_New-Year’s Day, 1867.--The Luxembourg question.--Disputes between
France and Prussia.--Arbitration.--The alarm blows over.--We visit
Paris.--Plan of Napoleon III. for general disarmament.--Frederick’s
efforts in the cause of peace.--“The Protocol of Peace.”--A little
daughter is born to us.--Renewed happiness.--Frederick’s
studies.--M. Desmoulin’s proposals.--Return to Paris, and re-entry
into the gay world.--Talk of the “Revanche de Sadowa”.--Pressure of
the war party on Napoleon III.--Whirl of gaiety.--We seek repose in
Switzerland.--Illness of my little daughter.--Return to Paris in
March, 1870.--Napoleon III. drops his plan of disarmament under the
pressure of the war party.--Still peace seems assured._
The New Year, ’67! We kept the Sylvester Night quite alone, my Frederick
and I. When it struck twelve,--
“Do you recollect,” I asked with a sigh, “the speech my poor father made
in proposing a toast last year at this same hour? I do not dare to wish
you good fortune now. The future sometimes hides something so
unexpectedly terrible in its bosom; and no wish has ever availed to turn
it aside.”
“Then let us use the turn of the year, Martha, as an occasion not for
thinking of what is coming, but for looking back into the year which has
just flown by. What sufferings you have had to endure, my poor, brave
wife! So many of your dear ones buried--and those days of horror on the
battlefields in Bohemia.”
“I do not grieve that I have seen the cruel things that took place
there. Now I can at least participate with all the might of my soul in
your efforts.”
“We must bring up your--or rather _our_--Rudolf with a view of his
pushing these efforts further. In his time a visible mark will perhaps
arise above the horizon--hardly in ours. What a noise the people are
making in the streets! they are greeting with shouts the new year in
spite of the sufferings which the old one (that was greeted in the same
way) brought on them. Oh, how forgetful men are!”
“Do not chide them too much for their forgetfulness, Frederick. We too
are beginning to brush away from our memory the sufferings of the past,
and what I feel is the bliss of the present--the bliss of having you, my
own one. We were not to speak of the future I know; still I think that
the future we have before us is good. United, loving, sufficient in
ourselves, rich--how many exquisite enjoyments can not life still offer
us! We will travel, will make acquaintance with the world, the world
that is so fair! Fair so long as peace prevails; and peace may now last
for many, many years! But if war is to break out again, you are no
longer involved in it; and Rudolf too is not threatened, since he is not
going to be a soldier.”
“But if, according to Minister To-be-sure’s information, every man
should be obliged to share in the defence----”
“Oh, nonsense. So what I mean is, we will travel; we will bring up our
Rudolf to be a pattern man; we will follow our noble aim--the propaganda
of peace; and we--we will love each other!”
The carnival this same year brought with it once more balls and
pleasures of all sorts; but my mourning kept me away from all such
things. But what astonished me was that the whole of society did not
abstain from such mad goings on. Surely there must have been a loss in
almost every family; but, as it seemed, folks set all that at nought. A
few houses, it is true, remained closed, especially among the
aristocracy; but there was no want of opportunities for the young people
to dance, and the most favoured partners were, of course, those who had
come back from the battlefields of Italy and Bohemia; and the naval
officers were those most _fêted_, especially those who had fought at
Lissa. Half the lady world had fallen in love with Tegethoff, the
youthful admiral, as they had done with the handsome General Gablenz
after the campaign of Schleswig-Holstein. “Custozza” and “Lissa” were
the two trump-cards which were everywhere played in any conversation
about the war which was over. Along with this, the needle-gun and
Landwehr came in--two institutions which must be introduced as speedily
as possible--and then future victories were assured to us. Victories?
when and over whom? On this point people did not speak out; but the idea
of revenge, which is wont to accompany the loss of a game, even if it be
only a game at cards, was hovering over all the utterances of the
politicians. If even we did not ourselves take the field once more
against the Prussians, perhaps there might be others who would take it
on themselves to avenge us. All appearances seemed to show that France
would get into a quarrel with our conquerors, and then they might get
paid off for a good deal. The thing had even got a name in diplomatic
circles--“La Revanche de Sadowa”. Such was the triumphant announcement
to us of Minister To-be-sure.
It was at the beginning of spring that once more a certain “black spot”
appeared on the horizon--a “question” as they call it. The news also of
French preparations provided the conjectural politicians with what they
love so--“the prospect of war”. The question this time was called that
of Luxembourg.
Luxembourg? What was there then of such great importance to the world in
that? On this subject I had again to embark in studies similar to those
about Schleswig-Holstein. The name was indeed familiar to me only from
Suppé’s “Jolly Companions,” in which, as is well known, a Count of
Luxembourg “spends all he has in dress--dress--dress”. The result of my
studies was as follows:--
Luxembourg belonged according to the treaties of 1814 and 1816 (Ah!
there we have it! treaties--they contain ready-made the root of a
national quarrel--a fine institution these treaties) to the King of the
Netherlands, and at the same time to the German Bund. Prussia had the
right to garrison the capital. Now, however, as Prussia had renounced
her share in the old Bund, how could she keep the right of garrison?
