PART SEVEN
[CONTINUED]
XL
FROM HARMANNSDORF AND FROM CHICAGO
So now there existed in the capital of Germany a Peace Society, about which as a center branch societies would presumably group themselves in all the larger German cities. The proposed task of forming a widespread public opinion was, therefore, well underway. I saw with delight, in my imagination, an undeviating development of the movement. I clearly recognized, however, that the beginnings were comparatively insignificant. What were our two or three thousand organized members compared to the thousand five hundred millions that populate the earth? And how puny, not only in numbers but also in power and reputation, compared to the representatives and supporters of the old system! But what is the significance of the first violet-dotted patch of grass compared to the fields, stretching miles and miles, still covered with the snows of March? It signifies that the spring is at hand. What signifies the first gleam of dawn penetrating the mantle of night? It signifies that the sunrise is coming. Thus I accepted the modest results achieved up to that time by the peace idea, and harbored no doubt that the element of spring, the element of light that abides in it, must come to fulfillment in gradual but uninterrupted and ever swifter progression.
I have no doubt of it either, even at the present day; but I have learned from experience that such movements do not take place in so straight a line and in such a regular tempo as I then supposed. It is a zigzag line, now attaining great height and speed, then sinking down again; it apparently vanishes, and then with a new start reaches quite unexpected points. And all direct, methodical (zielbewusste) work—to use the tiresome, hackneyed word—is on the one hand hampered, on the other helped, by unanticipated, invisible secondary influences; more often helped than hampered, for, where any innovation is to be introduced, its forces converge from all directions.
Our life was now richly filled. We enjoyed two special blessings which one can hardly think of in combination,—impetuous reaching out into the wide world, and peace in our quiet corner. Full of hopes, expectations, struggles, in flaming enthusiasm or in overwhelming indignation, we set sail into the future; and a sheltered, safe little nest, beautifully pillowed with love and gayety, was ours at that time.
Many expressed their pity for us because we were childless. The blessing of children is, indeed, regarded as the highest happiness; but I have never expressed in these memoirs one single word of regret for this lack, nor have we, either of us, ever complained of it. Possibly, if we had known that good fortune, we should not have been able to comprehend how such a deprivation can be borne without pain; but it is a fact, our childlessness never cost us a sigh. I explain this in this way: not only did we find perfect satisfaction in each other, but that need of living for the future which lies at the basis of the desire to have offspring and to work and provide for them was satisfied in our case by our vocation, which also was striving for the future, and which delighted in something still in its infancy, but growing and flourishing. Besides, we had our literary activity, and it is well known and recognized in popular language that authorship is a kind of paternity (Autorschaft ist eine Art Vaterschaft).
And yet how absolutely different my life had shaped itself from what had been anticipated in my childhood and youth! I often had at this time occasion to turn my thoughts back to those days of youth and childhood, and to refresh my recollections of them. My old Aunt Lotti, Elvira’s mother, who was now quite alone in the world and had nothing to love except me, had moved into our neighborhood. She lived about an hour’s walk from Harmannsdorf, and I used to drive over to see her at least once a week, and chat with her for an hour or two, on old reminiscences for the most part. She took the liveliest interest in my domestic happiness and my labors, and yet we liked best to talk together of times gone by, of the days when Elvira and I played “puff” together.
Aunt Lotti was really the only link that connected me with my early life. My brother was still alive, to be sure, but, except for an exchange of letters once in a great while, we were quite out of touch with each other. So in these recollections I have had nothing to say of him. He was an odd fish, living perfectly aloof from mankind and isolated in a small Dalmatian city, occupying himself with floriculture and chess. His company consisted of a number of cats. Solitary walks along the seashore, the reading of botanical and mineralogical works, were his only passions. I had not seen him since 1872, and up to the time of his death, which occurred a few years ago, we never met again.
