already lost its blaze and its warmth—shall
once be wholly extinguished,[8] then we, or those who come after us,
shall be filled with jubilant joy, and shall be astonished that the
civilized world could ever have called in brute force as an arbiter
between nations no longer inimical to each other but bound together by
so many common interests.

After this official part of the evening the company sauntered out into the open air, where the friends, some promenading, some taking places at tables about the rotunda, met and remained chatting till midnight.

At ten o’clock the next morning the formal opening took place in the assembly hall of the First Chamber of the States-General, a hall not very large but as high as a house and having its ceiling decorated with splendid paintings. I had a place in the gallery and enjoyed the magnificent spectacle, as the representatives of fourteen different parliaments took their seats one after another at the green-covered tables, while the members of the government who were to greet the Conference took places on the president’s dais. Minister van Houten, of the Interior Department, made the first address:

“No other cause in the whole world,” said he, “equals in magnitude that which is to be advocated here.”

I must delay a moment over this statement. It expresses what at that time formed (and forms equally to-day) the substratum of my feelings, thoughts, and endeavors, and likewise explains why in this second portion of my memoirs the phases of the peace movement take up so much space.

“No other cause in the whole world equals this in magnitude,”—I am not expressing a personal opinion, I am quoting; this is a conviction so deeply and religiously instilled into my mind (this is usually called a vocation!) that I cannot confess it often and loudly enough. Even if I knew that nine tenths of the cultured world still disregarded and ignored the movement, and one of these nine tenths went so far as to be hostile to it,—that is of no consequence; I appeal to the future. The twentieth century will not end without having seen human society shake off, as a legal institution, the greatest of all scourges,—war.

In writing my diary I am accustomed, when I am making note of situations which are threatening or promising, to mark them with an asterisk, then to turn over twenty or thirty blank pages and write, “Well, how has it resulted? See p. —.” Then when, in the course of my entries, I come quite unexpectedly on this question, I can answer it. And so here I ask some much, much later reader, who perchance has fished this book out from some second-hand dealer’s dust-covered bookshelf, “Well, how has it resulted? Was I right?” Then he may write on the margin the answer,—I see the gloss already before me,—“Yes, thank God!” (19??).

And now, back to The Hague, 1894. The proceedings of the first day resulted in nothing noteworthy. The second made up for it! Whoever reads the report of that day’s proceedings from a critically historical point of view can detect in it the embryo of the later Hague Tribunal, which, in turn, is at present only the embryo of what is yet to be.

Goals attained? The believer in evolution does not require them for his assurance; the line which shows the direction taken is enough.

I took my seat in the gallery in the greatest excitement, as at the theater when an interesting star performance is promised by the programme. The order of the day ran: “Preliminary Plan for the Organization of an International Tribunal of Arbitration,” presented by Stanhope.

A new man,—the Right Honorable Philip James Stanhope, Lord Chesterfield’s younger brother and intimate friend of the “grand old man,” Gladstone. At Gladstone’s direct instance Stanhope had come to the Conference in order to put before it the outcome of June 16, 1893, when in the English House of Commons Cremer’s motion was carried, and the Premier, in supporting it, appended the dictum that arbitration treaties were not the last word in assuring the peace of the world; a permanent central tribunal, a higher council of the powers, must be established.

Stanhope began his speech amid the breathless attention of the assembly. He speaks in the purest French, almost without accent. And in spite of all his unruffled clarity he speaks with such fire that he is frequently interrupted with shouts of applause. After he had explained Gladstone’s proposal he proceeded:

It is our duty now to bring this demand courageously before the
governments.

Everything which up to the present time appertains to so-called
international law has been established without precise principles, and
rests on accidents, on precedents, on the arbitrary decisions of
princes. Consequently, international law has made the least progress
of all sciences, and presents a contradictory mass of ambiguous waste
paper (_de paperasses vagues_).

Two great needs stand before the civilized nations,—an international
tribunal, and a code corresponding to the modern spirit and elastic
enough to fit new progress. This would insure the triumph of culture
and do away with the criminal recourse to deadly encounters.

As things are to-day, fresh military loans are demanded in every
parliament, and we are lashed by the press until we give our
consent.[9] It would be otherwise if we could reply: “The dangers
against which the armaments demanded are to protect us would be
obviated by the tribunal which we desire.” Therefore a project ought
to be elaborated which we might lay before the governments.

Here Stanhope developed a few points which were to be established as the basis of the organization, and he concluded with these words:

If next year we approach the governments with such a plan, and if our
action were in unison, the future would give us the victory; at all
events, the moral victory would be assured to us in having done our
whole duty.