That was the point--the “question”. The peace of Prague had in fact
introduced a new system into Germany, and thereby the connection with
Luxembourg had been dissolved; why then did the Prussians maintain their
right of garrison? “To be sure” that was an intricate affair, and the
most advantageous and righteous way of settling it would be to slaughter
fresh hundreds of thousands--that every “enlightened” politician must
allow. The Dutch had never attached any importance to the possession of
the Grand Duchy; the king also--William III.--attached no importance to
it, and would have been happy to cede it to France for a sum to be paid
into his privy purse; so _private_ negotiations now commenced between
the king and the French Cabinet. Exactly; secrecy is always the essence
of all diplomacy. The peoples are not to know anything of the matters in
dispute; as soon as the latter are ripe for decision they have the right
to bleed for them. Why and wherefore they are fighting each other is a
question of no importance.
It was not till the end of March that the king made the official
announcement, and on the same day as that on which his assent was
telegraphed to France, the Prussian ambassador at the Hague was informed
of it. On that began negotiations with Prussia. The latter appealed to
the guarantees of the treaties of 1859, the foundations on which the
kingdom of Holland stood. Public opinion in Prussia (What is meant by
public opinion? Possibly the writers of leading articles) was indignant
that the old German Reichsland should be torn away; and in the Reichstag
of North Germany, on April 1, there were heated questions on the
subject. Bismarck, it is true, remained cool about Luxembourg; but
nevertheless he set on foot preparations against France on this
occasion, and they of course were followed by counter preparations on
the French side. Ah, how well I know that tune! At that time I trembled
sorely for fear of a new fire being lighted in Europe. No want of people
to poke it--in Paris, Cassagnac and Emile de Girardin, in Berlin, Menzel
and Heinrich Leo. Have then such provokers of war even the remotest
notion of the gigantic enormity of their transgression? I hardly think
so. It was at this time--as I first heard the tale many years
after--that Professor Simson used the following expression in the
presence of the Crown Prince Frederick of Prussia about the question in
dispute:--
“If France and Holland have already come to an agreement, that signifies
war”.
To which the crown prince in hot excitement and alarm replied:--
“You have never seen war; if you had seen it, you would not pronounce
the word so quietly. I have seen it; and I say to you that it is the
highest duty, if it be anyhow possible, to avoid it.”
And this time it was avoided. A conference met at London, which, on May
11, led to the wished-for peaceable solution. Luxembourg was declared
neutral and Prussia drew her troops out. The friends of peace breathed
again, but there were plenty of people who were discontented at this
turn of affairs. Not the Emperor of the French--he wished for peace--but
the French “war party”. In Germany too there were voices raised to
condemn the behaviour of Prussia. “Sacrifice of a fortress,” “submission
looking like fear,” and other things of the kind. But every private
person also, who on the sentence of a court gives up his claim to any
possessions, shows the same submission. Would it be better for him not
to bow to any tribunal, but to settle the matter with his fists? The
result achieved by the conference of London may in such doubtful
questions be _always_ achieved, and the leaders of states can always
find that avoidance possible, which Frederick the Noble, afterwards
Frederick III., called the _highest duty_.
* * * * *
In May we betook ourselves to Paris to visit the exhibition.
I had not yet seen the World’s Capital, and was quite dazzled by its
splendour and its life. At that time especially, the empire was standing
at its highest pitch of splendour, and all the crowned heads of Europe
had collected there; and at that time above all others, Paris presented
a picture of splendour the most joyful and the most secure of peace. The
city appeared to me at that time not like the capital of a single
country, but like the capital of Internationality; that city which three
years afterwards was to be bombarded by its eastern neighbour. All the
nations of the earth had assembled in the great palace in the Champ de
Mars for the peaceful--nay profitable, because productive not
destructive--strife of business competition. Riches, works of art,
marvels of manufactory were brought together here, so that it must have
excited pride in every beholder to have lived in a time so progressive
and so full of promise of further progress; and along with this pride
must naturally have arisen the purpose never more to hamper the march of
that development of civilisation which was spreading enjoyment all
round, by the brutal rage of destruction. All these kings, princes, and
diplomatists who were assembled here as guests of the emperor and
empress could not surely be thinking amidst all the civilities that were
interchanged, the courtesies and the good wishes, of exchanging next
time shots with their hosts or one another? No. I breathed again. This
really splendid exhibition _fête_ seemed to me the pledge that now an
era of long, long years of peace had begun. At most against an incursion
of Tartar hordes, or something of that sort, these civilised people
might draw the sword; but against each other!--we were never more to see
that it was hoped. What strengthened me in this opinion was a
communication that reached me from a well-informed trustworthy source
about a favourite plan of the emperor for a _general disarmament_. Yes.