In the year of 1893 we did not attend any Peace Congress. Ever since I was carried away by this movement, I have counted the stations of my recollections for the most part by journeys to Peace Congresses, for these always brought visible tokens of the progress of the cause that was so dear to my heart and the possibility of taking an active part in helping it along. They brought me into touch, too, with the old friends, and led to the formation of new friendships; finally, they took us to new places in environments hitherto unknown, and they procured for us that enjoyment which My Own drank in with the greatest avidity,—travel itself. To get into a carriage together, and then to be off and away—it was an indescribable joy!
The Congress this year was held at Chicago, in connection with the exposition which was called the “World’s Fair.” Our means were not sufficient for such a long journey and we gave it up. I intrusted the duty of representing me at this Congress to my friend Malaria, the celebrated painter Frau Olga Wisinger. She had been with us in the Austrian delegation at Rome, and was an enthusiastic adherent of the cause; so the mission was in good hands. The name “Malaria” is only a nickname and does not refer in any way to the great artist’s feverish propensities. This was its origin: at Rome all the participants had to register their names and occupations, that a list of those present might be printed and distributed; so in the Austrian group we read, “Signora Olga Wisinger, Malaria,” for that was the way the Italians had deciphered the word malerin, “painter.”
During the World’s Fair, countless congresses were held in Chicago, and one of them was the Congress of Religions. All the great sects of the world had sent their dignitaries to represent them. This was certainly the first time that the promulgators of different creeds had come together, not to proselyte or to battle with one another, but to bring out the principles that are common to them all. And Christian bishops, Mosaic rabbis, Buddhist and Mohammedan priests, found themselves at one in the principle: God is the father of all; therefore all are brethren. So there was also a peace principle resulting from this Congress of Religions.
The actual Peace Congress which met August 14–19, in the Art Institute, under the Administrative Department of the Columbian Exposition, was presided over by Josiah Quincy, Assistant Secretary of State. Among the participants and speakers was William Jennings Bryan, who in the year 1904 ran as Roosevelt’s opponent for the presidency of the United States, and who may perhaps at some future election win the victory.
In this Congress delegates from Africa and China participated. Europeans were only slimly represented. The journey across the great pond, which means for Americans only “a trip,” still frightens the inhabitants of our continent. Dr. Adolf Richter went from Germany, Dr. Darby from England, Moneta from Italy, and from Austria—“Malaria.” The Americans of course were well represented and by distinguished men,—scholars, judges, statesmen. A soldier even, General Charles H. Howard, gave an address on the International Tribunal. A special church convention joined the movement by referring to the projected petition of the various Christian bodies of the world to the governments in behalf of the Court of Arbitration. This plan was carried out, and the petition, which was signed by about a hundred ecclesiastical dignitaries of all countries, was subsequently laid before all the heads of governments. I was intrusted with the duty of presenting the copy destined for the Emperor of Austria.
XLI
VASÍLI VERESHCHÁGIN
Now I will tell about Vasíli Vereshchágin. When I learned that the great Russian painter, who was battling with his brush against the same foe that I was fighting with my pen, was staying in Vienna, where he was exhibiting a number of his pictures, I hastened to the city to see those celebrated paintings,—“All Quiet before Plevna,” the “Apotheosis of War,” and all those other variously named indictments of war. Even in the titles that he gave his pictures the artist expressed the bitterness which, next to the pain, animated his brush. The sentinel forgotten in the wilderness of snow, standing there until the drift reaches half to his breast,—that was what Vereshchágin’s genius saw back of the generals’ well-known dispatch, “All quiet before Plevna”; and a pyramid of skulls surrounded by a flock of flapping ravens,—thus he depicted the “Apotheosis of War.”
Even before I had managed to get to the exhibition, I received a note from the painter inviting me to come to the studio on a certain day at ten o’clock in the morning; he would be there and would himself do the honors. We were on hand punctually, My Own and I. Vereshchágin received us at the door. He was of medium height, and wore a long gray beard; full of animation and fluent in speech (he spoke in French), he had a passionate nature subdued by irony.
