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!”
That was the time when a Jew-baiting chaplain—Deckert was his
name—preached from the pulpit and in pamphlets in the most vehement
terms against the Jews—with success. This induced the “anti”-union to
enter the field and to appear with a protest before the president of the
House of Deputies. But I will let my husband himself have the floor. He
published in the _Neue Freie Presse_ the following article, the contents
of which will best show what was going on in the camp of the
Anti-Semites, and what thoughts and purposes were awakened thereby in
the camp of their opponents:
THE PRESENT SITUATION
Now the wily old magician
Once again his leave has taken!
Spirits that owed him submission
Now shall at my call awaken.
I his cell invaded;
I have learned the spell!
I’ll do—spirit-aided—
Miracles as well!
Goethe: _Der Zauberlehrling_
For twenty years now the “Magician’s apprentice” (_Zauberlehrling_)
has been trying his experiments in Austria. The old master who knew
how to exercise and to exorcise the spirits has gone; constitution,
parliamentarianism, the fundamental law of the state, have become mere
documents, and the unbridled spirits are up to their mad tricks. And
now, since it has resulted as all who were not hiding their heads in
the sand saw that it would result, the cry of dismay echoes through
the land:
Lord, the need’s immense!
Those I called—the spirits—
Will not vanish hence!
Or perhaps it will still be claimed that they were never summoned?
Would any one wish to deny that we looked on with remarkable patience,
endured them,—yea, verily, absolutely defended them,—instead of
calling on the master who would have driven away the demons while
there was still time?
Yes, if with us a system had not grown into a standard separating
so-called “serious” politicians from dilettanti! The system, which is
called in plain English “I dare not” (_Ich trau’ mich nicht_), has
been wrapped up by the “serious” in a distinguished-appearing vesture,
and elevated under the title of “Opportunism” to the concept of
political wisdom.
What this Opportunism has on its conscience is fearful! It is the
brake, the slave chain holding back every energetic activity,
hindering everything, making every transaction impossible; it is the
cause of the broken-winged condition that obtains to-day, of the
distrust, of the fatalistic _après nous le déluge_; it is the cause of
the universal discontent and apathy on the one side, of the loud
shouts of triumph, the renewed efforts on that side yonder, which is
now only one step away from its appointed goal.
Here I can add a word from experience, for I have been standing in the
very midst of the stormy waves, and I shall still stand there as long
as the office is intrusted to me of representing that portion of my
fellow-citizens which has undertaken to oppose the assaults of the
preachers of hatred and the apostles of persecution. By virtue of this
office I feel myself called upon, indeed in duty bound, to put in my
word and to speak of the experiences which the Union for Resistance to
Anti-Semitism has had since it was founded.
I need only to point out the Rescue Society as an example of what
opposition humanitarian associations meet with from the influential
classes. Our Union was meant to be a rescue society in a certain
sense, namely, for the purpose of rescuing the good old Austrian
spirit, the spirit of patience, of justice, of brotherly love, the
spirit that used to prevail at that time when, in the struggle for
freedom and human dignity, Christians and Jews stood together in the
very van, united in purpose and in genuine brotherhood, to conquer or
to die. This spirit we desired to help rise to its old honorable
condition; this was the reason for our emerging from our peaceful calm
in order to take up the battle against poisoned arrows and every kind
of disgusting weapon.
What was more natural and more justifiable than for us to yield to the
expectation that every one who had any claim to culture and morality
should joyfully join with us and thus raise a millionfold protest
against the mad actions of the thoughtlessly unbridled spirits? What
was more reasonable than to hope that in the influential circles in
whose hands the reins are placed we should be greeted with joy as the
breakwater against the onrush of the destroying billows, as the dam
which is to be carefully repaired and made secure at a time when a
freshet is expected?...
