_We remain in Paris to get ready a new house.--The “question”
between France and Prussia.--Candidature of Prince Hohenzollern for
the crown of Spain.--The war rumours and the speeches in the
Chamber become menacing.--The Hohenzollern candidature
withdrawn.--Further demands of France.--Threatening debate in the
French Chamber.--War declared.--Excitement and enthusiasm in
Paris.--With which side should we sympathise?--The opposing
manifestoes.--We linger in Paris.--Opinions about war of eminent
French writers.--Proclamations of the two armies.--Secret history._
Paris society again dispersed in all directions. We, however, remained
behind on business. For an extraordinarily advantageous bargain had been
offered to us. Through the sudden departure of an American a little,
half-finished hotel, in the Avenue de l’Imperatrice, had had to be
offered for sale, and at a price which did not amount to much more than
the sum already expended on the decoration and furnishing of the thing
itself. As we had already the intention of spending in future some
months of each year in Paris, and as the purchase in question was also
at the same time an excellent bargain, we closed with it. We wished to
superintend the completion ourselves, and for this purpose stopped in
Paris. The decoration of one’s own nest is, besides, such a pleasurable
task that we willingly endured the unpleasantness of staying in a city
the whole summer. Besides, we had plenty of houses to which we could
resort for company. The château of Princess Mathilde, St. Gratien, then
Château Mouchy, and next Baron Rothschild’s place, Ferrières, and other
summer residences besides of our acquaintance, were situated near Paris,
and we arranged once or twice a week to pay a visit, now to one of them,
now to another.
It was, I recollect, in the _salon_ of Princess Mathilde that I first
heard of “the question” that was soon to come into “agitation”.
The company was sitting, after _déjeûner_, on the terrace, looking on to
the park. Who were all the people there? I do not recollect them all
now; only two of the persons present remain in my memory, Taine and
Renan. The conversation was a very lively one, and I recollect that it
was Renan chiefly who led the talk, sparkling with _esprit_ and
witticisms. The author of the _Vie de Jésus_ is an example that a man
may be incredibly ugly and yet exercise an incredible fascination.
Now the talk turned upon politics. A candidate had been sought for the
crown of Spain. A prince of Hohenzollern was to receive the crown. I had
scarcely been listening, for what could the throne of Spain or he who
was to sit upon it have to do with me or all these nonchalant folks
here? But then some one said:--
“A Hohenzollern? France would not permit that!”
The words cut me to the heart, for what did that “not permit” imply?
When such an utterance comes from any country one sees with one’s mind’s
eye the statue personifying that country as a gigantic virgin, her head
thrown back in defiance, her hand on her sword.
The conversation, however, soon turned to another subject. How full of
tremendous results this question of the Spanish throne would be none of
us yet suspected. I, of course, did not either. Only, that arrogant
“France would not permit that” stuck in my memory like a discord, and
along with it the whole scenery did so in which it was spoken.
From that time the question of the Spanish throne became constantly more
loud and more pressing. Every day the space became larger which it
occupied in the newspapers and in conversations in the _salons_, and I
know that it bored me in the highest degree, this Hohenzollern
candidature: soon there was nothing else spoken of. And it was spoken of
in an offended tone, as if nothing more insulting to France could take
place. Most people saw behind it a provocation to war on the part of
Prussia. But it was clear, so it was said, that “France could not permit
such a thing, so, if the Hohenzollerns persist in it, that is a simple
challenge”. I could not understand that; but in other respects I was
free from anxiety. We received letters from Berlin, telling us from a
well-instructed quarter that not the slightest importance was attached
at court to the succession of a Hohenzollern to the Spanish crown. And,
therefore, we were much more occupied with the work at our house than
with politics.
But gradually we became more attentive to the subject for all that. As,
before the storm, a certain rustling of leaves goes through the forest,
so, before war, a rustle of certain voices goes through the world. “Nous
aurons la guerre--nous aurons la guerre,” was what resounded in the air
of Paris. Then an unspeakable anxiety possessed me. Not for my own
people--for we, as Austrians, were at first out of the game. On the
contrary, we might possibly have some “satisfaction” offered to us--the
well-known “revenge for Sadowa”. But we had untaught ourselves the habit
of looking at war from a national point of view; and what war is from
the point of view of humanity--of the highest humanity--is surely
notorious. That is expressed in the following words which I heard spoken
by Guy de Maupassant:--
“Quand je songe seulement à ce mot ‘la guerre’ il me vient un
effarement, comme si l’on me parlait de sorcellerie, d’inquisition,
d’une chose lontaine, finie, abominable, contre nature”.
