Austria, that the country might be represented at the Congress in Rome,
so now, since the Interparliamentary Union had invited us to the
Millennial Festival at Budapest, it seemed likewise necessary for a
private society to come into existence there and invite the other
societies to take part in a Peace Congress. Our Vienna Society took up
the agitation of this matter in the Hungarian capital. Leopold Katscher,
the well-known publicist, who had wide-branching affiliations in
Hungary, where he had lived for many years, and who was now a member of
our Union, made a trip to Budapest, and called on Maurus Jókai, and on
the statesmen with whom I, for my part, was assiduously corresponding.
And the result? Instead of giving a detailed account of this I will
quote the text of the following dispatch which was sent to the Vienna
press:
Budapest, December 15. Peace Union established yesterday. Meeting
conducted by B. von Berzeviczy, vice president of the Reichstag.
Addresses in Hungarian by Jókai, and in German by Baroness von
Suttner; a whirlwind of applause. Several hundred prospective members
come forward. Voted to accept the invitation to the Seventh World’s
Peace Congress. Influential personages chosen to serve on the
directorate, among them two members of the former cabinet. Jókai,
president. Unexampled enthusiasm shown by the press; all the Hungarian
and German papers devote from four to ten columns to the reports.
Prime Minister Banffy declared to Baroness von Suttner that both the
Interparliamentary Conference and the World’s Peace Congress would be
welcomed in Budapest, and that the government would not only assist
but would take the lead in the arrangements, though they were not
instituted by the government.
But simultaneously my diaries bring back the echo of very gloomy events
and voices from that time. Under various dates of December I find the
following entries:
“War in sight.” So it is reported in all the papers since this dispatch
was received: “The President of the United States has spoken insultingly
and imperatively now that England has rejected arbitration in the
Venezuela affair.” Now England has no alternative—so run the leading
articles—but to pick up the gauntlet. Fresh dispatches: All America
aroused over Cleveland’s message; all England in a rage; demands for
many millions for warships, torpedoes, fortifications; a hundred
thousand Irishmen have offered their services to the United States. The
war-prophesying tone of the leading articles is accentuated; the
familiar “inevitableness” of the conflict is demonstrated. Every
journalist on the Continent is able to point out with certainty what
England cannot put up with except at a loss of her honor, what all
Europe cannot permit without imperiling its interests.... What is going
to be the result?...
The result I chronicled ten days later in the following words:
It was a test of strength. Only a few years ago, when the peace idea had
not as yet taken form and utterance, the misfortune would have
inevitably occurred. The greater part of the press, the chauvinists of
all countries, the military parties, the speculators, those engaged in
the industries of war, adventurers of all kinds who expected personal
advantage from the general scrimmage,—all these have assuredly left
nothing undone to promote the breaking out of war. On the other hand,
negotiations were instituted. Not only our Unions, but also chambers of
commerce and mercantile corporations took a stand against the war, and
in almost all churches sermons were preached against it, and statesmen,
interviewed as to their opinions, revolted at the thought of settling
the question by an appeal to arms.
Lord Rosebery says, “I absolutely refuse to believe in a war between
England and the United States over such a question, for that would be an
unexampled crime.”
Gladstone says, “Simple human reason is here sufficient.”
The English heir-apparent and his son telegraph to the _World_, “It is
impossible for us to believe in the possibility of a war between the two
friendly states.”
How if the Prince of Wales had spoken out in as martial a tone for his
nation as certain continental editors found it for their interest to do
in the name of “all England”? How if he had sent a sword-rattling,
fist-doubling dispatch? Or rather no dispatch at all? How did heirs to
the crown happen to write to mere newspapers? The generality are
gathered together, or at least recruits—so tradition likes to have
it—and the requisite blunt threats are uttered. The future King of Great
Britain acted otherwise.
My novel _Vor dem Gewitter_ (“Before the Storm”) was finished. The newly
founded Austrian Literary Society issued it as its first publication in
an edition of three thousand copies, and this inauguration was
celebrated by a banquet given by the publisher, Professor Lützow. The
actress Lewinsky, from the royal theater, read a chapter from my novel;
congratulatory addresses were made, and when the champagne went round a
great success was predicted for the enterprise; but in a few
years—Austria is no field for literary establishments—the business
failed.