Yes, we believed and expected that, but we had forgotten just one
thing,—Opportunism. Only gradually did we come to realize that warm
feelings, honorable enthusiasm, fresh, fiery zeal, are ideal concepts
which have found no place in the lexicon of higher politics; we
learned that everything must be diplomatically weighed, accurately,
even to milligrams, so that if possible, even in the most
heterogeneous conditions, a transaction may be satisfactory to A and B
and C; in short, that all things and everything must first be placed
on the scales of the Opportune before there can be any departure from
reserve.
We have, indeed, attempted to emancipate ourselves at times from this
terrible thing, and to undertake several little _coups d’état_ on our
own responsibility, but even then the capital O had to appear on the
door before it would open for us; and when we were admitted we heard
nothing more comforting than that “in case of exigency,” that is to
say, in case it should ever become opportune, our desires would be
taken into consideration.
We have seen how these pledges were kept in the affair of the Rescue
Society; in short, we were obliged to recognize that no support was to
be found in the quarter where it should have been freely offered us.
And yonder in the camp of our opponents they were not blind. This
buttoned-upness (_Zugeknöpftheit_) which we met with was a direct
encouragement to them to continue in the direction marked out, and
they have made the most of it in order to make capital out of it, in
order to win new support. Was that not to have been foreseen? Ought we
to wonder that in view of such official toleration the defection among
officials and teachers over to that side should grow ever more and
more serious?...
A frank, a decided word from above, spoken at the right time, in place
of evasive circumlocutions which, like the answers of the ancient
oracles, may be stretched and twisted to suit any interpretation,
would have prevented what had to come to-day—nay, not had, but was
allowed, to come. And this definite, frank utterance, open to no
misinterpretation, is the right of that portion of our fellow-citizens
who, contrary to all civil order, are exposed to the wildest insults
and threats, without protection and practically declared to be
outlawed. This frank utterance is: _Anti-Semitism, in print, in word,
and in deed, is a movement dangerous to society, deeply injurious to
the existence of the state and the fundamental laws of the state. No
government can permit it any more than anarchy or other endeavors
which, through exercise of force, tend to disturb internal peace and
to bring about civil war._
We have labored to have this or a similar judgment pronounced, and in
so doing we have done our duty. Come what will, we will not desert the
breach; for we have in our hearts the consciousness of occupying a
standpoint which every right-feeling and right-thinking man must take.
This consciousness is sufficient to keep up our courage. In our ranks
there is not one who is striving for any personal advantage from the
realization of these principles; on the contrary, we know that to-day
we stand just as unprotected, just as much exposed to all insults, as
are those whose rights we desire to see secured.
But, in conclusion, an old proverb says, “God helps those that help
themselves,” and it must come to self-protection if this particular
form of anarchy, which is already making the doors of Austria ring
with its blows, shall succeed in breaking them down. Let us rally if
it must come to that!
A. Gundaccar von Suttner
I said above that duty and pleasure took us to Vienna. Our pleasure
consisted chiefly in going to the theater. Oh, it was indeed a delight
to attend plays with My Own, who was so keen to enjoy, so thoroughly one
of “the thankful public”! Especially in jolly plays he could laugh as no
one else did! And next to the theater came social intercourse with
sympathetic friends. We had long chats on literary and pacifistic topics
with Carneri and Hoyos, with Groller, Herzl, and various other men of
the pen.
Great pleasure was afforded us also in visiting at the house of my
cousin, Christian Kinsky. Every time we came to Vienna we were invited
to dine with him and his thoroughly sensible wife, Therese. Christian
was then provincial marshal of Austria. The burden and dignity of his
office took nothing from his coruscating humor, from his inexhaustible
wit. And at the same time such free, clear-cut views of things! Therese
also was very liberal-minded in all matters. Quite the contrary was
Christian’s sister, Countess Ernestine Crenneville, who often came up of
an afternoon with her handiwork for a little gossiping (_Plausch_). She
occupied a lower floor in the Kinsky house in the Laudongasse, and, like
the generality of the Austrian aristocracy, was very religious and
ecclesiastically inclined. She had many times tried to convert her
brother, but he always evaded the issue with laughter and bantering; and
they got along together very well. It would indeed have been hard not to
get along well with Ernestine, for her piety was tolerant, and she was
goodness and gentleness itself. I had known her in her blooming,
youthful beauty; now she was old, but still a pretty little lady, and
had much that was interesting to tell of her life.
