table near me. I made a few prefatory remarks; then Egidy stepped
forward, and his words rang out like bell tones. It was ever so when
this orator spoke,—bronze in his voice, gold in his words, consecration
in the room.
The Tsar’s rescript furnished the text. After he had explained what was
contained in this manifesto, Egidy passed in review the various kinds of
misunderstanding and misinterpretation it had met in the world. The
doubts and questions raised in various quarters, the difficulties of
detail enumerated by civilization brakemen (Kulturbremser, a word of
characteristic Egidy coinage),—all this he answered and explained in
clear, occasionally witty language, and always with logical conciseness.
And the audience vibrated with him. Every satirical point was punctuated
with a laugh, at every allusion a murmur of appreciation ran through the
assembly. You might have believed that all were penetrated by the
orator’s meaning, yet how many of those present had probably expressed,
only an hour or two before, ideas which were current as the view of the
majority: “A proposal for disarmament?... Hm!... political move—a trap
set—practically unfeasible idealism....”
Most characteristic of this prevalent skepticism remains deeply engraven
on my memory the picture of a deputy,—a member also of the
Interparliamentary Union,—who, after I had spoken for a time about the
manifesto, turned his head in my direction and said, with a sly wink,
“Do you believe that story?”
This phrase became a catchword between My Own and me; whenever either of
us communicated to the other anything perfectly unquestionable and
simple, we would look as sly as we could and hiss out, “Do you believe
that story?”
After the address Egidy was our guest at a supper which, together with
Baron Leitenberger and a few other friends, we gave in his honor at
Sacher’s. At the supper a pretty scene was enacted. One of our company
was a former officer, now a deputy and also vice president of the
Austrian Interparliamentary Group, Herr von Gniewocz. He turned the
conversation to the campaign of 1866, in which he had taken part. Egidy
then told how he also had been there, and then the two men recalled
certain incidents, one of which, as it appeared in the comparison of
details, had brought them face to face as opponents. And now here they
were, both as adherents and champions of the peace cause, united in
joyous festal mood.
Mark Twain happened to be in Vienna at this time and was present at this
supper. The American humorist used the Egidy-Gniewocz incident for a
brilliant improvisation, full of wit and feeling. He had been present at
the lecture, had been recognized by the audience, and was asked to
speak. He mounted the platform and declared that, as far as he was
concerned, having only a penknife with him, he was ready to disarm!
A few days later I was permitted to make the personal acquaintance of a
man who has taken a most important part in the peace movement, and with
whose activity I had long been acquainted,—William T. Stead. A telegram
from Vienna signed with his name invited me to make an appointment for a
meeting with him as he was passing through the city. With delight I
acceded to his wish, and on the following evening I spent several hours
with the famous English journalist, enjoying with him a frugal supper
and the most exhilarating conversation. We talked about a hundred
things.
His external appearance is that of a gentleman; his hair and full beard
are turning somewhat gray; he has noble, intelligent features, is
forty-nine years of age, and his conversation is full of witty turns and
comprehensive views of the world. His characteristics, one might say,
are the energy of gentleness, tenderness, and capacity—also humor; those
seem to be the predominant elements of his nature.
The son of a Protestant clergyman, he was brought up in strict
orthodoxy. And since then, although he has attained spiritual
emancipation and discarded every sign of dogma, he has kept a deeply
religious spirit and is penetrated with the conviction that the spirit
of goodness—God—is gradually bringing this world to perfection and using
for this purpose inspired men as his instruments,—men who, being
conscious that they are working in the service of a lofty principle,
feel strengthened and elevated by it, full of joyous and courageous
reliance in the support that is behind them in their divine mission.
The object of his journey was to ascertain how the Russian Emperor’s
manifesto was received in different countries, and especially in
official circles, and, above all, to learn what direction the Tsar
himself and his ministers intended to give to the coming conference.