Napoleon III. was strong on that point. I have it from the mouth of his
nearest relations and most trusted friends, and on the next convenient
opportunity he was going to communicate to all the European governments
a proposal for reducing their military establishments to a minimum. That
was good to hear; it was at any rate a more reasonable idea than that of
a general increase of forces. In this way the well-known demand of Kant
would be granted, which is thus formulated in par. 3 of the “Preliminary
Article to an Everlasting Peace”:--
Standing armies (_miles perpetuus_) are in time to cease
absolutely. They are a constant menace of war to other states, in
consequence of the readiness to appear always prepared for war;
they provoke them to overpass each other in the mass of
preparations which know no limit (oh, prophetic glance of wisdom!);
and inasmuch as the costs of maintaining peace become at last more
burdensome than a short war, they are themselves causes of
offensive war, in order to get rid of this burden.
What government could decline a proposition such as that which France
was meditating without unmasking its lust of conquest? What nation would
not revolt against such a refusal? The plan must succeed.
Frederick did not share my confidence.
“In the first place,” he said, “I doubt whether Napoleon will make the
proposal. The pressure of the war party will hinder him. As a general
rule the occupants of thrones are prevented by those who surround them
from the exercise of those great efforts of individual will, which fall
quite outside of the usual pattern. In the second place, one cannot give
to a living being the command to cease to exist in this sort of way. It
straightway sets itself on its defence----”
“Of what living being are you speaking?”
“Of the army. That is an organism, and as such has powers of life
development and of self-maintenance. At the present time this organism
is just in its prime, and, as you see--for the system of universal
defence will surely be introduced into other countries--is just on the
point of being powerfully extended.”
“And yet you want to fight against it?”
“Yes; but not by stepping up to it and saying ‘Die, thou monster!’ for
the organism in question would hardly do me the kindness to stretch
itself dead at my feet on that summons. But I am fighting against it in
appearing on behalf of another living form, which is still only in its
fragile bud, but which, as it gains in power and extent, will crush the
other out. It is your fault to begin with, Martha, that I talk in these
scientific metaphors. It was you who first led me to study the works of
the modern students of nature. From this there has arisen in me the view
that the phenomena of social life also can not be understood in their
origin, or foreseen in their future course till one conceives of them as
existing under the influence of eternal laws. Of this most politicians
and people in positions of high dignity have no notion--not the
faintest; the worthy soldier certainly not. A few years ago it had not
entered my head either.”
We were living in the Grand Hotel on the Boulevard des Capucines. It was
occupied chiefly by English people and Americans. We met few of our own
people--the Austrians are not fond of travel. Besides, we sought for no
acquaintance. I had not put off my mourning, and we cherished no wish
for company. Of course I had my son Rudolf with me. He was now eight
years old, and a wonderfully clever little fellow. We had hired a young
Englishman, who performed the duties partly of tutor, partly of nursery
governess to the boy. In our long visits to the exhibition-palace, as
well as our numerous excursions into the neighbourhood, we could not, of
course, always take Rudi with us; and besides, the time was also now
come for him to begin to learn.
New--new--new--to me, was the whole of this world here open to us. All
the men who had come together from the four corners of the earth--the
richest and most distinguished from every quarter--these _fêtes_, this
expenditure, this turmoil. I was literally deafened by it. But,
interesting and full of enjoyment as it was to me to receive into my
mind these surprising and overpowering impressions, yet, when alone, I
wished myself out of all this hubbub again, and in some remote peaceful
spot, where I could live in quiet retirement along with Frederick and my
child--nay, my _children_, for I was looking forward confidently to the
joy of motherhood again. It is wonderful, indeed--and I find it often
noted in the red volumes--how in retirement the longing rises for events
and exploits, for experiences and enjoyments; and again, in the midst of
the latter, for solitude and tranquillity.
We kept ourselves apart from the great world. We had merely paid a visit
to the house of our ambassador, Metternich, and had let it be known
there that on account of our domestic afflictions we did not desire any
_entrée_ into Court circles or society. On the other hand, we sought to
make the acquaintance of a few prominent political and literary
personages, partly from self-interest and for our mental improvement,
partly with a view to “the service” into which Frederick had entered. In
spite of the slight hopes he had of any perceptible result from his
efforts, he never allowed it to escape him, and he put himself into
communication with numerous influential persons, from whom he might gain
assistance in his career, or at least information as to its position. We
had at that time commenced a little book of our own--we called it _The
Protocol of Peace_--into which all news, notices, articles, and so
forth, bearing on the subject, were to be sedulously entered. The
history also of the idea of Peace, as far as we could gain a knowledge
of it, was incorporated in the _Protocol_; and along with this the
expressions of various philosophers, poets, priests, and authors on the
subject of “Peace and War”. It had soon grown into an imposing little
volume; and in course of time--for I have carried on this composition
down to the present day--it has grown into several little volumes. If
one were to compare it with the libraries which are filled with works on
strategical subjects, with the untold thousands of volumes containing
histories of wars, studies on war, and glorification of war, with the
text-books of military science and military tactics, and guides for the
instruction of recruits and artillery, with the chronicles of battles
and annals of _états-majors_, soldiers’ ballads and war songs: well,
then, I allow that the comparison with these one or two poor little
volumes of peace-literature might humiliate one, on the assumption that
one might measure the power and value--especially the future value--of a
thing by its size. But if one reflects that a single grain of seed hides
in itself the virtual power of causing the growth of an entire forest,
which will displace whole masses of weeds, though spread over acres of
country, and further reflects that an idea is in the mental kingdom what
a seed is in the vegetable, then one need not be anxious about the
future of an idea, merely because the history of its development may be
as yet contained in one little manuscript.