“We are colleagues and comrades, gracious lady”; such was his greeting. And then he led us from picture to picture, and related how each came to be painted and what idea was in his mind as he worked. At many of the paintings we could not suppress a cry of horror.
“Perhaps you believe that is exaggerated? No, the reality is much more terrible. I have often been reproached for representing war in its evil, repulsive aspect; as if war had two aspects,—a pleasing, attractive side, and another ugly, repulsive. There is only one kind of war, with only one end and aim: the enemy must suffer as much as possible; must lose as many as possible in killed, wounded, and prisoners; must receive one blow after another until he asks for quarter.”
As we stopped in front of the “Apotheosis of War,” he called our attention to an inscription in small Russian letters near the border of the picture.
“You can’t read that; it is Russian and means, ‘Dedicated to the Conquerors of the Past: the Present and the Future.’ When the picture was on exhibition in Berlin, Moltke stood in front of it. I was by his side, and I translated the words for him; the dedication was a dig at him too.”
Another painting represented a road buried in a thick covering of snow, with here and there hands or feet sticking out of it.
“What in heaven’s name is that?” we cried.
“No work of the imagination. It is actual fact that in winter, both in the last Turko-Russian war and during other campaigns, the road along which the regiments were passing was covered with corpses; one who had not seen it would find it hard to believe. The wheels of the cannons, the tumbrels and other wagons, would crush the wretched men, still living, down into the ruts, where the dead bodies were deliberately left that the road might not be injured; and they were pressed way down under the snow, only the protruding legs and arms showing here and there that the road was a thickly populated graveyard....”
“I understand,” said I, “that you were blamed for depicting the most horrible things that you saw.”
“The most horrible? No. I found much dramatic material from which I absolutely recoiled, because I was utterly unable to put it on the canvas. For instance, I had the following experience: my brother,[1] who was an aide to General Skobelef, was killed during the third assault on Plevna. The spot where he fell was held by the enemy, so I could not rescue his body. Three months later, when Plevna was in our hands, I went to the place and found it covered with bodies,—more correctly, with skeletons; wherever I looked I found skulls grinning at me, and here and there skeletons still wearing shirts and tattered clothes. They seemed to be pointing with their hands somewhere into the distance. Which of these was my brother? I carefully examined the tatters, the configuration of the skulls, the eye sockets, and I couldn’t stand it; the tears streamed from my eyes, and for a long time I could not control my loud sobbing. Nevertheless, I sat down and made a sketch of this place, which reminded me of Dante’s pictures of hell. I wanted to produce such a picture, with my own figure searching among all those skeletons—impossible! Again, a year later, two years later, when I began on the canvas, the same tears choked me and prevented me from proceeding; and so I have never been able to finish that picture.”
I am warranted in saying that I am repeating Vereshchágin’s own words, for I urged him then and there to incorporate in an article what he had just told me, and send it to me for my monthly periodical. He granted my wish, and in the seventh and eighth issues of Die Waffen nieder for 1893 Vereshchágin published these reminiscences and many others besides.
“In order to get a clearer idea of what war is,” continued Vereshchágin, “I made up my mind to be an eyewitness of the whole thing. I participated in an infantry charge on the enemy, and, as it happened, I led the attack. I have been in a cavalry skirmish and victory, and I have been with the marines on board of a torpedo boat in an attack on great ships. On this last occasion I was punished for my curiosity by a severe wound, which almost sent me to kingdom come, to continue my observations there.”
Well, we know to-day that it was indeed his fate to be dispatched into the next world by a Japanese mine. Almost the first news that startled the world at the time of the Russo-Japanese War was that of the sinking of the ironclad Petropavlovsk, which ran on a mine. Vereshchágin, pencil in hand, was on board, sketching. A shock, a cry of anguish from eight hundred throats, and down into the depths sank ship and crew! Vereshchágin’s intention was to observe and depict the events of the most modern of wars—what would those pictures have turned out to be? Perhaps it would have been as impossible to finish them as it was to reproduce the scene at Plevna. There are horrors which incapacitate the artist’s hand or darken the observer’s mind. The Russo-Japanese War brought the general madness to a head. Vereshchágin’s vibrant artist spirit would perhaps have been the first to become mad if he had ever tried to paint the scenes which have been enacted on barbed wire and in wolf-pits (trous-de-loup).