He had been on a journey through Europe, and was now on his return from
Livadia, still under the impression of two extended interviews which the
young Tsar had granted him. He had not been received as a journalist,
but as a privileged guest in accordance with the wish of the late
Emperor, Alexander III. About ten years before, a perfectly false idea
of the Russian autocrat had gained currency with the British public. He
was described as morose, violent, and insincere. And it was particularly
supposed that he was all ready to let loose the horrors of a universal
war. Stead, the journalist, had succeeded in dissipating this
impression. In the year 1888 he had been accorded an audience at the
imperial court at Gatchina, and the Emperor had engaged in an
exceedingly frank conversation with him. When Stead returned to England
he was able to announce with the utmost particularity that Alexander III
was quite the opposite of the popular conception of him; that he was an
enemy of all falsehoods, and imbued with the strongest detestation of
war. These representations entirely changed public opinion, and must
have helped to avert the ever-present danger of war.
From what Stead told me of the impression made upon him during his
audience with Nicholas II, I felt warranted in concluding that the young
Emperor was thoroughly in earnest in the matter of the manifesto. I
complained to him of the lack of comprehension, the stupidity, and at
the same time the hostile spite with which the message was received, for
the disappointment to me had been unprecedented; I had so firmly
believed that, with the exception of a small circle, the world would
surely break out into jubilation at having the hope so nearly fulfilled
of being freed from the mountainous weight that oppressed it. To this
Stead replied:
“The manifesto is a mirror—a kind of magic mirror. You hold it up before
men whose nature you wish to learn, and according to the judgments they
pronounce on it, it reflects clearly the image of their spirit and their
character.”
“But since almost everywhere a petty, ugly picture is shown,” I went on
complaining, “since the purpose manifested by the Tsar is to be
counteracted by mistrust, indifference, open and secret resistance, the
lofty work may fail....”
“Are you of so little faith?... You?... Such a declaration may be
delayed. But can it be silenced? Never! I myself, as I have made this
journey through the cities of Europe, began to grow faint-hearted, but
what I learned in Russia has restored my courage. The Emperor, I have
faith to believe, now that he has put his hand to the plow, will draw
the furrow, and his three ministers are with him in the matter. One is
Kuropatkin, the Minister of War, whose ambition it is to reduce
armaments; the second is Witte, Minister of Finance; the third, Count
Lamsdorff, pupil and follower of Giers, the efficient force in the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
“As regards the questions to be discussed at the coming conference,”
continued Stead, “of course neither the Tsar nor any of his ministers
thinks of disarmament in the literal meaning of the word; such a
proposition is not to be made at all. The practical purpose of the
discussions is to bring about a cessation of the ever-increasing
preparations for war.”
During his journey Stead had also visited Councilor von Bloch, author of
the great work “War.” This work is said to have made a marked impression
on the Tsar, even when he was still crown prince, and very possibly it
gave him the impulse to issue the rescript. Upon Stead’s asking him what
results he expected from the conference, Bloch replied:
“In my opinion the most useful thing that can be done is for the
conference, after its preliminary session, to appoint a committee of its
ablest members, who shall be intrusted with the duty of investigating
the degree to which modern warfare under present social conditions has
become practically impossible—impossible, that is to say, without
hitherto unheard-of loss of life on the battlefield, absolute
destruction of the social structure, inevitable bankruptcy, and
threatening revolution.”
Stead proceeded from Vienna to Rome, where he heard that he might expect
some encouraging words from the Pope, all the more as Leo XIII had
already many times expressed himself in sympathy with the peace cause.
He did not, however, succeed in securing an audience at the Vatican.
The Russian Minister Muravieff also came to Vienna in the course of a
journey he was making through Europe, and he remained there two or three
days in order to hold conferences at court and with the ministers, just
as he had done in other capitals, and to get a personal notion as to
what reception the rescript had met with; also under what premises the
rulers would be ready to send delegates to the conference.
I requested an interview with the Minister, and he sent me word by
return mail that he would be glad to receive me the following forenoon
at the Russian Embassy, where he was staying.