I will here produce a few extracts taken from our _Protocol of Peace_
for the year 1867. On the first page was placed a compressed historical
survey.
Four hundred years before Christ, Aristophanes wrote a
comedy--“Peace”--into which a humanitarian tendency enters.
The Greek philosophy--afterwards transplanted to Rome--admitted a
striving after “the unity of humanity” from Socrates, who called
himself a “citizen of the world,” down to Terence, to whom “nothing
human was foreign,” and Cicero, who represents the “love of the
human race” as the highest grade of perfection.
In the first century of our era appears Virgil with his famous
fourth eclogue which prophesies universal peace to the world under
the mythological image of the return of the golden age.
In the middle ages, the Popes often strove, though in vain, to
interpose as arbitrators between states.
In the fifteenth century the idea occurred to a king of forming a
“league of peace”. This was Geo. Podiebrad of Bohemia, who wished
to put an end to the wars of the emperor and the Pope; for this
purpose he betook himself to King Louis XI. of France, who however
did not fall in with the proposal.
At the close of the sixteenth century, King Henry IV. of France
conceived the plan of a European confederation of states. After he
had delivered his country from the horrors of the religious war, he
wished to see toleration and peace assured for all future time. He
wished to see the sixteen states of which Europe then consisted
(for Russia and Turkey were reckoned parts of Asia) combined into a
Bund. Each of these sixteen states was to have the right of sending
two members to a “European Council,” and to this council,
consisting thus of thirty-two members, the task was to be entrusted
of maintaining the religious peace, and avoiding all international
conflicts. And then if every state would bind itself to submit to
the decisions of the council, every element of European wars would
be thereby removed. The king communicated this plan to his
Minister, Sully, who heartily accepted it and straightway commenced
negotiations with the other states. Elizabeth of England, the Pope,
Holland, and several others were actually won over; only the House
of Austria would have offered resistance, because territorial
concessions might have been demanded from her, which she would not
have granted. A campaign would have been necessary to overcome this
resistance. France would have contributed the main army, and she
would have renounced beforehand any extension of territory; the
sole aim of the campaign and the sole condition of peace imposed on
the House of Austria would have been their entrance into the league
of states. All the preparations were already completed, and Henry
IV. meant to take the command of the army in person, when on May
13, 1610, he fell under the dagger of an insane monk.
None of his successors nor any other sovereign took up again this
glorious plan for procuring happiness for the nations. Rulers and
politicians remained true to the old war-spirit; but the thinkers
of all countries did not allow the idea of peace to fall to the
ground again.
In the year 1647 the sect of the Quakers was founded, and the
condemnation of war was its fundamental principle. In the same year
William Penn published his work on the future peace of Europe,
which he founded on the plan of Henry IV.
In the early part of the eighteenth century appeared the famous
book of the Abbé de S. Pierre, entitled _La Paix Perpetuelle_. At
the same time a Landgrave of Hesse sketched out the same plan, and
Leibnitz wrote a favourable comment on it.
Voltaire gave out the maxim “Every European war is a civil war”.
Mirabeau, in the memorable session of August 25, 1790, spoke the
following words:--
“The moment is perhaps not far off now when Freedom, as the
unfettered monarch of both worlds, will fulfil the wish of
philosophers, to free mankind from the sin of war, and proclaim
universal peace. Then will the happiness of the people be the only
aim of the legislator, the only glory of the nations.”
In the year 1795 one of the greatest thinkers of all time,
Emmanuel Kant, wrote his treatise “On Eternal Peace”. The English
publicist, Bentham, joins with enthusiasm the ever-increasing
number of the defenders of peace--Fourrier, Saint Simon, etc.
Beranger sang “The Holy Alliance of Peace,” Lamartine “La
Marseillaise de la Paix”. In Geneva Count Cellon founded a “Peace
Club,” in whose name he entered into a propagandist correspondence
with all the rulers of Europe. From Massachusetts in America comes
“the learned blacksmith,” Elihu Burritt, and scatters his _Olive
Leaves_ and _Sparks from an Anvil_ about the world in millions of
copies, and takes the chair in 1849 at an assembly of the English
Friends of Peace. In the Congress of Paris, which wound up the
Crimean War, the idea of peace gained a footing in diplomacy,
inasmuch as a clause was added to the treaty which provided that
the Powers pledged themselves in future conflicts to submit
themselves previously to mediation. This clause contains in itself
a recognition of the principle of a court of arbitration, but it
has not been acted upon.