When the news arrived that the crown had been offered by Prim to Prince
Leopold, the Duke of Grammont made a speech in Parliament, which was
received with great approbation, to the following effect:--
“We do not meddle with the affairs of foreign nations, but we do not
believe that respect for the rights of a neighbouring state binds us to
permit a foreign power, by seating one of its own princes on the throne
of Charles V., to destroy, to our detriment, the equilibrium which
exists between the states of Europe (Oh that equilibrium! What
war-loving hypocrite invented that hollow phrase?), and so bring into
danger the interests, the honour of France”.
I know a tale of George Sand named _Gribouille_. This Gribouille has the
peculiarity, when rain is threatened, of plunging into the river, for
fear of getting wet. Whenever I hear that war is contemplated in order
to avert threatened dangers, I can never help thinking of Gribouille. A
whole branch of Hohenzollerns might very well have seated themselves on
Charles V.’s throne, and many other thrones as well, without exposing
the interests or the honour of France to one thousandth part of the
damage that resulted to them from this bold “We cannot permit it”.
“The case,” the speaker continued, “will, as we most confidently
believe, not occur. We reckon, in this regard, on the wisdom of the
German and the friendship of the Spanish people. But if it should turn
out otherwise, _then_, gentlemen, we, strong in your support and that of
the nation, shall know how to do our duty, without vacillation and
without weakness.” (Loud applause.)
From that time began in the press the cry for war. It was Girardin in
particular, who could not inflame his countrymen sufficiently to punish
the unheard-of audacity contained in this candidature for the throne. It
would be unworthy of the dignity of France not to interpose her veto
upon it. Prussia, it is true, would not give in, for she is bent, mad as
she is, on conjuring up war. Intoxicated by her success of 1866, she
believes that she may extend her march of victory and robbery on the
Rhine also; but, thank God, we are ready to baulk all these appetites of
the Pickelhaubers. And so it went on, in the same key. Napoleon III., it
is true, as we found out through persons who were about him, still
wished, as before, for the preservation of peace; but most of the people
of his _entourage_ now thought that a war was inevitable--that, since
apart from all this there was discontent among the people with the
Government, the best thing that could be done to secure the respect of
the country, anxious as it was for glory, would be to carry out a
successful war. “Il faut faire grand.”
And now inquiries were made of all the European Cabinets about the
situation. Each declared that they wished for peace. In Germany a
manifesto was published, originating in popular articles signed by
Liebknecht amongst others, wherein it was said “the mere thought of a
war between Germany and France is a crime”.
Benedetti was sent with the charge of demanding from the King of Prussia
that he would forbid Prince Leopold to assume the crown. King William
was at that moment taking the waters at Ems. Benedetti went there, and
got an audience on July 9.
What would the result be? I waited for the news with trembling.
The answer of the king simply said that he could not forbid anything to
a prince who had attained adult years.
This answer sent the war party into triumphant joy. “There--will you
suffer that? Do they want to provoke us to the utmost? That the head of
the house cannot command or forbid anything to one of its members!
Ridiculous! It is clearly a made-up plot--the Hohenzollerns want to get
a footing in Spain, and then fall upon our country from the east and
south at once. And are we to wait for that? Are we to be content to take
with humility the utter disregard of our protest? Surely not. We know
what honour, what patriotism, commands us to do.”
Ever louder and louder, ever more and more threatening sounded the
storm-warnings. Then on July 12 came a piece of news which filled me
with delight. Don Salusto Olozaga announced officially to the French
Government that Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern, in order not to give
any pretext for war, refused to assume the crown offered to him.
Now, thank God, the entire “question” is thus simply put aside. The news
was communicated to the Chamber at 12 at noon, and Ollivier declared
that this put an end to the dispute. Yet, on the same day, troops and
war material were forwarded to Metz (publicly said to be in pursuance of
previous orders), and in the same sitting Clement Duvernois put the
following question:--
“What securities have we that Prussia will not originate fresh
complications, like this Spanish candidature? That should be provided
against.”