We had scarcely entered the drawing-room (my husband accompanied me)
when Count Muravieff came in by another door. He was of medium height,
wore a gray mustache, and had a round, kindly face. In spite of a
certain coldness and dignity he appeared sympathetic. Like all Russian
_grands seigneurs_, he showed the most gracious courtesy and spoke
faultless French. It gave him infinite pleasure, he said as he greeted
me, to make the personal acquaintance of so zealous a champion of the
idea for which the Tsar and his government had now enlisted as
apostles,—an idea which he confidently hoped would gradually conquer the
world.
On my return home, after a conversation which lasted almost an hour, I
noted down the following utterances of the count in my diary:
“It is not to be expected that the end will be reached in a short time.
Think only of the Geneva Convention; that also took years before it
became the comprehensive organization that it is to-day. Only one step
must be made at a time. For the present, the cessation of armaments is
the first stage. It is not to be expected that the states will consent
to complete disarmament, or even to a diminution of the contingent; but
if we could reach a common halt in the ‘race to ruin,’ that would be a
favorable beginning. Henceforth the endeavor must be made to put
universal peace on a safe basis, for a war in the future is surely a
thing of horror and of ruin,—really an impossible thing; to take care of
the present huge armies in the field is impracticable. The first result
of a war waged between the great powers will be starvation....”
I detected the echo of Bloch’s doctrine in those last words, and that
justifies the assumption that the work of the Russian councilor had
helped to give the impulse to the drawing up of the rescript. Only Bloch
had added to the word “starvation” two others, “revolution” and
“anarchy.”
From what Muravieff told us of his journey through Europe, it was
evident that his presence and intervention had as a result the blunting
of the edge of the Fashoda conflict. From his conferences with the
different sovereigns he had evidently become convinced that there was no
inclination at present to adopt any measures toward the reduction of
armies, or to accept the principle that war and the military
establishment should be done away with, and that, in face of this
difficulty, a basis must be found on which the first step,—stopping the
increase in armaments,—might be taken in common. “It cannot be
expected,” he said, “that at this very first conference the great final
object will be attained.”
“It would be sufficient,” I remarked, “if the powers would make an
agreement not to wage any war in the next twenty, or even in the next
ten, years.”
“Twenty years—ten years! _Vous allez trop vite, madame._ We could be
satisfied if such an agreement were entered into for three years. But I
believe even that will not be demanded. First and foremost there must be
a pledge not to increase the contingents or make any new purchases of
instruments of destruction. The constant demands for more money always
mean a conflict between the ministers of war and the ministers of
finance.”
“They ought to appoint ministers of peace,” said my husband,
interrupting.
“Ministers of peace?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Well, yes, courts of
arbitration, national tribunals—” And he began to talk with great
practical knowledge about all the postulates of the peace movement.
“In my youth,” he told us, “when the movement was in its infancy,—I was
then an attaché in Stockholm,—I enrolled myself as a member of the
League.”
I gave him some details as to the condition and progress of the
movement. Much of what I told him he already knew. The names of the
prominent representatives whom I mentioned were familiar to him. He
spoke first of Egidy. I handed him Houzeau-Descamps’s pamphlet, with a
few appeals and articles. He asked me to keep him informed as to the
course of events.
When at the end I expressed my delight at being able to press the hand
that had written that epoch-making manifesto, he replied, “_Je n’y suis
pour rien_; its only author is my august sovereign.”
The Spanish-American treaty of peace was signed in Paris. Our colleague,
Émile Arnaud, addressed to the commission that was intrusted with this
transaction a memorial, in which, among other things, it was suggested
that a way should be made for establishing a Spanish-American
arbitration treaty. The following reply was received from the chairman
of the Spanish Commission:
My dear Sir:
I am in receipt of your valued letter of the fourth instant, in which
you do me the honor of communicating to me the resolutions of the
Turin Meeting of Delegates. The desires of the commission of which I
am chairman, as well as my own personal feelings, are in full
agreement with the ends so nobly pursued by the Peace League. All
right-thinking men, whose souls are elevated above the conflicts
arising from the passions and interests of colonial politics, are
to-day at one in recognizing the necessity of settling controversies
between nations by the only means worthy of reasonable and free
beings. Our commission has been, and will continue to be, inspired by
these ideas, and if these noble endeavors fail, it will not be our
fault. I thank you infinitely for the amiable offers which you make in
the name of the Peace League, and remain
Yours most respectfully,
Montero Rios
The Dreyfus affair is settling down more and more to a forlorn hope; the
military system is fighting for its threatened authority. With it all
one thing that is good has taken place, namely, the union of the
intellectual class with the laboring men.