In the year 1863 the French Government proposed to the Powers to
call a congress, before which was to be brought the consideration
of proposals for a general disarmament, and for the avoidance of
future wars.
But this proposal found no support whatever from the other Governments.
* * * * *
And now, my hour of trial was again drawing nigh.
But it was so different this time from that other in which Frederick had
to leave me--to fight for the Augustenburger. This time he was at my
side--the husband’s proper post--diminishing through his presence and
through his sympathy the sufferings of his wife. The feeling that I had
him there was to me so calming and so happy that in it I almost forgot
my physical discomfort.
A girl! It was the fulfilment of my silent hope. The joys connected with
a son had already been given to us by my little Rudolf: we could now, in
addition to these, taste those joys which such a fine little daughter
promised to her parents. That this little Sylvia of ours would grow into
a paragon of beauty, grace, and comeliness we did not doubt for a single
moment. How childish we both of us became over the cradle of this
child; what sweet fooleries we spoke and acted there, I will not even
try to tell. Others than fond parents would not understand it, and all
of them have no doubt been just as silly themselves.
But how selfish happiness makes us! There came now a time for us, in
which we really were far too forgetful of everything which lay outside
of our domestic heaven. The terrors of the cholera week kept taking
always more and more in my memory the shape of a vanished evil dream;
and even Frederick’s energy in the pursuit of his aim gradually abated.
And it was no doubt discouraging, wherever one knocked at any doors with
these ideas, to meet with shrugs of shoulders, compassionate smiles, if
not a regular setting to rights. The world, as it seems, is fond not
only of being cheated, but also of being made miserable. Wherever one
tries to put forward any proposals for removing misery and woe, they are
called “Utopian--a childish dream”--and the world will not listen to
them.
Still Frederick did not let his aim fall quite out of sight. He plunged
ever deeper into the study of international law, and got into
correspondence by letter with Bluntschli and other men learned in this
branch. At the same time, and here with my companionship, he diligently
followed other studies, chiefly natural science. He formed a plan for
writing a great work on “War and Peace”. But, before setting to work on
it, he wanted to prepare himself for it and instruct himself by long and
comprehensive researches. “I am, it is true,” he said, “an old royal and
imperial colonel, and it would shame most of my equals in age and rank
to dip into schooling. When one is an elderly man of office and rank one
thinks oneself usually clever enough to act independently. I myself a
few years since had that respect for my own individuality. But when I
had suddenly attained to a new point of view, in which I got an insight
into the modern spirit, then the consciousness of my want of knowledge
came over me. Ah yes! Of all the gains that have now been made in the
matter of new discoveries in all provinces of knowledge, there was
nothing at all taught in my youth--or rather the reverse was taught--so
I must now, in spite of the streaks of grey on my temples, begin again
at the beginning.”
The winter after Sylvia’s birth we spent at Vienna in perfect quiet.
Next spring we travelled to Italy. To travel and make acquaintance with
the world was indeed a part of our new programme of life. We were
independent and rich, and nothing hindered us from carrying it out.
Small children are a little troublesome in travelling; but if one can
take about a sufficient train of _bonnes_ and nurses, the thing can be
done. I had taken into my establishment an old servant who had once been
nurse to me and my sisters, and then had married an hotel steward, and
now was left a widow. This “Mistress Anna” was worthy of my fullest
confidence, and in her hands I could leave my little Sylvia at home with
perfect security, at any time when we--_i.e._, Frederick and I--left our
headquarters for several days on some excursion. Rudolf would have been
just as well seen after by Mr. Foster, his tutor; but it often happened
that we took the little eight-years-old boy with us.
Happy, happy times! Pity that I then neglected the red books so much! It
was exactly at this time that I might have entered so much that was
beautiful, interesting and gay; but I neglected it, and so the details
of that year have mostly faded out of my recollection, and it is only in
rough outline that I can now recall a picture of it.
In the _Protocol of Peace_ I did find an opportunity to make a
gratifying entry. This was a leading article signed B. Desmoulins, in
which the proposal was made to the French Government that it should put
itself at the head of the European states by giving them the example of
disarmament:--
In this way France will make herself sure of the alliance and of
the honest friendship of all states, which will then have ceased to
be afraid of France, while they would desire her sympathy. In this
way the general disarmament would commence spontaneously--the
principle of conquest would be given up for ever, and the
confederation of states would quite naturally form a Court of
International Law, which would be in a position to settle in the
way of arbitration all disputes which could never be decided by
war. In so acting, France would have gained over to her side the
only real and only lasting power--namely, right--and would have
opened for humanity, in the most glorious manner, a new era.
(_Opinion Nationale_, July 25, 1868.)
This article, of course, got no attention.
In the winter of 1868-69 we went back to Paris, and this time, for we
wished to make acquaintance with life, we plunged into the “Great
World”.
It was a rather tiring process; but yet for a time it was very pleasant.