A few years later—let me here complete my personal recollections of Vereshchágin—I met him a second time. He was giving in Vienna an exhibition of his series of Napoleon pictures. It is said that Emperor William II, on seeing one of these paintings, remarked to him: “With these, dear master, you are battling against war more effectually than all the Peace Congresses in the world.”
Nevertheless, I believe that the artist’s intention was not in the least to engage in that sort of battle. He wanted to be true. He did not hate war at all; he found in it the excitements of the chase.
“I have many times killed men in battle,”—these are his own words,—“and I can say from experience that the excitement, as well as the feeling of satisfaction and contentment, that comes after killing a man is precisely like the sensation which comes when one has brought down uncommonly large game.”
XLII
THE COMMITTEE MEETING AT BRUSSELS AND ITS RESULTS
It was decided at the Interparliamentary Conference which was held at Bern in the year 1892, that the next one should meet at Christiania; but this intention was frustrated by circumstances. The conflict between Sweden and Norway, which led, twelve years later, to the separation of the two countries, had even then taken such form as to make it clearly inadvisable to select the Norwegian capital as the seat of an international conference.
So the Conference itself fell through. As a substitute for it the members of the bureau, or managing board, of the Interparliamentary Union met at Brussels for a committee meeting. This board had been organized the preceding year at Bern, and consisted of the following members: Dr. Baumbach, member of the Prussian Upper House (represented by Dr. Max Hirsch); Baron von Pirquet, member of the Imperial Parliament (Austria); Don Arturo de Marcoartu, senator (Spain); Trarieux, senator (France); Right Honorable Philip Stanhope, member of the House of Commons (England); Marquis Pandolfi, deputy (Italy); Ullman, president of the Storthing (Norway), represented by Frédéric Bajer, deputy (Denmark); Rahusen, deputy (Netherlands); Urechia, senator (Roumania); Gobat, national councilor, head of the Interparliamentary Bureau (Switzerland).
I got very little information from the newspapers regarding the sessions of this committee. I only knew that Pandolfi wanted to propose the institution of a permanent diplomatic council for the adjustment of national quarrels, and Stanhope the establishment of an international tribunal. So, in order to get more definite information, I wrote to Senator Trarieux and received the following reply:
I was glad to learn from your letter that our Brussels Conference made a good impression in your country, and I thank you sincerely for the personal sympathy that you manifest toward us.
I believe, just as you do, that, although we must regret that we did not meet in a full conference at Christiania, in accordance with the vote at Bern, nevertheless we succeeded in counteracting this disappointment by the important transactions of our bureau.
Although each regular group of the Interparliamentary Union was represented by only one delegate at Brussels, yet we felt strong because of the assurances of confidence which were transmitted to us from thousands of colleagues; and our resolves, if approved, have scarcely less authority than if they had been the result of the votes of our mandators themselves.
Our chief labor was the final determination of the order of business which in the future is to obtain in the deliberations of the Union. I trust they will be accepted by the next Conference.
Above all we endeavored not to step out of the sphere within which we have from the start confined our undertaking. We cherish the conviction that in order to reach our goal we must not dream of being an academy in which all questions can be treated.
We do not desire to be confounded with revolutionary cosmopolitanism; we therefore exclude from our programme everything that might cause the governments to look on us with suspicion. We do not talk of changes in the map of Europe, nor of rectification of boundaries, nor of any attack on the principle of nationality, nor of a solution of those problems of external politics on account of which nations hold themselves ready for war; we take up only the study of those proposals which aim directly at doing away with war and substituting for it the solution of difficulties through a regularly constituted jurisdiction,—that is a ground on which the broad-minded patriots of all countries may meet.