When I had written the word “End” on the last page of the book _Vor dem
Gewitter_, I began another under the title _Einsam und arm_ (“Lonely and
Poor”). And My Own, besides working at his two-volume _Sie wollen
nicht_, wrote many stories of the Caucasus region. We were as
industrious as bees,—that must be granted us. There we sat evenings at
our common worktable, generally until midnight or later—and wrote and
wrote. We used to talk about what we were doing, but we did not read our
manuscripts to each other; we did give ourselves the delight, however,
of reading each other’s proofs.
Ah, those happy, lovely times! Even though they were full of cares,—for
the Harmannsdorf stone quarries were getting more and more involved in
difficulties, causing the whole family deep anxiety; for the fear ever
increased that we should not be able to keep up the dear home. One
sacrifice after another was demanded,—even the quite opulent rewards of
our literary labors were swallowed up in the abyss,—all in vain; as I
look back on those days the exclamation is nevertheless justified,—Oh,
those lovely times! For I was sincerely happy and so was My Own, in
spite of Venezuela, in spite of Armenia, in spite of Cuba, and even in
spite of Harmannsdorf. Our kingdom lay elsewhere,—the kingdom of our
closely united, laughing hearts.
And then our studies. It was our custom at that time to read aloud at
least an hour every day to each other. We had then just discovered
Bölsche. He introduced us into the halls of nature’s marvels, initiated
us into the mysteries of the splendid universe. It often happened that
when the reading had brought us a new revelation we would stop and
exchange a silent pressure of the hand.
XLVIII
POLITICAL KALEIDOSCOPE
Gumplowicz: father and son · The Italian campaign in Africa · Utterances
of King Menelik · The defeat of Adowa · The warlike press ·
Demonstrations against war · Victory of the peace party · Correspondence
with Carneri · From Armenia and Macedonia · Insurrection in Cuba and a
sharp proclamation · Professor Röntgen’s discovery · The Anglo-American
arbitration treaty · Death of Jules Simon · A letter from Jules Simon.
Among the letters preserved from the year 1896 I find an interesting one
from Gumplowicz, the professor of philosophy. How I came to correspond
with him I do not remember. It is not to be supposed that I could have
been drawn to his works in admiration and sympathy, for, together with
Gaboriau and Joseph Chamberlain, he is one of the most influential
defenders of that vicious race theory on which are based Aryan pride and
German and Latin conceit, which are so hateful to my very soul. Probably
his son was the occasion of this correspondence. As radical as the
father was conservative, he had sent me for my periodical a series of
poems, entitled “The Angel of Destruction” (_Der Engel der
Vernichtung_), translated by himself in a masterly manner from the
“Slave Songs” of the Polish poet, Adam Asnyk. Whether it was this
translation or some other publication which had aroused the displeasure
of the German authorities, all I knew was that the young singer of
freedom was condemned to a long period of imprisonment. When, during my
lecture in Prague at the Deutsches Haus, I quoted various poems, I read
also some stanzas from “The Angel of Destruction.” I see from an old
account of that lecture that I informed the public of the poet’s fate in
the following words:
A soul of fire ... but not wise and prudent: what moved him—sympathy
with human misery, indignation against human enslavement—he spoke out
too clamorously and in the wrong place, and he is now atoning for it
in state prison, with two years and a quarter of solitary
confinement.... Do you realize what that means for a youth with
exuberant powers of vitality, with a soul full of poetic inspiration,
with eager yearning for work, for love, for helping the world to
betterment,—seven and twenty months of solitude!... I believe it will
rejoice his heart if word is sent him that his verses, so deeply
penetrated with emotion, have been heard in this circle, and that his
fate has touched a few noble hearts here—it will be to him like a
greeting from freedom, for freedom.... And if you now applaud this
sentiment, may every handclap count as applause for our imprisoned
colleague.
The hearty applause that followed vindicated the defiant bard of peace
in Plötzensee.
