We were very sorry not to see you and the Baron at Delft, but we fully understood and appreciated the reason. We really did not expect more than a dozen or twenty people, and were greatly surprised to see so large a number present.

It was to me very inspiring and gave me new hopes as to the results of the Conference.

I beg you not to forget what I urged upon you at our last meeting. We are to accomplish here more than we dared hope when we came together,—far more; and the great thing is to prevent thoughtless, feather-brained enthusiasts from discrediting the work, since to do so is to discourage all future efforts of this sort.

We have paved the way for future conferences which will develop our work—unless the people at large are taught that nothing has been done in this way.

Please call me kindly to the remembrance of Baron von Suttner, and I remain, dear madam, most respectfully and truly yours,

July 6. At the last session an important article was added to the project of the arbitration tribunal. It was proposed by D’Estournelles, and is to the effect that the signatory powers, in case of a conflict threatening between two or more countries, shall consider it their duty to remind these powers that the Court of Arbitration stands open to them.

Servia and Roumania make a lively protest against the word “duty.” Roumania, represented by Beldimann, moreover protests regularly, consistently, and forever.

After a persuasive speech by Léon Bourgeois, D’Estournelles’s motion is adopted.

July 7. We take our departure. Ever so many friends accompany us to the railway station. The coach is filled with farewell bouquets. Good-by, thou lovely city of gardens! Will coming generations make pilgrimages to thee because the first International Court of Arbitration came into existence here? Enriched by the memories of lovely days and interesting people, and by uplifting impressions, I take my departure from thee, historic place....

We were obliged, on account of private affairs, to leave before the close of the Conference, but I received from there every day papers, letters, and dispatches, which kept me informed of the progress and the acte final of the Conference.

I jot down here the most important of these records.

On the seventh of July the session of the third committee (on peaceful adjustment of international controversies) adjourned until the seventeenth, that in the meantime further instructions might be received from the governments. Sir Julian Pauncefote makes a trip to London. The articles which principally give occasion for seeking further instructions are those that treat of the International Commission of Inquiry. The text up for debate runs:

In cases of an international nature, involving neither honor nor vital interests, and arising from a difference of opinion on points of fact, the signatory powers recommend that the parties, having been unable to come to an agreement by the usual means of diplomacy, should, as far as circumstances allow, institute an international commission of inquiry, which shall clear away these differences by getting at the facts through an impartial and conscientious investigation.

What a bundle of limitations! “As far as circumstances allow,” “neither honor nor vital interests.” It can be seen with what timidity and circumspection these grewsome instruments called “jurisdiction,” “process of inquiry”—that is, right and truth,—are taken hold of. Torpedoes, dumdum bullets, ekrasit, and lyddite—we are already used to such things, we are no longer afraid of them; but legal processes in international affairs,—those would be too dangerous for vital interests: at all events, for the interests of militarism....

The origin of this formula “honor and vital interests of a nation” is well known. It has always been produced in the following form by the opponents of international arbitration: “Hitherto courts of arbitration have exercised their functions in small matters but not in important ones.” What has hitherto been used as an argument is now to be incorporated in a treaty!

To some the limitations seem superfluous, to others the whole proposition seems too far-reaching and—being without precedent—too uncanny; hence the adjournment to wait for further instructions. Stead, in his chronicle in the Dagblad, calls attention to this and implores the committee to modify the article at the next reading.

On the nineteenth of July the committee assembles again. Herr Beldimann in an hour’s speech attacks the Commission of Inquiry with all his energy. Roumania, he declares, will enter into no arrangement that shall have an obligatory character. Not for a moment will it permit the rights of its sovereign independence to be brought into question. (I love the Roumanians proud!) He moves the rejection of the whole proposition. Servia upholds the arguments of the previous speaker. Chevalier Descamps defends the motion, and he is followed in this by Herr Martens, who speaks with still greater energy. Objections like those expressed by the representative of Roumania ought not to prevent an arrangement which is calculated to assure universal peace and avoid conflicts.