We have not limited ourselves to the preparation of our programme, but have also passed several resolutions, the importance of which you must have recognized if they came to your knowledge.
Thus we voted to send to Mr. Gladstone a congratulatory address regarding the words which he uttered in the English House of Commons on the proposed court of arbitration; moreover, we have sent a petition to our colleagues of the regular groups in the French and Italian parliaments, urging them most strongly to work with all their energies for a rapprochement of their two great countries, which now are unfortunately kept apart through imaginary antagonism.
I am sending you, gracious lady, both of these documents, which, on account of the ideas expressed in them, deserved to be made publicly known throughout the whole world. They are only words, to be sure, but words which exert an influence, because they correspond to the highest endeavors of mankind and contain nothing that arouses criticism even from the most timid of the practical-minded. He who contemns them makes a mistake; contempt and skepticism are out of place when it is a question of penetrating into the secret thoughts of nations, of finding the way to their hearts, and of bringing new truths before the minds of rulers.
Kindly remember me to Baron Suttner, and accept, gracious lady, my most respectful homage.
Enclosed were copies of the addresses sent by the Bureau of the Interparliamentary Union to Gladstone and the French and Italian deputies. I here print the text of these documents, long since buried in the archives and forgotten, because I believe that they afford valuable information for those of my readers who are seeking from my memoirs to acquaint themselves with the history of the peace movement. In the letter to Gladstone can be seen the development of the principle of the court of arbitration, which a few years later found expression in the Hague Tribunal and numerous arbitration treaties. The actual origin goes still further back, to be sure; but the phase here elucidated gave the impulse to its speedy accomplishment, as is shown still more clearly in the report of the Interparliamentary Conference of the following year (1894) at The Hague.
We have just read the debates that have been held in the English House of Commons[2] concerning the motion of Mr. William Randal Cremer and Sir John Lubbock relative to a permanent treaty of arbitration between Great Britain and the United States, and we take the greatest possible satisfaction in the following passage from your speech[3]:
“I will only say in conclusion these few words; and although these declarations in favor of arbitration and in the general interests of peace, as well as against vast military establishments, are of great value, there is another method of proceeding which, I think, in our limited sphere, we upon this bench have endeavored to promote, and to which I have attached very considerable value, and that is the promotion of what I may call a Central Tribunal in Europe, a Council of the Great Powers, in which it may be anticipated, or at all events may be favorably conjectured, that the rival selfishnesses, if I may use so barbarous an expression, may neutralize one another, and something like impartial authority may be attained for the settlement of disputes. I am quite convinced that if selfishness were to be sunk and each state were to attain to some tolerable capacity of forming a moderate estimate of its own claims, in such a case the action of a central authority in Europe would be of inestimable value.”
These declarations and resolutions, sir, have interested us greatly, and while we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the powerful support they give to the ideas of which we have constituted ourselves the official representatives in the eyes of Europe, we take it upon ourselves to emphasize their political importance.
Thanks to you, it is now a certainty that the great states will accept the idea of breaking with the barbaric rule of war and, by means of a systematic organization of international law, of preparing the way for the peaceful solution of conflicts such as might arise between the different nations. It seems to us that your wise and noble words cannot have too wide a publicity, and we shall endeavor to circulate them as far as possible in the states which we have the honor to represent.
But we do not confine ourselves to offering this public homage to you; we are also bold enough to append a respectful request.
Words are forgotten and signify nothing without deeds. It is far more possible for you than for us to give them an effectual sanction by taking the initiative for positive resolutions,—of course, as far as is permitted by diplomatic considerations.
It seems to us that England is in a position to set a great example by making a proposal like that made by the United States of America, and it would delight us if you regarded it as possible, now that the official negotiations with that great power have been begun, to go a step further and offer to negotiate arbitration treaties with such other powers as should be favorably disposed, since you have so openly declared yourself in their favor. In our opinion these would be the best means of assuring peace among the nations.