Here is the letter from the professor at Graz:
Graz, April 21, 1896
My dear Baroness:
Your note caused me great embarrassment. I am asked to give my views
on your article, “Two Kinds of Morals,” which would necessitate
uttering my opinion concerning your whole philosophy of peace. I will
make you a counter-proposal,—fling me, together with the horrid
Sighele, into a pot, and leave these naughty professors entirely out
of consideration. There is nothing to be done with them. They only
spoil your temper, drive you out of your dreams, and spoil that
noblest enjoyment of yours which you find in agitating the peace idea.
I, at least, will not take it upon me to play such a rascally rôle in
opposition to you. You desire to see the picture at Sais and I am to
raise the curtain, am I? No, my dear Baroness, that I will not do. I
have long made it my principle:
“Where’er a heart for peace glows calm,
Oh, let it be, disturb it not!”
Must I on your account go back on these principles? Again the poet
warns me:
“Believe my word, that were a fault!”
Not for a moment do I yield to the illusion that I could persuade you;
the chasm is too wide for me to be able to throw a bridge across, and
I am not convinced that by doing so I should do any good. It would be
a better thing if _you_ could convert _me_; but hops and malt are lost
on me,—I am even worse than Sighele.
The difference between us bad professors and you, Baroness, is this,
that we are stating facts,—among them the _fact_ of the “Two Kinds of
Morals,”—while you are preaching to the world how it ought to be. I
always listen to your preaching with great pleasure. I should have no
objection, on the contrary I should be very happy, if the world would
change in accordance with your ideas. Only I am afraid that it does
not depend on the world to slough off its skin, and that your
moralizing is in reality a complaint lodged against the dear God in
heaven, who made the world as it is. Yes, if you could stir him to
bring out his work in a second revised edition, that would be really a
success!
By all means believe that if the world will only “have the will,” then
everything will come out all right! Because of taking that very
standpoint my son is in prison in Plötzensee. He, too, could not
comprehend that the State is so “unmoral” as to let the unemployed go
hungry while it has control of bread and nourishment in ample
sufficiency, this being in direct contravention of the commandment
about love for the neighbor. And so he went forth and gave the State a
castigation, calling it a “band of exploiters,” a “legally organized
horde of bandits.” From the standpoint of “the one and only morality”
he was perfectly right. Since he has been in prison I have refrained
from attacking this standpoint to his face. Why? Because this
enthusiasm for this “one and only morality,” the bringing about of
which he has been striving for, makes him happy and enables him easily
to endure all the trials and privations of his dungeon. And just for
the same reason I have no idea of attacking to your face the
standpoint which you accept; for in your endeavor to make this clear
to all the world you are certainly finding your greatest happiness.
How could I satisfy my conscience if I willingly disturbed your
happiness?
Go on your way, my dear Baroness, in peace; do not worry about the
Sigheles; do not read Gumplowicz’s “Conflict of the Races”; it might
cause you sad hours; and do remain always what you are,—the champion
of a beautiful idea! In order to fulfill that mission stick to the
persuasion that this idea is the truth, the sole and only truth. And
of this belief may no professorial chatter ever rob you!
With this wish, I remain with the sincerest respect
Your most faithful
Gumplowicz
I have inserted this letter in my memoirs because I like to let the
opponents, especially such eminent opponents, have their say. What reply
I made to the professor I do not remember, but assuredly I did not leave
uncontroverted the idea that I was pleased by the condescension with
which he regarded my views as pleasing delusions! The morality that
to-day is already beginning to influence the lives of individuals is not
a fact handed down by tradition from the creation of the world, but a
phase gradually won by social development and beginning to react on
governmental life and to work on quite different factors from mere
“hearts that glow calmly for peace.”
Italy at that time was trying to make war in Africa. It wanted to
conquer Abyssinia; but that was not so easy. The Negus was victorious in
many battles. The Italians had been obliged to withdraw from Fort
Makoli. Then Menelik expressed his desire to enter into peace
negotiations. General Baratieri sends Major Salsa into the enemy’s camp.
