The Empress Elisabeth assassinated! An infamous dagger thrust into a quiet, proud, unworldly, and generous heart. Once again mourning and terror flashed through the whole civilized world with lightning speed. More and more it is shown that this civilized world has only one soul. The memory of this princess, so opulent in sufferings, so endowed with beauty, will go down in history as a radiant and poetic vision. And that vision will be haloed with a tragic charm—so shockingly sad though it is, so hateful the deed that was responsible for it—from the fact that she did not die in her bed of illness or old age, but fell under the deadly blow of a fanatic madman, just as she was setting out on a new voyage into the splendor of nature which she loved so well. Out of the gray monotony of the commonplace thou standest forth for all time,—a figure in shining black,—Elisabeth of Austria!

My father-in-law, then seventy-nine years of age, had been for some time, especially since Lotti’s death, very much shattered in health. He no longer took his daily walks, often dropped off to sleep, sometimes began to wander in his speech,—in short, his demise was evidently near at hand. Nevertheless he had his secretary and faithful attendant—my husband’s former tutor—read the newspaper to him every day. When the news of the assassination of the Empress arrived we made haste to warn Herr Wiesner (that was the secretary’s name, though at home we always called him “Dominus”) not to read to the old gentleman the passages regarding the tragedy. Attached with the deepest devotion to the imperial house, Old Austrian to his finger tips, an enthusiastic admirer of the beautiful Empress,—the news of her death would have terribly shocked him, and we desired to spare him that.

Only a few days after this event he died in My Own’s arms. At five o’clock one morning we were summoned to his bedside. The nurse thought that he was dying, but he soon rallied and lay peacefully. About nine o’clock—meantime the doctor had been called and all the members of the family stood about the bed—he sat up and took my husband’s hand.

“Artur,” he said, “you know I have always been an industrious worker—I must write a few letters to-day; ... there the Dominus stands waiting for me to dictate—but, Artur, I should like to rest to-day—I may, may I not?—just a little sleep—yes?”

My Own laid him gently back on the pillow. “Dear father—sleep!”

The old man thrust his arm under the pillow and turned his face to one side. With a satisfied sigh he closed his eyes, and after a few minutes he fell asleep—in the sleep that knows no waking.

Egidy wrote me as follows regarding the Empress Elisabeth’s death:

... The most affecting word that has been spoken about your Empress’s death is that from her own husband’s mouth: “It is incomprehensible how a man could lay his hand on this woman, who in all her life had never harmed any one and had done nothing but good.”

A touching truth is to be found in this thought, and at the same time, also, the earnest call to think the thought again. Possibly the innocent woman had to die this sudden death in order that deep sorrow might come upon the best of all peoples, in order that all might mourn with the bereaved husband and Emperor, and also in order that we might repeat that lamentation in our thought, and comprehend, should the grief-stricken Emperor in humble realization come to the following resolution:

“Henceforth men who have never done any one any harm shall cease mercilessly thrusting the deadly steel into one another’s hearts. Henceforth I will not allow men whose lives are confided to my protection to march to fields of battle; no longer will I train to war the nations that are under my scepter. The labor of the remaining years that Providence shall vouchsafe me belongs to internal and external preparation for the warless epoch.”

Egidy still further elaborated this idea in the October number of his Versöhnung (“Reconciliation”).

The plans for the meetings to be held in Lisbon in the year 1898 fell through. The Iberian peninsula seemed little fitted to arrange for peace congresses as long as the Spanish-American War was in progress; so this year the two Bernese councils met for consultation in different places, having for their object the decision of what attitude to take regarding the Russian circular. The Interparliamentary Union met in Brussels, the International Peace Bureau in Turin, where a World’s Exposition was being held.

We went to Turin, My Own and I, in spite of our bereavement, starting a fortnight after the old baron had been laid away in the family tomb at Höflein.

A letter which I wrote to a friend tells of our visit to the capital of Piedmont:

The committee which has been assembled here concluded its labors to-day. The manifesto of the Emperor of Russia naturally formed the basis and suggested the direction of the proceedings.

On Sunday, the twenty-fifth, the Turin “Peace Days” began with the centennial jubilee of the Piedmontese statesman, Count Federigo Sclopis. In the vast Aula of the Royal University the festival committee and a great audience were assembled. The hall was packed.

General Türr conducted me to the front row and introduced me to the Mayor of Turin, Baron Casano, the governor, Marchese Guiccioli,—I could not help thinking of Byron, who loved a Guiccioli whom I used to know in Paris,—and the Minister, Count Ferraris. We sat in front of the desk. The cards of invitation bore the names of twenty-four eminent men as patrons of the festival; among them were Biancheri, President of the Chamber, Minister Vigliani, the presidents of the Roman and Bernese Courts of Cassation, the rector of the University, the president of the Academy of Sciences, and others.