Then came a debate. The German deputy, Dr. Hirsch,—from the beginning the Germans have performed the function of the brake in the Peace Conferences,—speaks against Stanhope’s proposition, nevertheless recognizing the noble ideas so eloquently presented:

It is essential that the members of the Conference should pass only
such resolutions as are comprehensible and practicable, and as may be
presented to the parliaments with some probability of their being
accepted; now Herr von Caprivi would certainly _never_ take into
consideration the project of an international tribunal. We ought to
avoid also inviting the curse of absurdity through plans of that kind;
for opponents are only too much inclined to ridicule the members of
the Conference as dreamers.

Houzeau de Lehaye springs from his seat like a jack-in-the-box:

In view of such great ideas [he shouts] as those that have just been
developed, in view of the establishment of a cause by such men as
Stanhope and Gladstone, the word “absurd” should never be uttered
again! [_Applause._] I second the motion.

Now the revered Passy arises:

I should like to enter my protest against a second word which my
honored friend, Dr. Hirsch, has used,—the word “never.” No great
advancement, no innovation, has ever been carried through, but that
the prediction has been made at the beginning that it could never be
done. For example, that parliamentarians from all nations should meet
to discuss the peace of the world, that they should do this in the
assembly hall of the Upper House of a monarchical state,—if the
question had been propounded five years ago, When will all this
happen? who would not have answered, “Never!”

And, in fact,—Passy accidentally hit upon the very figure,—five years later, on the 29th of July, 1899, the International Tribunal was established in the very city where the plan for such a tribunal, proposed by Gladstone, was laid on the table. Dr. Hirsch’s “never” did not last very long! To be sure, this tribunal does not as yet possess a mandatory character; the protesters who were active in objecting to the establishment of the tribunal at all saw to it that it should not have this character. And all who cling to the institution of war are also persuaded that this shall _never_ be.

Many other speakers supported the motion, and at last it was adopted with acclamation.

I felt deeply moved; so did My Own, who sat beside me; we exchanged a silent pressure of the hand.

The members were then chosen who should formulate the plan which was to be laid before the next year’s Conference.

This plan,—I anticipate events in order to show that that session was really historical,—this plan was presented to the Conference of 1895, at Brussels, was accepted and sent to all the governments, and assuredly contributed to the calling of the Hague Conference in 1898, and served as a basis for the establishment of the Permanent Court of Arbitration and its regulations.

That session brought one other sensation. After Stanhope’s motion was adopted, Randal Cremer mounted the platform. He was greeted with loud applause. He, together with Frédéric Passy, had been the inaugurator of the Interparliamentary Conferences. He had secured the signatures for the Anglo-American arbitration treaty, first in his own country and then, after crossing the ocean, in the United States; and it was due to him that the motion on that famous sixteenth of June, 1893, was adopted with Gladstone’s aid. His mode of speaking is simple and unadorned; he betrays clearly the former laboring man.

After the session he came up to us in the corridor and informed us that before leaving home he talked with Lord Rosebery; that he had not been permitted to repeat at the Conference what the Premier had said to him, but it had been of the most encouraging character. His feeling of confidence communicated itself to us.

The concluding banquet took place in the assembly room at Scheveningen. The orchestra played all the national hymns in succession. I sat between Rahusen and Houzeau. Stanhope delivered an extraordinarily keen and witty speech, the venerable Passy one full of eloquence and fire. I also had to speak. Fireworks were set off on the esplanade. The final apotheosis formed the words _Vive la Paix_, glowing in fiery letters, over which beamed a genius with a branch of palms.

What thoughts were in the minds of the guests of the watering-place as they promenaded by and stared at us? Probably none, and they were not so very far wrong; for what is left after the words have ceased, the toasts have been pledged, and the fireworks have been sent off? Nothing! From far down in the depths must the energies come through which epochs are changed....

XLVI
VARIOUS RECOLLECTIONS

In Harmannsdorf again · My husband writes _Sie wollen nicht_ · Max
Nordau’s opinion of it · My labors and correspondence · Rear Admiral
Réveillère · Dolmens and menhirs · From the patriot of Brittany to the
patriot of humanity · Réveillère’s views about social economy, the lot
of the masses, professional politicians, etc. · A fine comparison ·
Deaths of Prince Achille Murat, Duke von Oldenburg, and Ruggero Bonghi

After our return from Holland to our beloved Harmannsdorf we resumed our quiet, happy, laborious life. My Own began writing his two-volume novel entitled _Sie wollen nicht_, which was to be his ripest work. Max Nordau wrote to him regarding it:

Forgive me for delaying until to-day to thank you for your highly
interesting novel _Sie wollen nicht_. It takes a long time for me to
find opportunity, in my over-busy life, to read 730 pages of prose, no
matter how very easy and agreeable may be its style, unless it happens
to fit in directly with my line of work.