In order to have some home, we had hired a small residence in the
quarter of the Champs Elysées, whither we also could sometimes invite in
turn our numerous acquaintance, by whom we were invited every day to a
party of some kind or other. Having been introduced by our ambassador at
the Court of the Tuilleries, we were invited for the whole winter to the
Mondays of the empress, and, besides this, the houses of all the
ambassadors were open to us, as well as the _salons_ of Princess
Mathilde, the Duchess of Mouchy, Queen Isabella of Spain, and so on. We
made the acquaintance also of many literary magnates, not of the
greatest, however, I mean Victor Hugo, as he was living in exile, but we
met Renan, Dumas _père et fils_, Octave Feuillet, George Sand, Arsène
Houssaye, and some others. At the house of the last named we also were
present at a masked ball. When the author of the _Grandes Dames_ gave
one of his Venetian _fêtes_ in his splendid little hotel, on the Avenue
Friedland, it was the custom that the real _grandes dames_ should go
there under the protection of their masks along with the “little
ladies,” well-known actresses and so forth, who were making their
diamonds and their wit sparkle here.
We were also very industrious visitors to the theatres. At least three
times a week we spent our evenings either at the Italian opera, where
Adelina Patti, just married to the Marquis de Caux, was enchanting the
audience, or at the _Theâtre Français_, or even at one of the little
boulevard theatres to see Hortense Schneider as the Grand Duchess of
Gerolstein, or some of the other celebrities of operetta or vaudeville.
It is wonderful, however, how, when one is once plunged into this whirl
of splendour and entertainments, this little “great world” appears to
one all of a sudden so terribly important; and the laws which prevail
therein of elegance and _chic_ (it was even then called _chic_) as
laying on one a kind of solemnly undertaken duty. To take at the theatre
a less distinguished place than a stage-box; to appear in the Bois with
a carriage whose equipage should not be faultless; to go to a court ball
without putting on a toilette of 2000 francs, “signed” by Worth; to sit
down to table (Madame la Baronne est servie), even if one had no guests,
without having the finest dishes and the choicest wines served by the
solemn _maître d’hôtel_ in person and several lackeys, all these would
have been serious offences. How easy, how very easy it becomes to one,
when one is caught up in the machinery of such an existence as this, to
spend all one’s thoughts and feelings on this business, which is really
devoid of all thought and feeling, and in doing this to forget to take
any part in the progress of the real world outside, I mean the universe,
or in the condition of one’s own world within, I mean domestic bliss.
This is what might perhaps have happened to me, but Frederick preserved
me from it. He was not the man to allow himself to be torn away and
smothered by the whirlpool of Parisian “high-life”. He did not forget,
in the world in which we were moving, either the universe or our own
hearth. An hour or two in the morning we still kept devoted to reading
and domestic life; and so we accomplished the great feat of enjoying
happiness even in the midst of pleasure.
For us Austrians there was much sympathy cherished at Paris. In
political conversations there was often a talk about a _Revanche de
Sadowa_, certainly in the sense that the injustice done to us two years
before was to be made good again--as if _anything of that sort_ could
make it _good_ again. If blows are only to be wiped out by fresh blows,
then surely the thing can never cease. It was just to my husband and me,
because he had been in the army and had served the campaign in Bohemia,
it was just to us that people thought they could say nothing more polite
or more agreeable than a hopeful allusion to the _Revanche de Sadowa_
which was in prospect, and which was already treated of as an historical
event which would assure the European equilibrium, and was itself
ensured by diplomatic arrangements. A slap to be administered to the
Prussians on the next opportunity was a necessity in the
school-discipline of the nations. Nothing tragical would come of the
matter, only enough to check the arrogance of certain folks. Perhaps
even the whip hanging up on the wall would be enough for this purpose;
but if that arrogant fellow should try any of his saucy tricks he had
received fair warning that it would come down upon him in the shape of
the _Revanche de Sadowa_.
We, of course, decisively put aside all such consolations. A former
misfortune was not to be conjured away by a fresh misfortune, nor an old
injustice to be atoned for by a new injustice. We assured our friends
that we wished for nothing, except that we might never see the present
peace broken again. This was also essentially the wish of Napoleon III.
We had so much intercourse with persons whose position was quite close
to the emperor, that we had plenty of opportunities of becoming
acquainted with his political views, as he gave utterance to them in his
confidential conversation. It was not only that he wished for peace at
the moment--he cherished the plan of proposing to the powers a general
disarmament. But, for the moment, he did not feel his own domestic
position in the country secure enough to carry this plan out. There was
great discontent boiling and seething among the populace; and in the
circle immediately surrounding the throne there was a party which
laboured to represent to him that his throne could only be rendered
secure by a successful foreign war--just a little triumphal promenade to
the Rhine, and the splendour and stability of the Napoleonic dynasty
were secured. _Il faut faire grand_, was the advice of his counsellors.