Lawyer Luzatti was the first to take the platform, and he gave us a biographical sketch of Federigo Sclopis. He eulogized his services, and particularized as most glorious the part he played as chairman of the Alabama Court of Arbitration. Then the vice president of the Roman Senate, who is also chairman of the Roman Peace Society, spoke, and he was followed by our Frédéric Passy. He had been in his youth a friend of Sclopis’s, and was therefore able to tell much that was fresh and interesting about the life of the great man.

The meeting was over at noon. The rest of the day was devoted to social intercourse and the Exposition. Such visitors as had any taste for art were here afforded more delights than are often found in displays of this kind, for the galleries of sculpture and painting are better filled than usual, and in a great edifice, built like a coliseum, an orchestra of two hundred artists gave wonderful concerts.

But if I prove unable to tell much about the Exposition in general, who will blame a member of the Congress for that? Here old friends are discovered and new and congenial acquaintances are made, and this fact serves to promote serious conversation; so the Exposition park, with its many pavilions, is neglected; you sit down with your comrades round a café table and talk of the things that are in your heart. The manifesto first of all, but also everything else that is going on in the world; among other things, the Dreyfus affair, which just at this moment every one has more or less in mind. A delegate from Paris, Gaston Moch, who himself had been a cavalry officer and had served in the same corps with the exile, has much interesting information to give. Even as early as 1894 he had looked behind the scenes in the affair and had realized that the Jewish officer would not be endured on the general staff. A peculiar thing was also told us: In the summer of 1894, and thus before the charge was brought against Dreyfus, Le Journal published a novel as a feuilleton, in which a plot for the extermination of an unpopular comrade was devised and carried out: the smuggling into the intelligence bureau of a forged document and the like,—a whole chain of intrigues such as was actually adopted against the innocent man, just as if Paty, Henry, and the rest had taken the novel as a pattern to go by.

On Monday, the twenty-sixth, the delegates met for their first session in the Palazzo Carignan. The splendor of the Italian princely palaces is well known. The hall where we met is of sheer gold; the wall coverings are of gold, the doors and window shutters heavily gilded; adjoining, and also glittering with gold, is the historic chamber in which Victor Emmanuel was born.

As the president of the Bureau was obliged to go to Brussels to attend the session of the Interparliamentary Directorate, the chairmanship of our meetings was intrusted to the lawyer Luzatti. Though many letters of greeting arrived, I will cite only the Italian Prime Minister’s:

“Our country—on the ground of the principles that have inspired its regeneration, on the ground of its ideals of civilization as well as of its political interests—our country must desire that in international questions juristic reason may win the day over the appeal to force.

The first subject for discussion is expressed clearly in the text of the resolution that was passed:

“The Meeting is of the opinion that the societies throughout their spheres of activity should organize demonstrations of every kind, in the form of petitions and meetings designed to promote a favorable result of the Tsar’s rescript; it invites the societies to communicate the effects of these demonstrations to the International Bureau in Bern, which will give them the greatest possible publicity.”

The English delegates were able to report that in their country numerous demonstrations in this direction had already taken place. Political leaders in Parliament had joined in the movement, among them Sir William Harcourt, Morley, the Marquis of Ripon, Earl Crewe, Bryce, Sir John Lubbock, Sir Wilfrid Lawson, Spencer Watson, and others; also many bishops, and the three English cardinals, Vaughan, Loyne, and Gibbons. The Congress of the Trade Unions, which had until recently held aloof, voted unanimously and enthusiastically as follows:

“This Congress of organized laborers, representing the industrial classes of Great Britain and Ireland, greets the Tsar’s message with satisfaction and calls upon the government to employ all legitimate means to promote its success, since militarism is a great enemy to labor and a cruel burden for the slaving millions.”

This attitude of the English workingmen—be this observed in parenthesis—is at all events more beneficial than that of the socialists of other lands, who are distrustful of the Russian Emperor’s views, and who say, “Peace and disarmament, yes—but we want to bring it about, we alone, and in our own way.” But what is destined to benefit all mankind must be done by all; it cannot be the work of a class and against other classes.

Élie Ducommun gave a report on the events of the year, which he claimed would have marked it as one of the most unfortunate and discouraging for the movement, had it not ended with the Russian Emperor’s proposal of official investigation of means for bringing about assured peace and the reduction of armaments. Moreover, to the assets of the year were to be reckoned the agreement of France and England on the Niger question, the arbitration between France and Brazil, and, finally, the conclusion of a permanent arbitration treaty between Italy and the Argentine Republic.