But no conclusion of peace is reached. The Negus demands the evacuation
of the newly acquired territories; whereupon Baratieri sends word that
these propositions can neither be accepted nor be taken into
consideration as a basis of further proceedings. So then, further
prosecution of the war. Reënforcements are sent. The _Riforma_ declares
that Baratieri has done well in refusing the Negus’s overtures; they
insult the dignity of the nation.
In place of Baratieri another generalissimo is to be shipped off, and
the victory of Italy is assured. General Baldissera, Austrian born, who
in the year 1866 had fought against Italy, is intrusted with this
mission of conquest. So now let it be said that it can be something else
than the most glowing patriotism that moves the mover of battles!...
And Menelik meantime? A French physician, drawn to the enemy’s camp
during a journey of research, wrote from Oboch:
The Negus received me.... Is he really sad, or does he only put it on?
He keeps affirming that he is to the last degree troubled about this
war which has cost and will continue to cost the shedding of so much
Christian blood. He is attacked—he defends himself; yet if he is too
hard pushed and they want to try it again, then—Menelik seems
confident as to the upshot of the war, but why so much blood?
Why, O swarthy Emperor? Because the white gentlemen in the editorial
offices declare that it is the “duty demanded by honor.”
In Italy the protest of the people against the continuation of the war
continues to grow louder. But since it is Republicans and Socialists who
vote for the discontinuance of the campaign, their demonstrations are
suppressed by the government. On February 29 a great anti-African
banquet was planned in Milan, but forbidden by the prefecture. And on
the next day comes the terrible news of the defeat in Adowa,—eight
thousand men fallen—the rest put to flight—two generals killed—in short,
a catastrophe; wild agony in Italy and sympathy throughout Europe. All
the fury is concentrated on Baratieri because he attempted such a
sortie.
Out of the multitude of reports about Adowa I have entered in my diary
only one or two lines from _Il Corriere della Sera_ of the eighth of
March: “The soldiers of Amara, who are cruel brigands, hacked down the
Italian wounded, mutilated them, and tore the clothes from their
bodies.”
Gentlemen of the press, who have demanded the continuance of the war,
does it not occur to your consciences that you are accessories in the
mutilation of your fellow-countrymen? No, they demand that the blood of
the fallen shall be avenged,—in other words, that still others,
unnumbered, shall experience the same misfortune. _L’Opinione_ writes:
Baratieri’s act was that of a lunatic; he wasted in a craven way the
lives of eight thousand soldiers and two hundred officers. But our
military honor remains unblemished. The material lost will be replaced
within a month; our military power remains as it was. The country
understands this and is ready to avenge the blood of the fallen. Those
who think the contrary are a handful of people [that is to say, those
who come out against the war—ah, why are they only a handful?], people
without God and without a country. Nevertheless, these people can do
no harm, for the nation is against them.
Was it?... A dispatch of March 9 says:
The anti-African movement is assuming great dimensions. In Rome,
Turin, Milan, Bologna, and Padua, committees of ladies are active in
getting signatures for a peace petition to Parliament. This has been
signed by many thousand persons.
So acted the ladies; the women of the people were still more energetic.
They threw themselves down on the rails before the cars that were about
to carry away their husbands and sons to the place of embarkation, and
thus actually prevented the departure of the trains.
Likewise in the barracks, a protest is made against sending more men to
the African shambles, and large numbers of deserters are escaping over
the border. What is beginning to take place in the whole country is a
battle between the idea of war and that of peace.
The King, the first war lord, with a military education, grown up in
soldierly traditions, sees only the possibility of continuing the war,
of winning a victory, of brilliantly bestowing the honor of his
arms,—would sooner abdicate than conclude peace _now_!... He would be
glad to retain Crispi, but a storm is arising against him throughout the
land and—Crispi falls. A new ministry is formed. Rudini—that name stands
on the list of the Interparliamentary Union—becomes Prime Minister. What
will he demand in the name of the government at the opening of
Parliament? The Crispi journals and the papers representing the war
party are fierce against any idea of peace: “Revenge for Adowa!” _Guerra
a fondo!_ (“War to the bitter end!”) And had it been a lustrum earlier,
this cry alone would have come to the surface. Yet louder and more
impetuously now arise the voices in protestation against the continuance
of the unrighteous war. The movement of protest was organized; hence it
was effective. Through Teodoro Moneta I learned all that was going on in
this direction. It was a victory; for the new minister, Rudini, did not
demand the continuance of the war....