General Türr had an audience with King Humbert. Apropos of the
conference called by the Tsar, he spoke of the necessity of combining
the _Zweibund_ with the _Dreibund_, and forming a European
confederation. I wrote in my diary, together with this bit of
information, “This fact deserves to be noted.”
I find a very sad entry under date of December 30: Egidy dead!
Early yesterday, on his return from a lecture tour, he succumbed to an
acute heart trouble. That is all I know as yet; I only know that a gap
is made in my life, for I have had a warm love for this noble man, and
have looked up to him in grateful admiration. His influence will
continue, but what he would have yet done and accomplished with the
magical power of his personality—that is lost. Moritz von Egidy,
farewell!
Some time afterwards I received the following letter from his son:[28]
Marine School, Kiel, March 17, 1899
My dear Baroness:
Pardon me for my long delay in thanking you for the February number of
your periodical; now the receipt of a second copy impels me to write
to you at once.
What a comforting expression you have found for your loss and ours in
those words, “The consciousness that an Egidy was here”;[29] truly and
with all my heart I thank you for those words; they are worth
infinitely more to me than many, many words, dear and well meant
though they might be, because—this may sound far enough from
altruistic, but nevertheless is not to remain unspoken—because they
animate a thought which lay in my mind but which I had not yet found
any expression for. I do not know whether you know this immediate
feeling of thankfulness which comes over one in such a case, and which
I should like to make you understand.
All the more I am sorry to be obliged to tell you that you have been
misinformed about father’s funeral, particularly because the
information is so entirely contrary to father’s spirit. There is a
lack of recognition of the courageous, magnanimous act of the priest,
Court Chaplain Rogge, who appears in a wholly false light, from the
fact that he is only mentioned on the occasion when, in accordance
with the ritual of our Church (in which father was still a member in
spite of everything), he pronounced the blessing.
Yes, indeed, it was a courageous act for a royal Prussian court
chaplain, who, perhaps, the very next day preached before the Emperor
in the Potsdam Garrison church, to say such words as you will find in
the February number of _Versöhnung_, and the impression of this fine
act of his on the assembly was quite extraordinary, as was openly
acknowledged by men who, perhaps for the first time in dozens of
years, were listening again to a minister, and who had come there in
the secret apprehension of having their feelings of love for my father
hurt in some way.
Yes, the long way to the grave; but still it infused such a firm,
steadfast trust into our hearts as I escorted my splendid mother
along; our eyes were constantly attracted by the dazzling white heron
plume on the fur hussar cap as it nodded in front of us, keeping time
to the step of the bearers; the white plume, pointing upward, seemed
to us a symbol in the falling shadows of the evening. You know his
motto: “Forward! upward!”
Especially interesting to me was the news on page 61 about the
resolution of the organized English workingmen; for you see on the
very evening before I got the book I had quite a long discussion with
the professor who lectures for us on history here at the Academy. He
asserts that, in consequence of the English election law, the
predominant power in parliament will more and more pass over to the
side of the masses, i.e. the workingmen; and herein, he says, lies the
chief danger for peace, for the instinct of the masses is always
directed to war, especially in England, where the people’s heads are
turned by their imperialistic notions, joined with an ever more and
more pronounced national conceit. A more striking answer to this
assertion than the so-called resolution I can scarcely imagine.