What I think of your character I should not be permitted to tell you.
I know that men of real character find any praise of their
characteristics disagreeable. At any rate I may say in brief that I
admire the German writer who has the courage to-day to create the
figures of a Gutfeld, Zinzler, and Kölble. Artistically your novel
stands high. Perhaps there are too many threads interwoven, and the
web is, perhaps, not drawn tight enough. That the main drama is not
introduced until the last chapters, with the appearance of Palkowski,
is no advantage from the standpoint of composition; but all that is a
trifle compared to the great advantage of its wealth of motives and
the vital energy of the complicated multitude of personages. Old
Jörgen alone would suffice to make your novel ever fresh in the
reader’s memory.

At that time I was writing _Vor dem Gewitter_. The editorial work on my monthly periodical likewise gave me abundant occupation, and my correspondence even more. I wrote regularly to Alfred Nobel in order to keep him informed as to the development of the peace cause. I constantly had long, stimulating letters from Carneri as well as from Rudolf Hoyos, Friedrich Bodenstedt, Spielhagen, Karl von Scherzer, M. G. Conrad, and others. I found a new, and to me personally unknown, correspondent in an old French naval officer, Rear Admiral Réveillère. I cannot now remember whether he wrote to me first or I to him. Whether or no, our correspondence was based on similarity of ideas and a mutual knowledge of each other’s writings. The first time I ever heard of Réveillère was at the banquet of the Interparliamentary Conference of 1894, at Scheveningen, when Frédéric Passy, in proposing a toast to the sea which was roaring beyond the doors of the hall, said he was quoting the words of his friend Réveillère.

Born in 1828, in Brittany, he had long followed the sea, and now was living in retirement in Brest, his native city, known to fame as a savant and a writer. He occupied his leisure time in writing books and articles. He had participated in many naval battles and many battles of ideas. The list of the titles of his books shows to how many countries he had traveled in the performance of his duties, and also how manifold were the regions which he had explored as a poet and thinker: “Gaul and the Gauls,” “The Enigma of Nature,” “Across the Unknown,” “The Voices of the Rocks,” “Journey Around the World,” “Seeds and Embryos,” “Against Storm and Flood,” “The Three Promontories,” “Letters of a Mariner,” “Tales and Stories,” “The Indian Seas,” “The Chinese Seas,” “The Conquest of the Ocean,” “The Search for the Ideal”; still later came “United Europe” (Paris, Berger Levraut, 1896), “Guardianship and Anarchy” (Ibid., 1896), “Extension, Expansion” (Ibid., 1898).

He wrote me once how it happened that he, the son of conservative Brittany, grown gray in the naval service, had joined the pacifists:

Often we are inspired by two ideas which have no apparent connection,
and it sometimes takes years before the bond that connects them is
discovered. It has cost me much time and thought to explain the
connection between the two ruling passions which possess me and which
had seemed to me to have no relationship with each other,—a
deep-seated enthusiasm for the federation of Europe, and an
instinctive cult for dolmens and menhirs.

From my earliest childhood I have been fascinated by the riddle that
is presented in stone on all sides in my Breton homeland; and ever
since my childhood I have been in love with the beautiful dream of a
European federation,—a dream which is bound to come true in spite of
the prejudices of statesmen and the prepossessions of crowned heads.
The great work of the European alliance must begin with the
_rapprochement_ of those nations whose customs and ideas have the
closest analogy. The nations living along the Atlantic coast have been
the only ones to assimilate the principles of the French Revolution: I
mean the following countries: Scandinavia, Holland, Belgium, France,
Portugal, and ancient Helvetia, the oldest of the European republics.
England had, long since, already passed through her revolution.

Later my archæological studies taught me that this was the very region
of the dolmens. All these nations had common ancestors,—the
Megalithians; from the North Cape as far as Tangiers the same race
occupied the coast; there were the same burial rites, always based on
the same articles of faith; and the result was that to me the dolmens
and menhirs came to stand as the symbols of a Western federation.