In the afternoon comes the second meeting of the committee. The text of the controverted paragraph is somewhat altered. An additional clause reads:

The report of the International Commission of Inquiry is limited to a statement of facts, and has in no way the character of an arbitral decision. It leaves the powers that are in dispute entire freedom as to the weight to be given to this statement.

On the other hand, the phrase “honor and vital interests” is omitted. Roumania and Servia desire to wait for further instructions by wire.

July 20. The articles regarding mediation and good offices are accepted without objection. When the article on the Commission of Inquiry is reached, Beldimann declares that he has not yet received any reply from his government. A few delegates are indignant at the further procrastination, and it is finally decided to take up the article again in two days. Now, without further objections, the reading of the report is continued. When Article 27 is reached,—the one proposed by D’Estournelles, which lays an obligation upon the powers to remind parties in dispute that there is a Tribunal,—the interest of the session reaches its culminating point.

The representatives of Roumania and Servia set themselves in violent opposition to it. But Professor Zorn warmly advocates its acceptance. Dr. Holls declares that Article 27 is the crown of the whole work, and he decidedly protests against any change in its wording.

Count Nigra, kindled by the electricity of the atmosphere, springs up and apostrophizes the representatives of the Danube states: “We are here neither as great nor as small states; we are all alike sovereign—we act here as free and equal.”

The sensation of the session was still to come. Never before had a more excited and more elevated feeling ruled in the “House in the Wood.” Never before had the transactions aroused so much moral enthusiasm. So the moment was favorable when Léon Bourgeois took the floor, and in fiery words, in the name of France, supplemented the speech made by Professor Zorn. In one point he was obliged, he said, to oppose Count Nigra,—there are great and smaller powers. But the measure of greatness is not to be found in the area of their territory, nor in the effectiveness of their troops, nor in the number of their inhabitants. The greatness of a power is to be measured by the greatness of its ideas and by the faithfulness with which it adheres to the principles on which the progress of mankind is based.

The orator spoke further in the same tenor, and all listened as if under a spell. When he ended, the storm of applause would not cease, and one delegate after another warmly pressed around the speaker to congratulate him.

And Article 27 was accepted.

July 22. Again the Commission of Inquiry. The question is asked whether the representatives of Roumania, Greece, and Servia have received the answers of their governments. Mr. Delyannis declares, in the name of Greece, that he has been instructed to accept the new form of the convention. Dr. Velkovitch,^[43] in the name of Servia, makes a similar declaration. Now it is Roumania’s turn. The president announces that he has just had a letter from Herr Beldimann, stating that his instructions have come to-day authorizing him to accept the new form, but only on condition that the eliminated clauses, “honor and interests of the nations” and “when circumstances allow,” be restored. Otherwise Roumania cannot sign the convention.

Put to vote, the Beldimann ultimatum is accepted.

In the last plenary session, on July 28, Descamps’s “Rapport final à la Conférence sur le règlement pacifique des conflits internationaux” is read.

The introduction to this document brings out thoughts and points of view which embrace the whole ideal of peace,—I might rather say the whole gospel of peace,—as, for example:

Resolved to use every endeavor to bring about the peaceful solution of international conflicts; recognizing the solidarity which unites shoulder to shoulder all the civilized nations; desirous of extending the sovereignty of law and of strengthening the sentiment of international justice, etc., the undersigned [the names follow] have agreed upon the following provisions.

The first of the sixty-one paragraphs gives the gist of everything that is elaborated in the rest:

“With a view to obviating, as far as possible, recourse to force in the relations between states, the signatory powers agree to use their best efforts to insure the pacific settlement of international differences.”