The assembly sent a congratulatory dispatch to the Italian government on this treaty,—the first of its kind and likely to prove of the greatest blessing as an example to be followed.^[26]

On the other hand, apprehension was felt regarding the danger that threatens on the part of Argentina, which is on the point of declaring war against Chile. It was suggested that a trustworthy person might be sent in the name of the Peace Bureau to Argentina and Chile to urge both their presidents to submit the unsettled controversy to a court of arbitration. Perhaps they would turn a deaf ear to our delegate, but more probably a word spoken in the name of two hundred societies, representing both the New World and the Old, would turn the scale in their deliberations. Dr. Evans Darby suggested, on the other hand, that, as the outbreak of hostilities was already imminent and the delegate would assuredly arrive too late, a cablegram should be dispatched instead.

Accordingly two dispatches were sent on that very same day in the name of the Turin assembly, one to Valparaiso, the other to Buenos Aires, earnestly urging the two governments to avoid a war, which, just at this present moment, would be a lamentable setback to the approaching conference summoned by the Russian Emperor.^[27]

The cable dispatches cost nine hundred francs. Prodigal Friends of Peace! when one thinks how penurious the war boards are!

On the evening of the twenty-ninth the general public of Turin were invited to listen to addresses in the Circolo filologico. There was not a vacant place in the vast auditorium. General Türr made the first speech and cited passages from Garibaldi’s appeal to the governments. Then I followed with a reading of my short story, Es müssen doch schöne Erinnerungen sein, translated into Italian for this occasion, under the title Bei ricordi (“Beautiful Recollections”), by the poet F. Fontana. Then Émile Arnaud, Professor Ludwig Stein of Bern University, Novikof, and others spoke.

The audience was in such a high pitch of enthusiasm and sympathy at the end that I mustered courage, amid the storm of applause, to mount the platform again and make a brief appeal that the listeners should not reward our words with mere clapping of hands,—we were not artists hungry for approbation, we were plain champions of a holy cause,—but rather should join our organization; they might come up and sign their names. This invitation was accepted, and by reason of the addresses that evening the membership list of the Turin Peace Union was increased by many and influential names.

This Union has also a special section in the Exposition building. The autograph entries in the book that is there are very interesting. Even Arabic and Chinese signatures are among them; also dialogues: some one wrote in French, “I do not believe in it”; some one else wrote underneath, “I pity you with all my heart.” Tolstoi’s son wrote in the register, Quale è lo scopo della guerra? L’assassinio—(“What is the object of war? Massacre!”).

Our first care after our return to Austria was to organize a meeting to agitate in behalf of the Russian circular. Lieutenant Colonel von Egidy came at my request to address this meeting, which took place in the Ronacher ballroom on the eighteenth of October. It was the first time he had ever spoken in Vienna. Although our Viennese did not fully realize how distinguished he was, they were in a high degree curious about the famous man who had once been an officer of the empire. It was universally known that he had been compelled to leave the military service on account of his convictions as expressed in his pamphlet Ernste Gedanken (“Serious Thoughts”).

An acquaintance, Count X., whom I had invited to hear the address, wrote me:

I have never read a line by Egidy. But I cannot share your opinion regarding him, for in the first place I cannot endure the Prussians; secondly, if a soldier has done anything so unseemly(!) that he can no longer serve, I am compelled to reject what he says, even were he as wise as Aristotle.

Well, now, there are figures in history who have done such unseemly things that they have been compelled not only to doff their uniforms but also to empty the cup of hemlock or die at the stake or on the cross; these would probably have been subjected to a still severer criticism at the hands of my friend the count.

An hour beforehand the doors of the hall were thrown open, and the throng which had long been waiting rushed in. The great room was soon packed; people stood in the gallery behind the last seats. Entrance was free, “every one invited,”—such was Egidy’s wish.

The representative of the government took his place at the chairman’s table near me. I made a few prefatory remarks; then Egidy stepped forward, and his words rang out like bell tones. It was ever so when this orator spoke,—bronze in his voice, gold in his words, consecration in the room.

The Tsar’s rescript furnished the text. After he had explained what was contained in this manifesto, Egidy passed in review the various kinds of misunderstanding and misinterpretation it had met in the world. The doubts and questions raised in various quarters, the difficulties of detail enumerated by civilization brakemen (Kulturbremser, a word of characteristic Egidy coinage),—all this he answered and explained in clear, occasionally witty language, and always with logical conciseness. And the audience vibrated with him. Every satirical point was punctuated with a laugh, at every allusion a murmur of appreciation ran through the assembly. You might have believed that all were penetrated by the orator’s meaning, yet how many of those present had probably expressed, only an hour or two before, ideas which were current as the view of the majority: “A proposal for disarmament?... Hm!... political move—a trap set—practically unfeasible idealism....”