There Gribouille comes up again. It may happen, perhaps, at some time,
that a trifling rain may threaten to wet us; so let us jump into the
river at once!
And so Benedetti was despatched again to Ems; this time to demand of the
King of Prussia that he would forbid Prince Leopold once for all, and
for all future time, to revive his candidature. What could follow such
an attempt at dictating a course of action, which the party on whom the
demand is made is not competent to carry out, except an impatient shrug
of the shoulders? Those who made the demand must have known as much.
There was another memorable sitting on July 15. Ollivier demanded a
credit of 500,000,000 frs. for the war. _Thiers opposed it._ Ollivier
replied. He took on himself to justify before the bar of history what
had been done. The King of Prussia had refused to receive the French
envoy, and had notified this to the Government in a letter. The Left
wanted to see this letter. The majority forbade, by clamour and by a
counter-vote, the production of the document, which probably had no
existence. This majority supported any demand made by the Government in
favour of the war. This patriotic readiness for sacrifice, which would
accept even _ruin_ without hesitation, was of course again applauded
becomingly with the usual ready-made turns of sentence.
July 16. England made attempts to prevent the war. In vain. Ah! if there
had been an arbitration court established how easily and simply might
such a trivial dispute have been decided.
July 19. The French _chargé d’affaires_ in Berlin handed the Prussian
Government the declaration of war.
Declaration of war! Three words, which can be pronounced quite calmly.
But what is connected with them? The beginning of an extra-political
action, and thus, along with it, half-a-million sentences of death.
This document also I entered in the red volumes. It runs thus:--
The Government of His Majesty the Emperor of the French could not
regard the design of raising a Prussian prince to the throne of
Spain otherwise than as an attack on the territorial security of
France, and has therefore found itself compelled to request from
His Majesty the King of Prussia the assurance that such a
combination should never again occur with his consent. As His
Majesty refuses any such assurance, and has, on the contrary,
declared to our ambassador that he must reserve to himself the
possibility of such an event, and inquire into the circumstances,
the Imperial Government cannot help recognising in this declaration
of the king an _arrière-pensée_, which, for France and for the
European equilibrium ... (There it comes again--this famous
equilibrium. Look at this shelf, and the precious china on it--it
is tottering; the dishes may fall, so let us smash it down.) This
declaration has assumed a still graver character from the
communication which has been made to the Cabinet of the refusal to
receive the emperor’s ambassador, and to introduce, in common with
him, a new method of solution. (So, by such things as these, by a
more or less friendly conversation between rulers and diplomatists,
the fate of nations may be decided.) In consequence of this the
French Government has thought it its duty (!) without delay to
think of the defence (Yes, yes, defence: never attack) of its
outraged dignity and its outraged interests, and being determined
to employ for that end all means which are offered by the position
which has been imposed upon it, regards itself from this time
forward as in a state of war with Prussia.
State of war! Does the man think who puts these words on paper, on the
green cloth of his writing-table, that he is plunging his pen in flames,
in tears of blood, in the poison of plague?
And so the storm is unchained, this time on account of a king being
sought for a vacant throne, and as the consequence of a negotiation
undertaken between two monarchs! Must Kant then be right in his first
definitive condition for everlasting peace? “The civil constitution in
every state should be republican.” To be sure, the effect of this
article would be to remove many causes of war; for history shows how
many campaigns have been undertaken for dynastic questions, and the
whole establishment of monarchical power rests assuredly on successful
conduct of war--still republics also are warlike. It is the _spirit_,
the old savage spirit which lights up hatred, lust of plunder, and
ambition of conquest in peoples, whether governed in one form or
another.
I recollect what an altogether peculiar humour seized me at this time,
when the Franco-German war was in preparation and then broke out. The
stormy sultriness before, the howling tempest after its declaration. The
whole population was in a fever, and who can keep himself aloof from
such an epidemic? Naturally, according to old custom, the beginning of
the campaign was at once looked on as a triumphal procession--that is no
more than patriotic duty. “À Berlin, à Berlin,” was shouted through the
streets and from the outside of the omnibusses--the Marseillaise at
every street corner, “Le jour de gloire est arrivé”. At every theatrical
representation the first actress or singer, at the opera it was Marie
Sass, had to come before the curtain in a Jeanne d’Arc costume, waving a
flag, and sing this battle song, which was received by the audience
standing, and in which they often joined. We also were among the
spectators one evening, Frederick and I, and we also had to rise from
our seats. I say “had to,” not from any external pressure, for we could
of course have withdrawn into the back of the box, but “had to,” because
we were _electrified_.