Early on July 29 the conventions were signed in the “House in the Wood,” and the formal concluding session took place in the afternoon. The last word—it was uttered by D’Estournelles—was:

“May our Conference be a beginning, not a conclusion. May our countries, by inaugurating new assemblages such as this has been, continue to serve the cause of civilization and of peace!”

As soon as we returned to Harmannsdorf I set to work revising my diary from which have been taken, for this autobiography, most of the passages referring to the Conference. I sent the book to the publisher, and it appeared in 1900, but I cannot report any great awakening of interest thereby. The contemporary world is either indifferent or unfriendly in its attitude toward the Hague Conference.

We remained at home only a short time. After about three weeks we started forth again, this time for Norway. Invitations from the management of the Interparliamentary Conference which was to meet there from the first to the sixth of August had come to us, as well as to Herr von Bloch, requesting us to attend the deliberations and festivities as guests of honor. We did not require a second invitation. A journey to the Northland, what a holiday!

Again a wholly new part of the world opening before us. We reached Christiania on the evening of July 30. On the thirty-first the ship placed at the disposal of the interparliamentarians was to arrive. This ship was met by another, on which were the managers of the Conference as well as such of the deputies as had preferred to come by rail. John Lund invited us to accompany him on the trip.

There were many other guests besides us on board. We met many old friends and acquaintances, including Ullman (the president of the Storthing), Von Bar of the University of Göttingen, Marcoartu, Baron Pirquet, and others. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, the blue sky was cloudless, the fiord lay bathed in the brightest sunshine, and a cool breeze stirred the air. A military orchestra was on board, and to the strains of the Norwegian national hymn our steamer moved away. Streamers of the various colors of the fourteen countries represented at the Conference waved from the masts.

We made many new acquaintances. The wife of Blehr, afterwards minister but at that time ambassador in Stockholm, told me about the progress of the woman’s movement already started in Norway; she said that they were not far from the attainment of suffrage. Every one, from the wives of statesmen down to the peasant women, was taking an active part in political life.

I asked if it were true that Sweden and Norway were living like quarrelsome brethren.

“No,” replied Frau Blehr, “the relationship is that of a marriage in which the man has everything, the wife nothing, to say; and, according to modern ideas, that can be no kind of a happy marriage. Norway, in this union, plays the part of the wife without authority, and what she wants is what to-day the woman with equal privileges demands in marriage—the right to her own personality.”

We sailed past a small flotilla of war vessels which were in readiness to meet the ship of the interparliamentarians and give it convoy. A war flotilla to meet a ship of peace! This new method of showing honor surprised me. Lund told us that the committee had found some difficulty in overcoming the opposition of the conservatives, who regarded it as out of character that military honors should be paid to the champions of antimilitarism. Such parties are accustomed to take great stock in the notion of a quiet amalgamation of contrarieties. Soldiers and pacifists need not be antagonistic or endeavor to destroy one another, but may join in a higher unity,—an army fighting for assured legal protection.

Greetings and shouts were exchanged between our ship and the fleet, although this conduct was contrary to the stipulation that during the trip they should take no notice of each other. About five o’clock the vessels met. John Lund and other members of the Storthing were rowed over to the parliamentary vessel and boarded her to extend greetings.

The fortification of Oskarborg fired a salute. At the foot of the walls troops were drawn up and a loud hurrah, divided into three regular periods and nine times repeated,—that being the Northern cheer,—came across distinctly, and the flags were dipped in salutation. Beyond Oskarborg, as soon as the two parliamentary vessels arrived, the war ships took the lead and gave convoy up to the city of the Congress.

At nine o’clock in the evening, but still in clear daylight, we make our entry into Christiania. The quay along its whole extent is thronged with jubilant townspeople; people stream forth from all the side streets.