We believe that no voice would have greater authority than yours in bringing these new ideas to the attention of the governments, and that the result of such a work would be the noblest crown of a glorious career, which perhaps appears more splendid by reason of the services which you have performed in behalf of humanitarian ideas than of those which you have rendered to your own country.
The second address shows very distinctly what views were held during the first year of its existence by the Interparliamentary Board regarding the tasks and duties of the members of the Union. Our contemporaries who follow parliamentary proceedings will, alas, be able to attest that these tasks were not accomplished.
Your Board of the Interparliamentary Conference has just completed its labors, and you will receive its report; but it has thought it expedient, before separating, to call your most earnest attention to the obligation which is incumbent upon you, of working with all your might to dissipate the clouds which of late have been rolling up between your two great countries.
The strained relations between France and Italy could not fail to awaken the apprehensions of the Interparliamentary Board, and, while it does not wish to criticise diplomatic actions, the modification of which is not within its province, it desires, nevertheless, to express the opinion that there exist no grounds for insoluble disagreement, and that cordial relations, which are of such weighty importance for the peace of the world, can be resumed.
If existing alliances—as the contracting parties are continually asserting—are intended only to guarantee the European balance of power, then there can be no reason for nations which are united by the holy bond of common origin to live on a footing of such enmity as might at any moment degenerate into menace. Exaggerated sensitiveness or regrettable misunderstandings are alone responsible for a state of affairs which at all costs must be cleared up. The French and the Italian people are fundamentally inspired by an eager desire for peace. The idea of an armed conflict is repugnant to them both. A fratricidal strife which should bring them face to face on the battlefield would be a real crime and would mean a backward step in civilization. Public opinion, it would seem, might be easily roused against such a misfortune. To enlighten public opinion, to remind it of its real interests,—this it is for which you should exert your influence. Endeavor above all things to make your colleagues in the parliaments to which you belong, share in your anxieties, which doubtless are equal to those borne by us. Conjure the journals of both your countries to be serviceable to you by avoiding in their discussions everything that might embitter the controversies; or, better still, let them use their efforts to calm excited feelings. Make it plain to your fellow-countrymen that such insignificant motives should not be allowed to end in the most horrible of all disasters.
Your board has no doubt, honored colleagues, that this act of intervention would be worthy of you and that it would redound to the glory of the Interparliamentary Conference, and it begs you most earnestly not to let our appeal remain unheard.
The ill feeling between Italy and France referred to in this letter has long since given way to a friendly relationship. But at that time it had reached the point that seemed to give occasion for the certain “inevitable war” always seen by the military circles as everywhere threatening; that is to say, beckoning. Then there is incitement in this direction on the part of the press, there are irritations among the people, and it comes to brawls and fights which keep adding to the bitterness.
In the summer of 1893 a fight had taken place in a workshop in a village of southern France,—Aigues-Mortes,—where Italians were employed. What first gave rise to it was the fact that an Italian workman washed some dirty trousers in a French spring. I find the following observation regarding this circumstance jotted down in my diary:
September 8. The international affairs of Europe rest on such sound and reasonable foundations that such an occasion is all that is required to bring so-called “high politics” into action, and to make historians resigned to the necessity of entering in their annals beside the War of the White and Red Roses the War of the Dirty Trousers.
The incident gave rise to many articles in the papers—the Aigues-Mortes story was headed “Franco-Italian Friction”—and to national demonstrations.
But fortunately there was already a peace movement. The Italian Chamber on the one side, with four hundred members belonging to the Interparliamentary Union; on the other the action of the Frenchmen, Frédéric Passy, Trarieux, and others, managed to dispel the danger. Of course the “war-in-sight-loving” circles were not contented. The following dispatch from Rome was sent to the Figaro on the twenty-second of August:
The Conservatives have agreed to send an address to the King; they blame the Ministry for showing too great weakness in hindering the national demonstrations and putting up with the demonstrations favorable to the French.