“Look, Martha,” Frederick explained to me, “a spark like that which runs
from one man to another and makes this whole mass rise to one united and
excited heart-beat, that is _love_.”
“What do you mean? It is surely a song of hatred:--
That their unholy blood
May sink into our furrows.”
“That is no matter, united hatred also is one form of love. Wherever two
or more unite in one common feeling, they love each other. Let but a
higher conception than that of the nation, _i.e._, of mankind and of
humanity, once be seized as the general idea, and then----”
“Ah,” I sighed, “when will that be?”
“When? that is a very relative term. In regard to the duration of our
life, never; in regard to that of our race, to-morrow.”
* * * * *
When war has broken out all the subjects of neutral states divide
themselves into two camps, one takes the side of the one, the other of
the opposite party; it is like a great fluctuating wager, in which every
one has a share.
We too--Frederick and I--with which side should we sympathise, which
wish to conquer? As Austrians we should have been fully justified,
“patriotically,” in wishing to see our victor in the former war
vanquished in this one. Besides, it is again natural that one should
give the greater sympathy to those in whose midst one is living, and
with whose feelings one is involuntarily infected; and we were then
surrounded by the French. Still, Frederick was of Prussian descent, and
were we not more allied with the Germans, whose speech even was my own,
than with their adversaries? Besides, had not the declaration of war
proceeded from the French, on such trifling grounds--nay, not grounds,
but pretexts? And must we not conclude from that that the Prussian cause
was the more just one, and that they were going into battle only as
defenders, and in obedience to compulsion? King William had spoken with
much justice in his speech from the throne on July 19:--
The German and the French nations, both enjoying equally the
blessings of Christian training and increasing prosperity, have
been called to a more holy strife than the bloody one of arms. The
rulers of France, however, have contrived to make profit for their
own personal interests and passions out of the justifiable but
irritable self-consciousness of our great neighbour by means of
deliberate deception.
The Emperor Napoleon, on his side, published the following
proclamation:--
In view of the presumptuous pretensions of Prussia, we were obliged
to make protests. These were treated with scorn. Transactions[9]
followed which showed their contempt for us. Our country has been
deeply irritated at this, and at present the cry for war resounds
from one end of France to the other. There remains nothing possible
for us except to trust our fate to the arbitrament of arms. We are
not making war on Germany, whose independence we respect. It is the
object of our best wishes that the people composing the great
German nationality should dispose freely of their own fate. As far
as concerns ourselves, we desire to set up a state of things which
will guarantee our security and make our future safe. We wish to
obtain a lasting peace, founded on the true interests of the
peoples. We wish for the termination of this miserable situation,
in which all the nations are expending their resources in arming on
all sides against each other.
What a lesson! what a mighty lesson speaks from this writing, when
compared with the events which ensued upon it! This campaign, then, was
undertaken by France in order to attain security--to attain lasting
peace? And what came of it? _L’annèe terrible_ and lasting
enmity--enmity which still prevails. No; as with coal you cannot
white-wash, as with assafœtida you cannot diffuse a sweet perfume, so
neither with war can you make peace secure. This “miserable situation,”
to which Napoleon alludes, how much has it not changed for the worse
since then! The emperor was in earnest, thoroughly in earnest about the
scheme for setting on foot a European disarmament. I have it quite
certainly from his nearest relations; but the war party put pressure on
him--coerced him--and he yielded. And yet he could not refrain, even in
the war proclamation, from harping on his favourite idea. Its carrying
out was only to be deferred. “After the campaign”--“after the victory,”
said he, to console himself. It turned out otherwise.
So, on which side were our sympathies? If one has got to the point of
detesting all war in and for itself, as was the case with Frederick and
me, the genuine, pure, “passionate attachment” to either side can exist
no more. One’s only feeling is “Oh that it had never begun--this
campaign! Oh that it were only already over!”
I did not think that the existing war would last long, or have important
consequences. Two or three battles won here and there, and then there
would be parleys for certain, and the thing would be brought to an end.