On the evening of the first of August there is a miscellaneous assemblage, with a concert in the Hans-Haugen, a public garden situated on a hill. We meet old acquaintances: Dr. Barth from Berlin, Dr. Harmening from Jena, Pierantoni from Rome, Senator Labiche from Paris, Count Albert Apponyi from Budapest, Gniewocz and Dr. Millanich from Vienna. Also many new delegates attending their first Interparliamentary Conference are presented to me; among them several members of the Center in the German Reichstag, Dr. Herold, and a few of the Young-Czech party from the Austrian parliament.

A gigantic figure approaches me. I instantly recognize the characteristic head with the white lion’s mane: oh, joy—it is Björnstjerne Björnson. He kisses my hand and we chat a few minutes; but soon a frail little woman in a white gown hurries up to him, with the words, “Father, they are looking for you....”

Björnson introduces his daughter, Frau Ibsen.

A buffet was arranged for the assembled guests in a large hall. During the festival the papers arrive with news about the close of the Conference at The Hague. A passage from Beaufort’s speech was most eagerly discussed. On account of technical difficulties the formula for a limitation of armaments adapted to the new conditions in all countries has not as yet been drawn up, but all are agreed on the principle that this formula must be sought and found. Here now is a task laid out for the Interparliamentary Union, namely, to develop further the work begun at The Hague.

At this writing—1908—however, that formula has not been found. Parliamentarians, with but few exceptions, when they are not in the Conference but in parliament, do nothing but consent, consent. The study of the problem was postponed from the first to the second and from the second to the third Hague Conference, and still it remains uninvestigated. Where there is no will, there is no way.

On the next day—to return to 1899—came the formal opening in the Storthing. At the earlier Conferences scarcely more than sixty or eighty persons were present; this time there are more than three hundred. Germany, which hitherto has been represented by not more than two or three, sends forty to Christiania; France sends twenty-six, Austria fourteen. If this continues, special halls will have to be built for the “Interparliament”!

I noted the final sentence from Minister of State Steen’s opening speech: “And so we shall be victorious—which will be a blessing to the defeated.” That gives the criterion for what all noble champions of the future are to attain.

President Ullman makes a report on the Nobel foundation. The first distribution is to take place on the tenth of December, 1901. The interest accruing up to that time is to be employed as a capital fund for the creation of a Nobel Institute in Christiania, that is, a central school for the study and development of international law. From the annual income of the bequest (200,000 Swedish kroner) 50,000 kroner are to be reserved for the support of the Institute.

For the first time the United States of America is represented at an Interparliamentary Conference. Mr. Barrows reports that in his country there are many people who have never seen an officer and many officers who have never seen their regiment assembled. He believes that he is warranted—especially in view of the instructions and proposals intrusted to the delegates to the Hague Conference—in declaring that the jingo spirit, which was aroused by the last war with Spain, and which is in such absolute opposition to the fundamental principles of the land of the star-spangled banner, will never get the upper hand.

So this was the first time that an American representative appeared in the arena of the Interparliamentary Union; but of late the New World is taking the first place in the universal peace movement. From that direction will come for the Old World the impulse, the example,—perhaps the necessity,—for the creation of United Europe.

Mr. Barrows was followed by Count Albert Apponyi. He informed the meeting that Koloman von Szell, the former leader of the Hungarian Interparliamentary group, had now become prime minister. Fiery, eloquent as always, flowed Apponyi’s speech, and when he had finished, Björnson went up to him and pressed his hand.

In the evening a garden party at Minister of State Steen’s. Here I met Ibsen. Long ago I had written him to get his views in regard to the peace cause. He then replied that his life was wholly devoted to the dramatic art and he had no views at all on the question at issue. I now wanted to ask if his presence was a sign of an awakened interest in the movement, but some one came between us and I had no other chance to resume the interrupted conversation.

The next afternoon we made the acquaintance of all the members of the French group present. M. Catusse, the recently accredited ambassador of France at Stockholm, whom we had met before both at Nice and at The Hague, had invited all his French colleagues to take tea with him, and my husband and I were also asked. We found more than a dozen members of the Chamber and the Senate, among them the former premier, Cochery.