Once I jotted down in my diary a reminiscence of hers. The conversation
had turned upon our Empress and her mania for traveling about the world
so restlessly.
“I remember,” related Ernestine, “how one day we were sitting together
after a little dinner at the Empress’s—a very small party, the
Archduchess Valerie, the Duke of Cumberland, and I. A few ladies of the
court were near. The Empress was very silent and sad. Suddenly she cries
out, ‘Oh, let us go outside, out on the green grass and far away!’
Archduchess Valerie springs up: ‘For mercy’s sake, mamma....’ The Duke
of Cumberland exclaims soothingly, ‘You are right, your Majesty,’ and
whispers to her daughter, ‘Only never let her go alone, never alone.’”
War had broken out between Japan and China. Such events no longer left
me so indifferent as they did when I was young. Even though this tragedy
was being enacted far away, in another quarter of the globe, the fact
that the fiend against whom our party was fighting had broken loose
again indicated a setback for our movement; for who could tell what
future wars, in which Europe might also be involved, this war would
bring in its train?
Even during the Peace Congress at Antwerp, in the autumn of 1894, the
Sino-Japanese conflict was rising threateningly above the horizon, and I
remember that among the resolutions at that time one contained an
exhortation to the two empires, and also to the other powers, to avoid
the outbreak or the continuance of the war by means of arbitration or
intervention; but we were not heard. The only government which paid any
attention to this action was the Russian. From that came the following
answer:
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, St. Petersburg, October 15, 1894
M. A. Houzeau, President of the World’s Peace Congress
Dear Sir:
I received in due time the letter which you addressed to the Imperial
Government, urging the great Powers in common to take steps to put an
end to the bloody war between Japan and China. The success of such
intervention would, above all, depend on unanimity of views and
endeavors, which latter his Majesty’s government will always be ready
to support for the possible avoidance, diminution, and prevention of
the horrors of war.
In giving you this assurance I beg you, my dear sir, to accept the
expression of my especial consideration.
Giers
And when the battles had begun, then the whole world again listened with
the keenest interest. Yet this was noteworthy: little Japan proved to be
more than a match for huge China. There was no little pride manifested
in German military circles at these Japanese victories, since the
complete system of armament and of tactics in the Land of the Rising Sun
was the fruit of the instruction which German military instructors had
given the Japanese army. We Europeans are the bearers of culture.
Perhaps it is also going to be our province to make the Chinese into a
first-class fighting nation. Attempts in this direction are not lacking;
this comes under “unanimity of views and endeavors.” Quite naturally, he
who possesses a set of white chessmen and likes to play chess must
provide for an opponent with an equivalent number of black ones.
In May, 1895, the Asiatic war came to an end. The Peace of Shimonoseki
was signed, and secured to the Japanese important advantages from the
victory. This the European Powers would not endure, and they united in
advising the Japanese to renounce various fruits of their triumph over
China; otherwise they would feel compelled to back up this request by
recourse to arms. Fortunately Japan yielded, and this “recourse” was not
required. But why did the Powers not unite _before_ the war in
intervening and demanding that the Korean question should be submitted
to a court of arbitration?
The Interparliamentary Conference of the year 1895 met at Brussels.
Although we were invited, this time we did not attend; but our
correspondents kept us informed of the course of events. The principal
features of this Conference were:
Submission and acceptance of the plan for a national tribunal
determined upon the preceding year, and formulated by Houzeau, La
Fontaine, and Descamps.