Most characteristic of this prevalent skepticism remains deeply engraven on my memory the picture of a deputy,—a member also of the Interparliamentary Union,—who, after I had spoken for a time about the manifesto, turned his head in my direction and said, with a sly wink, “Do you believe that story?”

This phrase became a catchword between My Own and me; whenever either of us communicated to the other anything perfectly unquestionable and simple, we would look as sly as we could and hiss out, “Do you believe that story?”

After the address Egidy was our guest at a supper which, together with Baron Leitenberger and a few other friends, we gave in his honor at Sacher’s. At the supper a pretty scene was enacted. One of our company was a former officer, now a deputy and also vice president of the Austrian Interparliamentary Group, Herr von Gniewocz. He turned the conversation to the campaign of 1866, in which he had taken part. Egidy then told how he also had been there, and then the two men recalled certain incidents, one of which, as it appeared in the comparison of details, had brought them face to face as opponents. And now here they were, both as adherents and champions of the peace cause, united in joyous festal mood.

Mark Twain happened to be in Vienna at this time and was present at this supper. The American humorist used the Egidy-Gniewocz incident for a brilliant improvisation, full of wit and feeling. He had been present at the lecture, had been recognized by the audience, and was asked to speak. He mounted the platform and declared that, as far as he was concerned, having only a penknife with him, he was ready to disarm!

A few days later I was permitted to make the personal acquaintance of a man who has taken a most important part in the peace movement, and with whose activity I had long been acquainted,—William T. Stead. A telegram from Vienna signed with his name invited me to make an appointment for a meeting with him as he was passing through the city. With delight I acceded to his wish, and on the following evening I spent several hours with the famous English journalist, enjoying with him a frugal supper and the most exhilarating conversation. We talked about a hundred things.

His external appearance is that of a gentleman; his hair and full beard are turning somewhat gray; he has noble, intelligent features, is forty-nine years of age, and his conversation is full of witty turns and comprehensive views of the world. His characteristics, one might say, are the energy of gentleness, tenderness, and capacity—also humor; those seem to be the predominant elements of his nature.

The son of a Protestant clergyman, he was brought up in strict orthodoxy. And since then, although he has attained spiritual emancipation and discarded every sign of dogma, he has kept a deeply religious spirit and is penetrated with the conviction that the spirit of goodness—God—is gradually bringing this world to perfection and using for this purpose inspired men as his instruments,—men who, being conscious that they are working in the service of a lofty principle, feel strengthened and elevated by it, full of joyous and courageous reliance in the support that is behind them in their divine mission.

The object of his journey was to ascertain how the Russian Emperor’s manifesto was received in different countries, and especially in official circles, and, above all, to learn what direction the Tsar himself and his ministers intended to give to the coming conference.

He had been on a journey through Europe, and was now on his return from Livadia, still under the impression of two extended interviews which the young Tsar had granted him. He had not been received as a journalist, but as a privileged guest in accordance with the wish of the late Emperor, Alexander III. About ten years before, a perfectly false idea of the Russian autocrat had gained currency with the British public. He was described as morose, violent, and insincere. And it was particularly supposed that he was all ready to let loose the horrors of a universal war. Stead, the journalist, had succeeded in dissipating this impression. In the year 1888 he had been accorded an audience at the imperial court at Gatchina, and the Emperor had engaged in an exceedingly frank conversation with him. When Stead returned to England he was able to announce with the utmost particularity that Alexander III was quite the opposite of the popular conception of him; that he was an enemy of all falsehoods, and imbued with the strongest detestation of war. These representations entirely changed public opinion, and must have helped to avert the ever-present danger of war.

From what Stead told me of the impression made upon him during his audience with Nicholas II, I felt warranted in concluding that the young Emperor was thoroughly in earnest in the matter of the manifesto. I complained to him of the lack of comprehension, the stupidity, and at the same time the hostile spite with which the message was received, for the disappointment to me had been unprecedented; I had so firmly believed that, with the exception of a small circle, the world would surely break out into jubilation at having the hope so nearly fulfilled of being freed from the mountainous weight that oppressed it. To this Stead replied:

“The manifesto is a mirror—a kind of magic mirror. You hold it up before men whose nature you wish to learn, and according to the judgments they pronounce on it, it reflects clearly the image of their spirit and their character.”