We spoke of Léon Bourgeois. He had left The Hague for Paris on account of the last cabinet crisis, and there he had informed several of the gentlemen that he should be unwilling to undertake the formation of a new cabinet, because he considered the work that he had to complete at The Hague more important.

Senator Labiche told us that the day before, when he was introduced to Björnson, the poet asked him point blank, Êtes-vous Dreyfusard?—for Björnson himself is.

The day and evening ended with an entertainment given by the city. A hundred and fifty carriages were in readiness and took the guests to the Frognersättern, a favorite place of resort, the road to which winds up continuously for five miles through thick forest trees, past all the red cottages of the peasantry, which give the characteristic physiognomy to “the land of the thousand homesteads,” as the poet of the national hymn (Björnson) calls his native land. In the midst of the forest, on high land, you pass glittering lakes, and, wherever there is a wide prospect, fiord and city gleam in ever-varying beauty.

On the second and last day of the Conference the transactions occupied the whole time from nine o’clock until five. The principal subject on the programme was the Conference at The Hague. Stanhope reads a message brought from there by W. T. Stead and bearing the signatures of Beernaert, Rahusen, D’Estournelles, Descamps, and others. This message communicates to their colleagues assembled at Christiania the outcome of the arbitration question,—a result which, as soon as its importance is grasped, will be recognized as the crowning event of the nineteenth century. The conclusion of the message read:

“So this is the machine which the Hague Conference has created, and it is for you, representatives of the nations, and for the nations to provide it with steam.”

A duty which—I repeat it with regret—neither the nations nor their representatives up to the present time have fulfilled.

It was voted that Paris should be the place for the next Conference, and the date, 1900.

The last evening was devoted to the parting banquet, given by the Storthing. Björnson arose as the first speaker. He spoke French. His somewhat singsong tone was not well suited to the French accent, but the emphasis and the enthusiasm of the address atoned for that. His theme was “The Truth.” Björnson wants to see truth injected into politics—politics should become ethical. Of course every self-respecting “practical politician” will smile indulgently at that idea. After leaving the table, the guests, four hundred in number, scattered through the many adjoining rooms. Here appeared a troop of young people in neat black clothes and white caps—I took them for students, but they were artisans—and sang Norwegian and German part songs. Björnson addressed them and they themselves expressed words of thanks to all the men and women present who were working for peace, that most important of all advantages for the laboring man.

While we were drinking our coffee, I had at last a long talk with Björnson. I can forgive him for not calling upon me, for he has not a moment of rest. He is regarded as a universal counselor. Young poets bring him their manuscripts; young women aspirants to a theatrical career play their heroine rôles before him; and he is incapable of refusing any one. Speaking of the artisans who had just been singing, he told me that in his country this class took more interest than the higher strata of society, in intellectual things. “I was recognized by them,” he said, “much earlier than by the so-called intelligent class.”

“And isn’t it true,” I asked, “that the peasants here are very advanced? I hear that there are no illiterate among them.”

“Oh, the peasants,” cried Björnson, “they are the foundation of our kingdom; they are its pillars.”

We made the return journey from Norway in Bloch’s company, though indeed only as far as Berlin. There our paths diverged, Bloch going to Warsaw and we to Vienna and Harmannsdorf.

Here sad news and joyous news awaited us.

My Aunt Büschel, seventy-nine years old, whom I was in the habit of visiting every week at Eggenburg near by, to talk with her about old times, about Elvira, and about my mother,—had peacefully passed away during our absence. She had a short illness, and was cared for by my relatives. With her death the last link that connected me with the days of my youth was broken.

The joyous event was a betrothal. On the day after our return the whole family from the neighboring Stockern drove over to Harmannsdorf accompanied by a young cousin, Baron Johann Baptist Moser. All wore mysterious looks as they whispered together and put on such strange expressions! When we were gathered together at lunch, and dessert was served, my brother-in-law Richard suddenly rose and, portentously clearing his throat, said,—

“My dear friends, I hereby inform you that yesterday evening my dear daughter Margarete and my dear nephew Moser became engaged.”