Resolution to send this plan to all governments.
Participation in the Union for the first time of a Hungarian group. At
the head of this group, Maurus Jókai, and, as its most brilliant
representative, Count Apponyi, whose eloquence makes a sensation.
Invitation of the Hungarians to hold the next—the seventh—Conference
at Budapest at the time of the Millennial Festival; accepted.
All these tidings filled me with joy. Once more a few important steps
forward had been taken; an elaborated plan for a national tribunal was
now placed before the governments, and the project did not emanate from
unauthorized dreamers in private life, but from statesmen, the
representatives of seventeen countries; and the whole thing came from
the initiative of one of the strongest and most distinguished men of his
day, William E. Gladstone. Moreover, it could be seen how the nucleus of
the peace endeavor was gaining new force—this time from the acquisition
of Hungary, with one of her most influential statesmen, Apponyi, and her
most celebrated poet, Jókai.
It was as if there could be seen on the horizon something still small
and distant, but slowly growing bigger, and certainly ever coming
nearer. No longer a vision of the fancy, no mere “pious wish,” but
something substantial, actual, which to be sure may still be attacked
and hampered, but no longer flatly denied. And why attacked? Was it not
good fortune and success drawing nigh? Ever larger would become the
throngs of those who recognize it, and then they would all hasten to
meet the approaching marvel and greet it with jubilation!
In our comprehension of this, My Own and I were happy, and we labored in
the great work according to our feeble powers, full of joyous
confidence. Not as if we did not see the obstacles in the way; we were
painfully conscious of them, and we realized the opposition that was
still to be overcome. Anything old and firmly rooted has very obstinate
endurance, and the law of inertia gives it effective protection. Men do
not like to be shaken out of their ruts; they avoid new roads, even
though they lead them into paradise!
These were the thoughts that formed the basis of the novel _Sie wollen
nicht_. The question of peace was not treated in it, but the question of
social reforms in the domain of political economy: A landed proprietor
introduces all sorts of improvements, desires to bring about conditions
which shall give his laborers prosperity and independence, but “they do
not want it”; they distrust him and ruin him.
Yes, the increasing, approaching ray of light on the horizon rejoiced
us, but we had our trials in the immediate and the near which filled the
world about us. Thus at that time terrible news began to arrive from
Armenia,—butchery instigated, measures taken to exterminate a whole
nation. From Spain also came gloomy tidings,—Cuba wanted to gain her
independence, and, in order to retain her, her yoke was made ever more
oppressive ... and the Madagascan enterprise of the French ... in brief,
cause enough for horror and worriment all around! But also sufficient
cause for hope and joy!
The Association Littéraire held its congress in Dresden. We were invited
to attend, since my husband was a member of the society. I do not know
what prevented us from accepting the invitation; but I find in my papers
a report from there which at that time gave me great pleasure:
During a literary evening, at which the King and the Queen, the
leaders of official society of Dresden, and all the participants of
the Congress were present, J. Grand-Carteret, in an address on “German
Women as judged by the French,” said these words:
“Spiritually the German woman has been presented to us by Luther and
Johann Fischart, later by Goethe and Schiller, until at last, like an
incarnation of the human conscience she stands before us as the
apostle of peace and civilization, and with the Baroness von Suttner
utters the cry which long since ought to have found an echo in the
heart of every mother, _Die Waffen nieder!_”
At the banquet in Leipzig, Grand-Carteret returned to the same theme
in his toast:
“... I drink to the book, that is to say, to the general expansion of
humane thought.
“To the book that had its origin in Germany, _en pleine nuit armée_,
to the book born on crossroads and to-day casting a light on the
highway of the future; to the book which has arisen against the
sword....
“I drink to the feminine Volapük of the future, which all by itself,
if men continue to want to kill one another, will permit the women of
all countries to utter the cry, _Die Waffen nieder!_ For the first
time in thirty-five years we have felt the soul of the people here
vibrating. I drink to that soul to-day!”