So only hostile demonstrations are to be encouraged!
XLIII
FROM DIARY AND PORTFOLIO
When I look back for further recollections of the year 1893, and turn the leaves of my diary to refresh my memory, I discover that I was not interested in incidents of my own life, but rather in the events of contemporary history, and especially in such political phenomena as appertained to questions of peace and war. Among the complicated doings of the world, the features which I followed—and still continue to follow—with passionate interest were the phases of a battle,—the battle which a new idea, a young movement, had begun to wage with deep-rooted existing phenomena. After the manifestations and impressions produced by the powerful “Old,” I listened toward the future and followed with the keenest attention and hopefulness the growth of the as yet invisible and feeble “New,” whereof the great mass of people still had no knowledge. I saw clearly that the tiny plant had started to grow, but I was also well aware how stony the soil was, how harsh were the winds that opposed the development of its life.
How different are the contents of my diary and the pictures in my memory now from those of my youth! Then the center was my own person and all that concerned it,—plans for an artistic career and for marriage, worldly pleasures, domestic cares, and such a lack of understanding and of interest in the events of the day that I scarcely knew what was going on; and a contemporaneous war was noted only after it had broken out, and was disposed of with a line in my day’s records. But since I had become engrossed in the peace question my soul had become a kind of seismograph, which was affected by the slightest political shocks.
Here are a few extracts from my diary of the year 1893:
January 18. Caprivi’s speech in support of the military bill was pure fanfare. It almost signalized the advance of the hostile troops through the Brandenburg Gate, and once more brought into circulation the word “offensive,” which had in a large measure gone out of fashion; for in the last twenty years pleas for armaments have been made only in the name of defense. The Danish Peace Society entered a protest against the insinuation in the Chancellor’s speech in regard to the probable attitude in the next war. As if, indeed, the next war were thus to be announced! We talk about the horrors of a possible war of the future in Europe, but the definite article we do not like to use,—we do not speak of “the next auto-da-fé.”
March 1. The question of peace and arbitration came up yesterday for open debate in the German Reichstag. Bebel inquires whether the authorities are going to join with England and the United States in their endeavors to bring about a solution of international differences by a court of arbitration. Secretary of State von Marschall replies that the United States had, in their brief communication, made no tender in this direction. Nature makes no leaps; still less does official politics. The question came to debate without result, but it was not pushed aside with a smile.
March 20. A man named Dowe is said to have invented a bullet-proof cloth. If the contest between resistance and penetration, as it is carried on between torpedo and armor plate at sea, is to involve the land forces also, there will probably ensue the accelerated ruin of the nations and a reductio ad absurdum of all warfare. Just imagine! a new military bill for providing the millions of the army with bullet-proof wadding,—this voted and furnished at the same time in all countries; and this, if war should break out at this stage of the game, would afford a lovely campaign of unwoundable opponents! Then there would have to be a hasty majority demand for new offensive weapons with bullet-proof-wadding-pierceable bombshells (fired, wherever possible, from mines and balloons, from the frog’s- and bird’s-eye view), then the introduction of armored umbrellas and mine-proof overshoes,—and all this for “the maintenance of Peace.”...
April 4. To-day the arbitrators meet in the building of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Paris, to settle the Bering question. Such an event ought to give the editorial writers of the whole world subject matter for extended observations, and ought to be accompanied by magnificent pageantry.
April 10. Our papers have published the news of the Bering arbitration without comment. On the other hand, the Westminster Gazette writes: “If the intrinsic importance of events and the outward demonstrations were in proportion, the report of the Bering arbitration would ring throughout the world to-day.” And the Daily Telegraph: “The Bering arbitration, as well as that on the Alabama question, affords mankind to-day a majestic spectacle.” An estimate of the importance of the event—typical of the daily press—is afforded by the Paris Figaro, which adds the observation that the seal question, if it is decided by the arbitration commission in a humanitarian manner, will involve a rise in the price of sealskins and persuade our fine ladies to have economical recourse to rabbit skins!