Universal jubilation, and I myself felt the tears of joy coming into my eyes, for I had long cherished the desire that these dearly beloved young folks, who were so admirably suited to each other, should strike up a match, and so the news brought keen delight to me.

I had no lack of work to do. The interrupted Hague diary had to be finished; likewise the reports for my periodical. This, by the way, was to cease publication at the end of the year and to be absorbed by the Friedenswarte, edited by A. H. Fried, whose regular collaborator I am up to the present time.

One day I received several copies of the Budapester Tagblatt containing an excellent article by Count Albert Apponyi, who gave in it a very favorable report regarding the Hague Conference, and made the suggestion for a press league, to be associated with the Interparliamentary Union. I thanked the count for sending me the papers and praised the idea. In answer I received the following letter:

In thanking you for your friendly letter I must observe that, though I certainly estimate at its full value the submission of my lucubrations to your very competent criticism, the thought of burdening you with several copies of the Budapester Tagblatt was entirely due to the editors of that paper. Had it been my doings it would have been inexcusably presumptuous.

It rejoices me that the thoughts that I wrote down meet with your approval. The optimism which I display is, however, rather a tactical maneuver than actual conviction. The great powers at The Hague were less than lukewarm, and I am not sure that their assent to The Hague conventions—especially in the case of Germany and Austria-Hungary—will be given. The rulers do not want the thing to succeed; they do not want war, indeed, but every institution in which they can detect any limitation of their absolute power (to do either good or ill) is instinctively repugnant to them.

Meantime, we in Hungary—where, after the beneficent parliamentary revolution of this winter, we are perhaps on the way to recuperation (but I repeat the word “perhaps”)—will do our best to bring our monarchy, through constitutional methods of pressure, into the right course. My position for this end has become somewhat better, and I will certainly make the most of it. I shall also endeavor to form the press league mentioned in my article. It is intended to form a connecting link between the Interparliamentary Union and the people. As for the rest, only a kind Providence can make anything good out of such wretched material.

As I turn over the leaves of my diary for that time, I find that three different objects filled my soul, each with different moods. There was my great life interest, my “one thing essential,” which just now through the Hague Conference had arrived at such a mighty stage of development. It was almost as if the goal, which only a few years before was so far away, had now come so near and was so distinct that soon all would perforce take note of it and therefore hasten to it. I saw clearly what I myself had to do: it was to give as many of my fellow-countrymen as possible a knowledge of the results of the Conference, and I devoted myself diligently to this task, writing numerous newspaper articles and my book on the Hague Conference.

I must confess I could not take an unqualified joy in doing this, for I had been a witness to the opposition, open and secret, which had been directed at The Hague against the realization of the “warless age.” But all the more strenuous was the obligation to put to the service of the cause all the new facts and supports which the present state of the movement afforded its defenders.

Something else was rising full of threat on the horizon. The war party in England seemed to be getting the upper hand; the Outlander crisis in the Transvaal was growing more and more acute. What if it broke into war? That would discredit the peace work that had been begun and would decidedly put it back. Can it be that between the two forces of Might and Right, Might is again to carry the day?

Another object of my thought and anxiety was found in our domestic circumstances. The losses in the quarries, in the failure of crops, and in unfortunate speculations had increased to such an extent that it was now almost impossible to keep our beloved Harmannsdorf above water much longer. And what then? What a grief for the poor old mother, for the sisters, and also for My Own, if the home nest were to be sacrificed!