And another time:

The accident of birth made me first of all a Breton patriot. When I
emerged from the narrow egoism of childhood, my first love was
directed to Brittany. When the development of my intellect permitted
me to realize the solidarity of my little homeland with the French
fatherland, I became a French patriot. Later I learned from history
that all the nations on this side of the Rhine once formed a glorious
Federation; then I became a Gallic patriot. Still later study of the
Megalithic monuments revealed to me a new connection,—that with the
Megalithic race. As logic continued its work, I became a European
patriot; finally, a patriot of humanity. In our day national love is
an imbecile love unless it is illuminated by the love for mankind.

I have read only the three last-named works of the admiral; but he regularly sent me the articles that he published in the journal _La Dépêche_, in which he always took a consistent attitude—that of “illuminating” love for mankind—toward all the questions of the day; not, however, in the least in a visionary way, nor with any smack of mysticism, which so constantly stirs the spiritual lives of poetically inclined seafarers. He based his political ideals on actual and positive considerations, drawn particularly from the domain of national economy. Thus he wrote:

In order to meet the industrial rivalry of the United States of
America and the yellow races, it would be desirable—in the interest of
France and Germany—to see a customs union formed, embracing Germany,
Belgium, Holland, and France, and including, at the same time, the
colonies of these countries. It really seems almost impossible at the
present time to swim against the stream of protective tariffs, and yet
every nation is conscious of the necessity of extending its market. If
there is opposition to this extension on European soil, why is not an
effort made to gain it through a colonial union,—a union by means of
which the federated countries might insure to their citizens, their
vessels, and their products the same rights and privileges in all the
colonies?

With regard to the lot of the masses, which so greatly needs to be improved, Réveillère says that this amelioration depends on the general production of useful articles. As long as the masses are wasting their energies in unproductive labors there is no alleviation possible for them, ... and at the present time the nations are wearing themselves out in unproductive and destructive labor. There is no halfway measure; either international anarchy (that is to say, the lack of a code of laws regulating the intercourse of nations), with poverty, or federation, with wealth.

My Breton friend was inclined not to mince words in speaking of the politicians: “Steam has changed everything in this world except the routine of our statesmen!” And in the following letter:

Engineers and scholars are all the time at work filling up the graves
which the professionals in statecraft are digging; the engineers are
expending all their energies in increasing the productivity of labor,
the politicians are doing everything they possibly can to make it
sterile.

Many persons are of the opinion that the end sought is too broad and distant, and the initiation of it is beset with too great difficulties, to be willing to attempt the regulation of a pacific mutual relationship among the European states; especially at the present time, when almost every state has to endure so much trouble and disturbance arising from the violent national and social battles which are raging within its own borders. An answer to this objection is afforded by the following passage from one of Réveillère’s books (“Extension, Expansion,” p. 23):

When a physician has to treat a case of consumption, his first care is
to prevent his patient from breathing poisoned air. If he has to
perform an operation, he sees to it that the room in which the
operation is to take place is purified of every contagious germ.
Exactly the same principle holds with regard to national diseases. No
state can think of curing its internal ills before the European room
is disinfected. Certainly it is the duty of every nation to do
everything possible to modify the ills of its own people; but to claim
that serious internal reforms can be carried out without having first
secured European federation is just like caring for wounded men in a
hall filled with microbes.

I kept up a correspondence with Admiral Réveillère for a long time. Of late years our letters fell off in frequency. A short time ago—in March, 1908—he died. Ah, when we have grown old, how often we have to report of our friends that they are no more! In childhood life is like a nursery; in youth, like a garden; in old age, like a cemetery.

Tidings of a death which affected us painfully—I am now telling of what happened in the year 1895—came to us suddenly from the Caucasus,—Prince Achille Murat had shot himself. Was it suicide or an accident? I never learned the exact truth. It happened in Zugdidi, in the villa which My Own had built for the Murats. Princess Salomé, who was sitting in the next room, heard the report of a shot in her husband’s room. She hastened in and found the unfortunate man fallen back in an easy-chair, with a pistol between his legs, the barrel pointing up in the air. Had he been cleaning the weapon carelessly, or was it weariness of life? As I said, I do not know.

And still another loss: On the 17th of October, 1895, Duke Elimar von Oldenburg departed this life, in his fifty-second year, at his castle of Erlaa. A short time before, he had given me a second article by his uncle, Prince Peter, entitled “Thoughts of a Russian Patriot,” which ends with these ringing words:

Let me be permitted to express the dearest wish of my heart, as I face
God and Eternity,—an agreement of all governments in the interest of
peace and humanity! May that happy day dawn when men can say, War
between civilized nations is at an end.