It might be urged that what I am relating is really a
political-historical chronicle, and not a biography. But it _is_ my
life’s history; for the very life of my soul was closely bound up with
these events. My thoughts, my labors, my correspondence, were all filled
with those performances on the world’s stage. And that I am repeating
what is for the most part a matter of common knowledge, what was printed
in the newspapers everywhere, and therefore is treasured in the memory
of all,—this I do not believe. The forgetfulness of the public is great.
What one day brings, the next swallows up again. I know from my own
experience how, before I had begun to live for the peace cause,
political events, even though they were important, disappeared from my
memory without leaving a trace, if indeed they had attracted my
attention at all. But now I noted in my diary everything that related to
the struggle that was taking place between the new idea and the old
institutions; this was the red thread which I followed in weaving the
history of the day,—a thread which assuredly has quite escaped those who
have not kept their eyes expressly fixed upon it.
A letter from my friend Carneri, written during the Italo-African war,
shows that I had vigorously complained to him of the pain which that
tragedy was causing me. The letter ran:
Marburg, March 5, 1896
My dear Friend,
Do not be vexed if I fail to attain my object, which is none other
than to give you permanent comfort in your suffering over the present
condition of the civilized world.
We two from the beginning have taken a quite different standpoint (you
may still remember my hesitation at the first invitation to join the
Peace Society, and that I yielded, much less won by the cause itself
than by your own personal charm), and I should like to bring you to my
way of thinking, which consequently _should_ be yours.
“Consequently,”—how so? I hear you say. Because you, like me, accept
the theory of evolution. This knows nothing of a complete cessation of
conflict, and recognizes only a gradual amelioration of the methods of
the conflict. It also knows nothing of a complete disappearance of
want—not to be confused with the wretchedness of poverty, which can
very properly be checked; this theory holds rather that want is the
great stimulus to progress. A cessation of all want would be absolute
stagnation, and therefore it is just as little thinkable as a world of
nothing but good people, which would be a contradiction in itself,
just as it would be to think of a day without night.
I believe firmly in progress; but I expect it to come not in a
universal improvement of men, but as a gradual refinement of the good.
If you could be content with this modest but firmly established view
of life, you would not need to make any change in your activity in the
cause of peace, but you would look at the world with that calmness
with which one must face what is unalterable, and you would be
safeguarded against disillusions as painful as they are superfluous.
The movement toward the quickest possible establishment of a general
arbitration tribunal is now on, and must take its course. At least do
not promote it; for if it remain without results, this would be far
more favorable for the cause of peace than if such a court, which
would have to be preceded by an international agreement, should make a
perfect fiasco. The only practical thing to-day is that the contending
parties should themselves choose arbitrators in whom they have
confidence. This custom is, happily, getting to be more and more
generally adopted, and all attempts to push it can only endanger it.
To win more and more advocates for this custom is the task which will
bring the greatest blessings from the work of these peace unions; but
all the peace unions in the world have not as yet in all this time
performed such a service for the idea of peace as my Martha alone with
her matchless tale.
This is one thing you have to keep ever before you, and if you will
join me in smiling at the Utopias of those who believe it possible to
have a world of angels, then you will share my indifference in the way
you regard that ancient beast, Man, and his constant readiness to heap
up inflammables on inflammables.
Do you remember how I warned you against an American who counseled
disarmament? They will yet, in alliance with Russia, threaten Europe;
and I am thoroughly convinced that it is only the enormous armies,
which no one would be able to command and provide for, that are to-day
an assurance of peace and are smoothing the way for the arbitrators.
The defeat of the Italians in Africa pains me; but it is a wholesome
lesson. If I were Crispi’s successor, I should have no scruple in
openly declaring, “Italy has been deservedly punished for a great
offense; let us not make the offense worse; we have something better
to do,” and Italy would give jubilant ratification to
Your Carneri
I possess a copy of my reply, and I give some extracts from it:
Harmannsdorf, March 10, 1896
Dear Friend,