The third field of my feelings and moods lay within our married happiness. In this was my peculiar inalienable home, my refuge for all possible conditions of life,—something beyond Harmannsdorf and the Transvaal, beyond everything, come what might,—and so the leaves of my diary are full not only of political and domestic records of all kinds, but also of memoranda of our gay little jokes, our confidential, enjoyable walks, our uplifting reading, our hours of music together, and our evening games of chess. To us personally nothing could happen. We had each other,—that was everything.

The thought that we might be torn apart by the all-destroyer Death we put out of our minds. And yet at that time I was not very strong and I believe My Own felt some alarm about my condition. I had suddenly become so languid; it was hard for me to walk; after a few steps I became so dizzy that I could scarcely stand. My Own dragged me off to a physician; I say “dragged,” because all my life long I have been strenuously opposed to medical treatment. This physician gave me an examination and asked me all manner of questions and ordered—what do you suppose?

I will give the details because it is an interesting case. In the first place I followed his directions, which also was contrary to my custom; up to that time the only use I had made of medicine was to throw it out of the window. What is more, the treatment helped me. In a short time I became as healthy as a fish in water. Well then, what was the doctor’s prescription? Bicycling! I, a heavy woman of fifty-six, who had never mounted a wheel, was now to attempt this schoolgirl’s sport! It was comical, but I did it. The prescription was tremendously tempting to me. It had always been my keen desire to enjoy this skimming away on the thin-legged iron steed, and I had regretted that I was born too early to experience this delight. Now it was imposed upon me as a duty to my health! I immediately bought a wheel, and one of the castle servants was appointed my instructor. He helped me to mount the thing and down I went. Up again, down again—twenty times in succession. That was my first lesson.

“Would it not be better to try a tricycle?” asked My Own solicitously, for he gained no confidence at all from this début. But I would not hear to it. “The doctor has prescribed bicycling and bicycling it shall be.”

With a persistence at which I myself am amazed I kept up my lessons; more and more infrequently the wheel wobbled, ever more and more rare were the trees against which I obstinately steered, and after a long course of instruction—I certainly am not going to confess how long—I attained such skill that I wheeled in great style through the avenues of the park and really made a very elegantly executed figure eight!

In doing this I felt perfectly well; the blood circulated with reinvigorated energy; dashing away on the wheel became to me a perfect delight; I had no more attacks of lassitude; I grew slenderer, and at the same time I had a feeling as if youth, youth were streaming through my veins!

Things in the Transvaal were going from bad to worse. People in England, worked upon through their passion, were demanding war. The London pacifists were putting forth their utmost endeavors to ward off the misfortune; they instituted meetings, they wrote to the papers; W. T. Stead established a new weekly, War against War,—all in vain. Any one who pleaded for peace was repudiated, scouted as a “Little Englishman,” if not even held up to scorn and derision as a traitor. Managers of halls would no longer permit the use of them for peace meetings, and if such gatherings were held they were broken up by turbulent mobs. Assaults even were committed. At a public meeting held by the Peace Association in Trafalgar Square, the orators were not only overwhelmed with insults but were attacked with projectiles. An open jackknife was hurled at Felix Moscheles, narrowly escaping his head.

In the meantime the second Dreyfus trial was held at Rennes, and with the same military fanaticism and partisanship as in the days when Esterhazy was glorified and Zola was persecuted with shouts of à l’eau! à l’eau! Now a furious anti-Dreyfusard even makes an attempt upon the life of the defendant’s lawyer, Labori. The court-martial condemns Dreyfus to death—but he is pardoned.

In Vienna a meeting is held at which Dr. Lueger declares, “Dreyfus belongs to the Devil’s Island and all the Jews as well.” This impelled my husband to call a counter meeting of his Union. The combat with popular frenzy and against national hatred is a hard, apparently quite hopeless, task, only just begun. Pain and indignation and a bitter sense of feebleness take possession of the combatant; but still there is nothing else for him to do—he must take up the fight. And since absolutely nothing in this world is lost, such protests certainly have their effect ultimately in their own way, even if they seem for the moment to be wasted.