That the war, which was in prospect the year before on the Luxembourg
question, had come to nothing, and was displeasing to them; the
preparations on both sides had gone on so grandly, and then the matter
had been adjourned. But in the long run a fight between France and
Prussia was certainly inevitable. They were incessantly urging on
further in this direction. But only a feeble echo of these matters came
to us. One is accustomed to hear that sort of thing resounding in the
journals, as regularly as the breakers on the shore. There is no
occasion to fear a storm on that account. You listen quite tranquilly to
the band which is playing its lively airs on the beach--the breakers
form only a soft unheeded bass accompaniment to them.
This brilliant way of life, only too overburdened with pleasure, reached
its highest pitch in the spring months. At that time there were added
long drives in the Bois in open carriages, numerous picture exhibitions,
garden parties, horse-races, picnics, and with all this no fewer
theatres, or visits, or dinner or evening parties, than in the depth of
winter. We then began to long much for repose. In fact, this sort of
life has never its true attraction, except when some flirtation or love
affair is combined with it. Girls who are in search of a husband, women
who want a lover, or men who are in search of adventures, for these
every new _fête_, where it is possible they may meet the object of their
dream, possesses a new interest, but for Frederick and me? That I was
inflexibly true to my lord, that I never by a single glance gave any one
the occasion to approach me with any audacious hopes, I may say, without
any pride of virtue--it was a mere matter of course. Whether, under
different relations, I should also have resisted all the temptations to
which, in such a whirl of pleasure, pretty young ladies are exposed, is
more than I can say; but when one carries in one’s heart a love so deep
and so full of bliss as I felt for my Frederick, one is surely armed
against all danger. And as far as he was concerned, was he true to me? I
can only say, that I never felt any doubt about it.
When the summer had returned to the land, when the Grand Prix was over,
and the different members of society began to quit Paris, some to
Trouville or Dieppe, Biarritz or Vichy, others to Baden Baden, and a
third set to their châteaux, Princess Mathilde to St. Gratien, and the
court to Compiègne, then we were besieged with requests to select the
same destinations for travel, and with invitations to country-houses;
but we were decidedly indisposed to prolong the campaign of luxury and
pleasure which we had carried out in the winter, into a summer one also.
I did not wish to return at once to Grumitz. I feared too much the
reawakening of painful memories; besides, we should not have found there
the solitude we desired, on account of our numerous relations and
neighbours. So we chose once more for our resting-place a quiet corner
of Switzerland. We promised our friends in Paris that we would come back
next winter, and went on our summer tour with the joy of schoolboys
going for their holidays.
Now succeeded a time of real refreshment. Long walks, long hours of
study, long hours of play with the children, and no entries in the red
volumes--which last was a sign of freedom from care, and spiritual
peace.
Europe also seemed at that time tolerably free from care, and peaceful.
At least no “black spots” were anywhere visible. One did not even hear
any more talk about the famous _Revanche de Sadowa_. The greatest
trouble which I experienced at that time was caused by the universal
obligation for defence which had been introduced a year before amongst
us Austrians. That my Rudolf some time or other _must_ become a
soldier--that was a thing I could not bear. And yet folks dream of
freedom!
Frederick tried to comfort me. “A year of ‘volunteering’ is not much.” I
shook my head.
“Even if it were but a day! No man ought to be compelled to take upon
himself a certain office, which perhaps he hates, even for a single day;
for during that day he must make a show of the opposite of what he
feels--must pretend that he is doing joyfully what he really hates--in
short, he is obliged to lie, and I wanted to bring up my son to be true,
before all things.”
“Then he ought to have been born one or two centuries later, my
dearest,” replied Frederick. “It is only the perfectly free man who can
be perfectly true; and we are still poorly off for both things--freedom
and truth--in our days; that becomes clearer and clearer to me the
deeper I plunge into my studies.”
Now, in this retirement Frederick had twice the leisure for his work,
and he set about it with true ardour. However happy and content we were
with our life in this solitude, still we remained firm in our
determination to spend next winter in Paris again. This time, however,
it was not with the view of amusing ourselves, but in order to do
something practical towards the fulfilment of the task of our lives. In
this, it is true, we did not cherish any _confidence_ that we should
attain anything; but when a man sees even the possibility of the shadow
of a chance offered him to contribute anything towards a cause which he
recognises as the holiest cause on earth, he feels it to be a duty which
he cannot refuse, to try this chance. Now, in recapitulating, during our
familiar talks, the recollections of Paris, we had thought also of that
plan of the Emperor Napoleon which had come to our ears by the
communications of his confidants--I mean the plan for proposing
disarmament to the great powers. It was on this that we based our hopes
and our projects. Frederick’s researches had brought into his hand
Sully’s _Memoirs_, in which the plan of Henry IV. for peace is described
in all its details. We meant to convey an abstract of this to the
Emperor of the French; and at the same time to try, through our
connections in Austria and Prussia, to prepare both these Governments
for the propositions of the French Government. I could set this on foot
by the means of Minister To-be-sure, and Frederick had at Berlin a
relative who was in an influential political position, and stood very
well at court.
In December, which was the time we meant to move to Paris, we were
prevented. Our treasure, our little Sylvia, fell ill. What anxious hours
those were! Napoleon III. and Henry IV. of course were then put in the
background--our child dying!