September 8. King Alexander addressed his Servians on his seventeenth birthday; “Heroes! For ten years I have belonged to the army, and as your general in chief (oberster Kriegsherr) I will live for the glory of the Servian arms!” Ah, how delightful to be still a child....
This entry of my diary makes me especially meditative when I compare it with later events,—the slaughter of the king in the year 1903 by Servian “heroes” with Servian weapons.
Beginning of November. Terrible dynamite tragedies have taken place in Spain. Bombs hurled in the auditorium of the Barcelona theater, spreading death and terror (the coming revolution, if righteous social reforms do not obviate it, will be unthinkably terrible through its explosive weapons); and the catastrophe of Santander,—a harbor, a whole harbor, in bright flames; ships blown up, thousands of human beings on the ground, heaps of corpses, a whole railway train shattered, houses transformed into piles of rubbish; the air rendered pestilential by the smell of burning powder and petroleum mills; chimneys flying through space; anchors flung from the bottom of the sea, three hundred meters into the air; the sea beaten and roaring, not by a storm but by the explosion of twenty-five cases of dynamite,—all this gives a foretaste of the deliberate, not accidental, episodes of future naval battles, in which the explosion of mines and the like is already provided for. With the era of explosives and electricity an annihilating power is put into men’s hands which demands that henceforth humanity come to the truth. The beast and the devil, the savage and the child,—all these must be overcome in the human race, if, with such means at hand, they are not to turn the earth into a hell, a madhouse, or a desert waste.
An event of the year 1893 which aroused my liveliest interest was the visit of the Russian fleet to Toulon and the fraternal festivities that were associated with it. I followed with close attention the twofold effect produced by this incident. It gave rise to chauvinistic passions and at the same time to “pacifistic” sentiments. Demonstrations in the one or the other direction took place alternately or broke out simultaneously. On the one hand the Dreibund, or Triple Alliance, on the other the Zweibund, or Double Alliance, were celebrated as guaranties of peace or as organizations for offensive enterprises; between the two lay the conception that they signified the established equipoise.
The official Russian utterances were unwearied in declaring that the visit of the fleet to Toulon was a peaceful demonstration, and in reiterating that absolutely nothing of an aggressive or provocative character could be related to the festivities in France. The French journals were constrained to print these assurances and the Figaro hastened to add: “Of course! Une manifestation essentiellement et exclusivement pacifique”; besides, the French press, and especially the Figaro, would never in the world have upheld any other manifestation! But a few days later the same Figaro proposed that during the Russian festivities “Les Danicheffs” should be performed in the Odéon Theater, “in which piece one passage would be certain to elicit storms of applause,—‘As long as there are Russians and Frenchmen and wild beasts, the Russians and French will stand in alliance against those wild beasts’”!
The whole tone of a large part of the Parisian press during the period preceding the festivities was calculated to exacerbate hatred of Germany. After a time, however, the festivities took the form of peace assurances, and the gala performances in honor of the Russian guests ended with an apotheosis representing peace.
At that time I received the following letter from Senator Marcoartu:
While in Paris I witnessed the Franco-Russian demonstrations in favor of peace. This once more awoke in me the idea which I promulgated in 1876 in my English work, “Internationalism” (or the ten years’ truce of God). Herewith I send you the letter that I wrote to Jules Simon. It seems to me that the friends of peace, instead of falling asleep under the tent of arbitration, should now start an agitation in behalf of a ten years’ truce. The thing would be feasible and salutary.
Another question of present moment to which I should like to call public attention is the neutralization of straits, isthmuses, and the like. On this point read the bulletin of the Société d’économie politique, Paris, 1892, p. 88, and in Le Matin of October 29, 1893, the interview which an editor of that paper had with me during the Franco-Russian festivities.