What were they really fighting for? Literally for nothing. The whole
thing was more of an armed promenade, undertaken by the French from love
of knightly adventure, by the Germans from brave feelings of defensive
duty. A few sabre-cuts would be exchanged, and the adversaries would
shake hands again. Fool that I was! As if the consequences of a war
remained in any proportion to the causes which produced it. It is its
_course_ which determines its consequences.
We should have been glad to leave Paris, for all the enthusiasm which
the whole population displayed produced the most painful effect on us.
But the way eastward was barred for the present, and the business of
our house-building detained us. In short, we stayed. We had hardly any
society connections left. Everybody that could anyhow do so had fled
from Paris; and even of those who remained, no one under present
circumstances even thought of issuing invitations. A few, however, of
our acquaintances among the literary circles, who were still in the
city, we did frequently visit. Just at this phase of the commencing war,
it interested Frederick to make himself acquainted with the judgments
and views then entertained by the master spirits of the time. There was
an author, then quite young, who later on attained much fame, Guy de
Maupassant, some of whose utterances, which penetrated into my soul, I
entered in the red volumes:--
War--if I only think of the word a horror comes over me, as if
people were talking to me about witches, about the inquisition,
about some faraway, overmastering, horrible, unnatural thing.
War--to fight each other, strangle, cut each other to pieces! And
we have amongst us at this day, in our times, with our culture,
with such an extension of science, with so high a grade of
development as we believe ourselves to have attained--we have
schools, where people are taught to kill, to kill at a good
distance, and a good round number at a time. What is wonderful is
that the people do not rise up against it, that the whole of
society does not revolt at the bare word--war!
Every man who governs is just as much bound to avoid war as a
ship’s captain is bound to avoid shipwreck. If a captain has lost a
ship he is brought before a court and tried, so that it may be
known whether he has been guilty of negligence. Why should not a
Government be put on its trial whenever a war has been declared? If
the people understood it, if they refused to allow themselves to be
killed without cause, there would be an end of war.
I had also an opportunity of reading a letter, written by Gustave
Flaubert to George Sand in the early days of July, just after the
outbreak of the war. Here it is:--
I am in despair at the stupidity of my countrymen. The incorrigible
barbarity of men fills me with deep grief. This enthusiasm, which
is inspired by no idea, makes me wish to die in order to see no
more of it. These good Frenchmen wish to fight (1) because they
believe themselves challenged by Prussia, (2) because savagery is
the natural state of men, (3) because war has an element of mystery
in it which is alluring to men. Are we coming to indiscriminate
fighting? I fear it.... The horrible battles which are in
preparation have no pretext whatever for them. It is the love of
fighting for fighting’s sake. I lament for the bridges and tunnels
blown up. All this human labour gone to ruin. You will have seen
that a gentleman recommended in the Chamber the plundering of the
Grand Duchy of Baden. Oh that I could be with the Bedouins!
“Oh,” cried I, as I read this letter, “that we could have been born 500
years later! that would be even better than the Bedouins.”
“Men will not want all that time to become reasonable,” said Frederick
confidently.
* * * * *
The period of proclamations and general orders was now come.
The old hum-drum tune again always, and always again the public carried
away to give it support and enthusiasm! There was joy over the victories
guaranteed in the manifestoes, just as if they had been gained already.
On July 28 Napoleon III. issued the following document from his
headquarters at Metz. This also I entered in my book, not, indeed,
because I shared in the admiration but from contempt for the everlasting
sameness and hollowness of its phrase-mongering:--
We are defending the honour and the soil of our country. We shall
conquer. Nothing is too much for the persevering exertions of the
soldiers of Africa, the Crimea, China, Italy and Mexico: Once more
you will show what a French army can do, which is on fire with the
love of country. Whatever way we take out of our boundaries, we
find there the glorious footsteps of our forefathers. We will show
ourselves worthy of them. On our success depends the fate of
Freedom and Civilisation. Soldiers! let every one do his duty, and
the God of Battles will be with us.
Of course, “_le Dieu des Armées_” could not be left out. That the
leaders of defeated armies have said the same thing a hundred times
over does not prevent the others from saying the same words at the
beginning of every new campaign and awakening the same confidence by
doing so. Is there anything more short and more weak than the memory of
the people?