But she did not die. In two weeks all danger was over. Only the
physician forbade us to travel during the worst of the winter’s cold. So
we put off our departure till March.
This sickness and recovery, the danger and the preservation--what a
shock they had given our hearts! and how much--though I thought that no
longer possible--they had brought them more near to each other still! To
tremble in unison before a horrid disaster--one which each fears the
more from seeing the other’s despair, and to weep tears of joy in common
when this disaster has been averted--are things which have a most mighty
influence in welding souls together.
* * * * *
Forebodings? No, there were none. If there had been Paris would not have
made on me the cheerful impression of promised pleasure which it did on
one sunny afternoon of March, 1870, on our arrival. One knows now what
horrors were brooding over that city after a very short interval; but
not the faintest anticipation of trouble arose in my mind.
We had already hired beforehand, through the agent, John Arthur, the
same little palace in which we had lived last year, and at its door was
waiting for us our _maître d’hôtel_ of the previous year. As we drove
across the Champs Elysées to reach our dwelling, it was just the hour
for the Bois, and several of our old acquaintances met us and exchanged
joyful recognitions. The numerous little barrows of violets which were
dragged about the streets of Paris that year filled the air with the
promise of spring; the sunbeams were sparkling and playing in rainbows
on the fountains of the _Rond-point_, making little reflections on the
carriage lamps and the harness of the many carriages. Amongst others,
the beautiful empress was driving in a carriage harnessed _à la
Daumont_. She passed us, and, recognising me, made a gesture of
salutation.
There are some special pictures or scenes which photograph or phonograph
themselves on our memory, along with the feelings that accompany them,
and some of the words that are spoken at them. “This Paris is truly
lovely,” cried Frederick at this point, and my feeling was a childish
self-congratulation at the coming treat. Had I known what was coming to
me, and to this whole city, now bathed in splendour and rejoicing!
This time we abstained from throwing ourselves, as we had done the year
before, into the whirlpool of worldly amusements. We announced that we
would not accept any dancing invitations, and kept ourselves apart from
the great receptions. Even the theatre we did not visit so often--only
when some piece made a great impression--and so it came about that we
spent most evenings at home alone, or in the society of a few friends.
As to our plans with regard to the idea of the emperor about
disarmament, we got on but badly with them. Napoleon III. had not,
indeed, given up his idea altogether, but the present time, it was said,
was not at all suited for carrying it out. In the circle around the
throne a conviction had grown up that that throne stood on no very firm
footing--a great discontent was boiling and seething among the people,
in order to repress which all the police and censorship regulations were
made more stringent, and the only consequence of this was greater
discontent. The only thing, said certain people, which could give
renewed splendour and security to the dynasty would be a successful
campaign. It is true there was no near prospect of this, but all mention
of disarmament would be a total and complete mistake, for thereby the
whole Bonaparte-nimbus would be destroyed, which was undoubtedly founded
on the heritage of glory of the first Napoleon. We had also received no
very cheering answers to our inquiries on these subjects from Prussia
and Austria. There people had entered on an epoch of expansion of the
“defensive forces” (the word “army” began to be unfashionable), and the
word “disarmament” fell on this like a gross discord. On the contrary,
in order to obtain the blessings of peace, the “defensive power” must
be increased--the French were not to be trusted--the Russians
neither--and the Italians, most certainly not--they would fall on Triest
and Trent at once, if they had the opportunity--in short, the only thing
to do was to nurse the Landwehr system with all the care possible.
“The time is not ripe,” said Frederick, on our receiving communications
such as these, “and I must, I suppose, in reason give up the hope that I
personally may be able to help in hastening the ripening of that time,
or even see the fruits I long for blossoming. What I can contribute is
mean enough. But from the hour that I saw that this thing, however mean,
is my duty, it has in spite of all become the greatest thing of all to
me, so I keep on.”
But if for the present the project of disarmament had been dropped, I
had yet one comfort--there was no war in sight. The war party which
existed in the court and among the people, and whose opinion was that
the dynasty must be “rebaptised in blood,” and that another little taste
of glory must be provided for the people, were obliged to renounce their
plan of attack and their bewitching “little campaign on the Rhine
frontier”. For France possessed no allies; great drought prevailed in
the country; a dearth of forage was to be anticipated; the army horses
had to be sold; there was no “question” in agitation; the contingent of
recruits had been diminished by the legislative body; in short, so
Ollivier declared from the tribune--“the peace of Europe is assured”.
_Assured!_ I rejoiced over the word. It was repeated in all the papers,
and many thousands rejoiced with me. For what can there be better for
the majority of men than assured peace?
How much, however, that security which was announced by a statesman on
June 3, 1870, was worth we now all know. And even at the time we might
have known this much, that assurances of that kind from statesmen,
though the public always receives them again with the same innocent
trust, really contain no guarantee--literally none. The European
situation shows no question in agitation--therefore peace is secure.
What feeble logic! Questions may come into agitation any moment; it is
not till we have prepared some means against such a contingency other
than war, that we can ever be secure against war.