In the German empire plans for a tremendous fleet are adopted. “Our future lies on the water,”—therefore enormous increase of armament on the sea. Exactly the opposite of what was at the foundation of the Hague Conference. Bloch writes me that Emperor William is said to have persuaded the Tsar that the peace cause—that is, in the form of an arbitration tribunal and the limitation of armaments (the German Emperor is surely in favor of preserving peace by the protection of the bayonet)—is directly contrary to dynastic interests.

The South African war breaks out. Our opponents cry scornfully, “So this is the result of the Hague Conference, is it?”

I had desired to publish in my monthly an expression of opinion regarding this misfortune from an English peace champion so highly regarded as Philip Stanhope, who I knew would be deeply grieved by it. He replied that it would not be in good taste to express his views in foreign periodicals while his country was involved in war. Now that the war is long finished there is no indiscretion in my reproducing his letter:

I have to thank you most sincerely for your letter. In times like these, when one finds one’s self in a small minority, the encouragement of friends is of great service, and no one is more authorized than yourself to speak upon such an issue, having for many years given your life to the service of the cause of peace.

Just now it is impossible to write anything for publication in a foreign journal. While we are in the throes of a great war it would be unseemly to do so, and I will therefore ask you to kindly excuse me in this regard for the present. I may, however, say to yourself as a friend what I could not publicly say about the situation.

I think the jingo feeling is subsiding in England. Now that the people are at last realizing what war means, there is less shouting and enthusiasm. I am told that even in the music halls this tendency is very marked. Of course patriotic songs will always command a large audience and excite natural patriotic emotions, but people are beginning to think and to ask themselves what the war is about, and whether warfare is the best way of really pacifying South Africa. I have great confidence in the ultimate good sense of my countrymen when the fever has passed away.

All the same, the path of idealists like ourselves is not made more easy by what has happened.

I hope Baron von Suttner is well. Kindly remember me to him and allow me to subscribe myself as

I asked an expression of opinion from Count Nigra for the annual meeting of my Union. The ambassador replied with the following letter:

You are quite right in seizing the occasion of the meeting of the Austrian peace society to ask a word of approbation and encouragement from those who worked for peace at the Conference at The Hague. That Conference has had to meet with two untoward accidents,—the Dreyfus affair and the conflict in the Transvaal. The first distracted public attention from our work; the other seems to contradict it. The coincidence is certainly very regrettable. But these are only passing incidents, while our work is destined to last as long as time lasts. The Conference is accused of not having produced immediate results. To tell the truth we enjoyed no illusion in this respect. We knew perfectly well that we had not been working to secure the peace of the world from one day to another. On the contrary, we had the consciousness of working for the future of humanity.

Moreover, is it true that the Conference had no immediate effect? I think that the mere fact that such a Conference was convoked by a powerful monarch, like the Emperor of Russia, that it was accepted by all the powers, and that it could meet and work for months with the purpose of making wars less frequent and less cruel for the nations,—that fact alone is already a great result. It proves at least that the ideas of peace and arbitration have entered into the consciousness of governments and of peoples.

Besides, as I have just said, we had in view not the fleeting moment but the future history of the world. The tree, the seed of which we have planted, is likely to grow but slowly, like everything else that is destined to increase and throw down deep roots. We shall not be able to repose in the shade of its branches, but those who follow us will gather its fruits. I have faith in our work for the future. The ideas that we have aroused in the minds of the governments and of the peoples cannot vanish like deceptive mirages. They have their raisons d’être in the universal consciousness. Like every human conception, they meet, in their application, with periods of arrested development and even, if one may thus express one’s self, with passing eclipses. But nothing shall prevent their onward course. The end which we have set before ourselves is that of a forward march in constant progress. It is the law of history. Blind is he who does not see it.

So then, sursum corda, and let us remember that Christ blamed men of little faith. You can remind your assembly of this in order that it may be taken in elsewhere.