Have I already told you, Baroness, that I presented “Marmaduke” (in
English text) to a French officer, with the dedication _Un souvenir
[de] nos idées qui se rencontraient_,—and that, too, after a speech on
the _Alliance franco-allemande_, which was made in the presence of
French army and navy officers, officials, and merchants, at four
o’clock in the morning, if you please, in our wardroom, on the
_Seeadler_, and not long before Fashoda, when the Russian friendship
was still very warm. The affair is noteworthy, for the reason that the
Frenchman is usually, in a large company, quite extraordinarily
careful and reserved. Moreover, the speech was made by a French
physician who was on the expedition with Marchand when lack of support
from his reserve stations compelled him to return. It was known quite
accurately in Madagascar at that time, April, 1898, that a French
expedition must have arrived at the Nile or would soon arrive there,
and every day the news of it was expected.
Remember me kindly to your husband, and I kiss your hand as
Your very devoted
Moritz von Egidy
LVII
BEFORE THE HAGUE
Emperor Nicholas regarding the reception of his rescript ·
Discouragement in St. Petersburg · Stead’s project for a peace crusade ·
Count Muravieff’s second circular · The wedge driven into the peace
question · The general conception and our conception · Journey to Berlin
· Osten-Sacken · Formation of an information committee · Letter from
Bebel · Service in honor of Egidy · Trip to Nice · Meeting with Madame
Adam · Monsieur Catusse · A noteworthy Dreyfus reminiscence · My lecture
· Madame Bashkirtseff · Trip to Cannes for a lecture · Lucien Murat’s
visit · Return to Harmannsdorf · Correspondence with Bloch, Scipione
Borghese, and D’Estournelles de Constant · Letters from Hodgson Pratt
and Élie Ducommun · A plan of action suggested by Henri Dunant
Stead told me that the Emperor Nicholas, in speaking to him of his
circular, had said:
“Have I had a single letter, or has a single person ever represented to
me that I exaggerate the danger? Not one! they all agree that I have
spoken the truth. ‘But,’ they ask me, ‘what do you propose as a
preventive?’ As if it were my affair and mine alone to prescribe a
remedy for a disease from which all the nations are suffering!”
Even on the peoples’ side there was not that enthusiasm which the author
of the rescript might have expected. “How diminish the burdens that rest
so heavily on the shoulders of the people?” he cries to his
fellow-rulers, and he begs them to seek some means to avoid the evil
that threatens the whole world. And what is the answer to it? The masses
to whom the Emperor specially appealed remained indifferent. Although
the threat of war between France and England seemed to be dispelled, the
preparations were continued unabated on both sides. The German Emperor,
on his return from his journey to Jerusalem, immediately insisted on
increasing his army by twenty-six thousand men.
In St. Petersburg a feeling of deep discouragement prevailed. By the
beginning of December the disappointment was so great that the
authorities almost decided to give up the project and call instead a
conference of ambassadors in that capital.
But the world had, after all, not remained so indifferent. In England
mass meetings were held in behalf of the projected Conference. William
T. Stead proposed the scheme of an international peace crusade. The
peace societies of the Continent gave a mighty response; thus, for
example, in Austria our Union provided for participation in that action
by means of assemblies and public demonstrations, and for many weeks in
succession the “International Peace Crusade” formed a standing rubric in
the _Neue Freie Presse_ and the _Neues Wiener Tagblatt_. In the same way
the peace workers were bestirring themselves in other countries.
By this means, as well as through the influence of a few resolute
members of the Russian government, the hope of success was again
awakened in St. Petersburg, and the half-formed determination to
substitute a simple gathering of ambassadors in place of the Conference
was dropped; on the sixteenth of January a second circular was
dispatched by Count Muravieff, once more inviting the governments to
participate in the Conference as planned, and “suggesting” a programme
of eight points:
1. An agreement not to increase, during a fixed period, the present
strength of the armed military and naval forces, nor the budgets
pertaining thereto, and a preliminary examination of the means by
which a reduction might be effected in future in the forces and
budgets above mentioned.