At the same banquet Émile Chasles, Inspector General of Public
Instruction in France, delivered a speech which closed with these
words: “I salute the spirit of internationalism, which rises above the
quarrels of men and governs nations with the aim of drawing them
together.”
We made an excursion to Prague, the city of my birth. The Concordia
Union had invited me to deliver a lecture. Before this affair, which
took place at eight o’clock in the evening in the mirror room of the
Deutsches Haus, we were invited to dinner at Professor Jodl’s. The
famous philosopher—a friend of my friend Carneri—was then a docent in
the University of Prague, while he is now a light in our Vienna
Hochschule. It was a pleasant little meal, with few but choice guests.
The professor’s young wife, Margarete, was a fascinating housewife, who
had already won my heart, because I knew her as the liberal-minded
translator of Olive Schreiner’s stories. This same Olive Schreiner, in
her “Peter Halket,” has said a wonderful thing,—a thing that expresses
beautifully my profoundest belief: “With the rising and setting of the
sun, with the revolving flight of the planets, our fellowship grows and
grows.... The earth is ours.”
Since I was to speak in a literary union, I had chosen the subject of
peace literature, and as I was in Bohemia, I cited also Bohemian
authors,—the two great poets Vrchlicky and Swatopluck Czech. In my
absolute innocence I had no suspicion of the fact that it was something
unheard of in Prague, so torn by national jealousies, to praise Czech
geniuses in the Deutsches Haus. For a moment a certain feeling of
restraint seems to have manifested itself in the hall, but when the
splendid verses of the two princes of Czech poetry—paraphrased rather
than translated into German by Friedrich Adler—rang out, the German
auditors were disarmed and the ill-humor passed off. There is no field
which would be better adapted to bringing about reconciliation between
two contending factions than the field of supernational pacification.
At the banquet which followed the lecture I made the acquaintance of
many interesting people, and particularly of the theatrical manager
Angelo Neumann, and his wife, Johanna Buska. The latter was very much
after the style of Sarah Bernhardt,—so delicate, so thin, so
golden-voiced, so exquisitely elegant, and so many-sided in her art.
There is no leading part in the repertory, from the naïve to the heroic,
the sentimental, and the coquettish, which la Busca had not played and
made the most of. That evening she recited a poem which Friedrich Adler
had composed as a rejoinder to Carducci’s “Ode to War.”
The next day we went to see Vrchlicky. We were conducted by a maid into
a little drawing-room, where we were kept waiting some time for the
master of the house. When the door opened and he entered, I was rather
disappointed. I have been so accustomed to find generally in the
creators of beautiful works handsome people that I was literally
horrified at Vrchlicky’s ugliness—for he is ugly, his best friend must
admit it. A flat, potato-like nose, tangled hair,—only from the eyes
shines forth his clear intellect, and in the metallic tones of his voice
vibrates his fiery soul.
“I am very much delighted,” he said, as he shook hands with us, “that
you have both come to Prague. You will find here a thoroughly
intelligent public.”
“Well, the public, because of national antipathies, is surely not
altogether receptive of our cause, as we discovered only last evening.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the poet, “there are no national passions in music.”
We did not understand the significance of this remark, and after a while
the conversation took all sorts of turns, during which sometimes we and
sometimes Vrchlicky showed the greatest astonishment in our faces, until
it finally transpired that we were taken for Mr. and Mrs. Ree, the
well-known piano virtuosos, who were going to give a concert that
evening in Prague and had promised to call on Vrchlicky. When the
misunderstanding was cleared away we warmed up to each other, and I saw
that he was as enthusiastic an adherent of my cause as I was an
enthusiastic admirer of his genius.
Our next little journey took us to Budapest—of course also in the
interest of peace. “You have become genuine peace-drummers” (_die reinen
Friedens-Commis-Voyageurs_), said my father-in-law banteringly.