On July 31 King William quitted Berlin and left the following writing:--
In going to-day to the army, to fight along with it for honour and
for the preservation of our noblest possessions, I leave an amnesty
for all political offenders. My people know as well as I that the
breach of treaty and hostile proceedings are not on our side. But
as we have been provoked, we are determined, like our fathers, and
in firm reliance on God, to brave the battle for the deliverance of
our fatherland.
Necessity of defence--necessity of defence--that is the only recognised
way of killing, and so both parties cry out: “I am defending myself”. Is
not that a contradiction? Not altogether, for over both there presides a
third power, the power of the conquering, ancient war-spirit. It is only
against _him_ that all should join in a defensive league.
Along with the above manifestoes, I find in my red volumes an entry,
with the singular title written over it: “If Ollivier had married
Meyerbeer’s daughter would the war have broken out?” This is how the
matter stood. Amongst our Parisian acquaintance there was a literary man
named Alexander Weill, and it was he who threw out the above question,
while he told us the following story:--
“Meyerbeer was looking out for a man of talent for his second daughter,
and his choice fell on my friend Emile Ollivier. Ollivier was a widower.
He had married for his first wife the daughter of Liszt, whom the
renowned pianist had by the Countess d’Agoult (Daniel Stern), with whom
he long lived as his wife. The marriage was very happy, and Ollivier had
the reputation of a virtuous husband. He possessed no fortune, but as a
speaker and statesman he was already famous. Meyerbeer wanted to make
his personal acquaintance, and to this end I gave, in April, 1864, a
great ball, which was attended by most of the celebrities of art and
science, and where, of course, Ollivier, who had been informed by me of
Meyerbeer’s purpose, played the first part. He pleased Meyerbeer. The
matter was not easy to bring to a head. Meyerbeer knew the independent
originality of his second daughter, who would never marry any other
husband than one of her own choice. It was arranged that Ollivier should
pay a visit to Baden, and there be introduced as if by chance to the
young lady. When Meyerbeer died suddenly a fortnight after this ball, it
was Ollivier, if you recollect, who pronounced his _éloge_ and funeral
oration at the Northern Railway Station. Now, I affirm, nay I am certain
of it, that if Ollivier had married Meyerbeer’s daughter, the war
between France and Germany would not have broken out. Look how plausible
my proofs are. In the first place, Meyerbeer, who hated the empire to
the point of contempt, would never have permitted his daughter’s husband
to become a minister of the emperor. It is well known that, if Ollivier
had threatened the Chamber to give in his resignation sooner than
declare war, the Chamber would never have declared war. The present war
is the work of three backstairs confidants and secret ministers of the
empress, named, Jerôme David, Paul de Cassagnac, and the Duc de
Grammont. The empress, excited by the Pope, whose religious puppet she
is, would have this war, as to the success of which she never doubted,
in order to ensure her son’s succession. She said: ‘C’est ma guerre à
moi et à mon fils,’ and the three above-named papal ‘anabaptists’ were
her secret tools to force the emperor, who did not want any war, and the
Chamber into war by false and secret despatches from Germany.”
“And this is what is called diplomacy!” I interrupted with a shudder.
“Listen further,” pursued Alexander Weill. “Ollivier said to me on July
15, when I met him on the Place de la Concorde: ‘Peace is assured, or I
resign’. Whence came it then that this same man, a few days later,
instead of resigning, declared war himself, ‘_d’un cœur léger_,’ as
he said in the Chamber?”
“With a light heart!” I cried, shuddering again.
“There is a secret in this that I can throw light upon. The emperor, for
whom money had never any other value than to purchase love or friendship
with it (he believes, like Jugurtha in Rome, that all in France, men and
women, have their price), has the custom, when he takes a minister who
is not rich, of binding him more closely to himself by a present of a
million francs. Daru alone, who told me this secret, declined this
present--‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes’. And he alone, being
unfettered, sent in his resignation. As long as the emperor hesitated,
Ollivier, being bound to his master by this chain of gold, declared
himself neutral--rather inclined to peace. But as soon as the emperor
had been overborne by his wife and her three ultramontane anabaptists,
Ollivier declared for war, and gave it lively utterance, with light
heart, ‘and with full pockets’.”[10]
* * * * *