Duke Elimar’s widow was completely overwhelmed by this sudden and premature bereavement. To my letter of condolence she wrote me the following answer, which throws a brilliant light on the noble characteristics of the departed and his consort:

Brogan, October 29, 1895

Dear Baroness:

Most hearty thanks for your warm, sympathetic words, and also for the
splendid wreath sent by the Society of the Friends of Peace, which,
with so many other gifts of love and tokens of respect, adorns the
last resting-place of the deceased. There is _no_ consolation for such
hours. What I have lost no one can truly realize who does not know how
the inner bond that united us, joining every fiber of our two lives
together, had been interwoven in the nineteen years of undivided,
untroubled wedlock, so that with the uprooting of one life the
thousands and thousands of roots of the other were torn from the
ground. The profound loneliness which has come upon me through this
loss is often scarcely to be endured, and at the present time I can
hardly imagine how in this life, on this earth, I can ever again take
root. One who has lived for nineteen years in such intimate
relationship with a man like my husband cannot easily become
accustomed to other persons.

The pure, lofty idealism which—I may say—formed the very quintessence
of his being and made him so extremely lovable, so winning, and so
attractive to all who came into contact with him, I shall never again
find anywhere so embodied as in him, and since he has gone from me I
miss him always everywhere to such a degree that it is often simply
unendurable for me to be with others. And yet the proofs of
_unofficial_, genuine, heartfelt sympathy from so many good and noble
people in these days has done me unspeakable good. To you also, my
dear Baroness, my best and heartiest thanks once again for all your
sympathy.

Your sincerely devoted
Natalie von Oldenburg

A few years later she sent me a volume of poems dedicated to the memory of the departed and breathing a pathetic grief.

And yet a third loss: On the 31st of October, 1895, Ruggero Bonghi, so beloved in our circle, died in Torre del Greco at the age of sixty-eight. Italy mourned in him the reformer of public education, the professor of philosophy, the editor of the _Nuova Antologia_, the founder and director of the orphan asylum at Anagni; we mourned the active apostle of our common cause, the man who from a lofty tribune had spoken these beautiful words: “We promoters of peace, who work for it with glowing zeal, have in the last analysis no other object than this,—that man shall become _wholly human_.” Our Austrian Union telegraphed the following words to Rome for the funeral: _Sincero dolore e riconoscenza eterna_. “Sincere grief and eternal gratitude.”

XLVII
FURTHER VARIED RECOLLECTIONS

The Union for Resistance to Anti-Semitism once more · Article by A. G.
von Suttner · In the house of Christian Kinsky · Recollection of a home
dinner with the Empress · War between Japan and China · Appeal of the
Peace Congress to the Powers for intervention · Answer of the Russian
Minister of War, Giers · The fruits of German military instruction in
Japan · The Peace of Shimonoseki · Interparliamentary Conference in
Brussels · Sending out the formulated and accepted plan for an
arbitration tribunal · First appearance of the Hungarian Group, with
Maurus Jókai and Count Apponyi at its head · Hopeful and distressful
signs of the times · From the Congress of the Association Littéraire in
Dresden · Trip to Prague · At Professor Jodl’s · Lecture in “The German
House” · Banquet · La Busca · Visit at Vrchlicky’s · Trip to Budapest ·
Founding of the Hungarian Peace Society · War in sight between England
and the United States · Removal of the danger

This year—I am still speaking of 1895, as I turn the leaves of the volume containing my diary for that period—we did not make any journey to a Peace Congress, for the simple reason that no Congress was held. But we did not on that account spend the whole year at Harmannsdorf. Trips were made to Prague, to Budapest (with lectures), to Lussinpiccolo, which I will describe later on; and we visited Vienna a number of times, whither we were called by duty and pleasure.

The business of his Union caused My Own much labor and much anxiety. Anti-Semitism, against which he was waging battle, had increased rather than diminished in violence. Dr. Karl Lueger, a leader in the Anti-Semitic party, had been nominated and elected by that party as mayor; but the Emperor did not confirm the election, to the indignation of a large part of the bourgeoisie and to the consternation of those higher circles who, under the influence of their spiritual advisers, supported the candidature of Karl Lueger.

An Austrian aristocrat holding an important position told me of finding himself in a company at court when the news of Lueger’s nonconfirmation was brought. “Oh, the poor Emperor!” cried the Duchess of Württemberg, daughter of Archduke Albrecht, “the poor Emperor—in the hands of the Freemasons!” And a year later, in the same circle, where my informant happened to be again when the news of Lueger’s confirmation came, the same princess raised her eyes and her clasped hands to heaven with the words, “God be praised! Light has dawned on the Emperor at last!”