“But since almost everywhere a petty, ugly picture is shown,” I went on complaining, “since the purpose manifested by the Tsar is to be counteracted by mistrust, indifference, open and secret resistance, the lofty work may fail....”

“Are you of so little faith?... You?... Such a declaration may be delayed. But can it be silenced? Never! I myself, as I have made this journey through the cities of Europe, began to grow faint-hearted, but what I learned in Russia has restored my courage. The Emperor, I have faith to believe, now that he has put his hand to the plow, will draw the furrow, and his three ministers are with him in the matter. One is Kuropatkin, the Minister of War, whose ambition it is to reduce armaments; the second is Witte, Minister of Finance; the third, Count Lamsdorff, pupil and follower of Giers, the efficient force in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

“As regards the questions to be discussed at the coming conference,” continued Stead, “of course neither the Tsar nor any of his ministers thinks of disarmament in the literal meaning of the word; such a proposition is not to be made at all. The practical purpose of the discussions is to bring about a cessation of the ever-increasing preparations for war.”

During his journey Stead had also visited Councilor von Bloch, author of the great work “War.” This work is said to have made a marked impression on the Tsar, even when he was still crown prince, and very possibly it gave him the impulse to issue the rescript. Upon Stead’s asking him what results he expected from the conference, Bloch replied:

“In my opinion the most useful thing that can be done is for the conference, after its preliminary session, to appoint a committee of its ablest members, who shall be intrusted with the duty of investigating the degree to which modern warfare under present social conditions has become practically impossible—impossible, that is to say, without hitherto unheard-of loss of life on the battlefield, absolute destruction of the social structure, inevitable bankruptcy, and threatening revolution.”

Stead proceeded from Vienna to Rome, where he heard that he might expect some encouraging words from the Pope, all the more as Leo XIII had already many times expressed himself in sympathy with the peace cause. He did not, however, succeed in securing an audience at the Vatican.

The Russian Minister Muravieff also came to Vienna in the course of a journey he was making through Europe, and he remained there two or three days in order to hold conferences at court and with the ministers, just as he had done in other capitals, and to get a personal notion as to what reception the rescript had met with; also under what premises the rulers would be ready to send delegates to the conference.

I requested an interview with the Minister, and he sent me word by return mail that he would be glad to receive me the following forenoon at the Russian Embassy, where he was staying.

We had scarcely entered the drawing-room (my husband accompanied me) when Count Muravieff came in by another door. He was of medium height, wore a gray mustache, and had a round, kindly face. In spite of a certain coldness and dignity he appeared sympathetic. Like all Russian grands seigneurs, he showed the most gracious courtesy and spoke faultless French. It gave him infinite pleasure, he said as he greeted me, to make the personal acquaintance of so zealous a champion of the idea for which the Tsar and his government had now enlisted as apostles,—an idea which he confidently hoped would gradually conquer the world.

On my return home, after a conversation which lasted almost an hour, I noted down the following utterances of the count in my diary:

“It is not to be expected that the end will be reached in a short time. Think only of the Geneva Convention; that also took years before it became the comprehensive organization that it is to-day. Only one step must be made at a time. For the present, the cessation of armaments is the first stage. It is not to be expected that the states will consent to complete disarmament, or even to a diminution of the contingent; but if we could reach a common halt in the ‘race to ruin,’ that would be a favorable beginning. Henceforth the endeavor must be made to put universal peace on a safe basis, for a war in the future is surely a thing of horror and of ruin,—really an impossible thing; to take care of the present huge armies in the field is impracticable. The first result of a war waged between the great powers will be starvation....”

I detected the echo of Bloch’s doctrine in those last words, and that justifies the assumption that the work of the Russian councilor had helped to give the impulse to the drawing up of the rescript. Only Bloch had added to the word “starvation” two others, “revolution” and “anarchy.”

From what Muravieff told us of his journey through Europe, it was evident that his presence and intervention had as a result the blunting of the edge of the Fashoda conflict. From his conferences with the different sovereigns he had evidently become convinced that there was no inclination at present to adopt any measures toward the reduction of armies, or to accept the principle that war and the military establishment should be done away with, and that, in face of this difficulty, a basis must be found on which the first step,—stopping the increase in armaments,—might be taken in common. “It cannot be expected,” he said, “that at this very first conference the great final object will be attained.”

“It would be sufficient,” I remarked, “if the powers would make an agreement not to wage any war in the next twenty, or even in the next ten, years.”

“Twenty years—ten years! Vous allez trop vite, madame. We could be satisfied if such an agreement were entered into for three years. But I believe even that will not be demanded. First and foremost there must be a pledge not to increase the contingents or make any new purchases of instruments of destruction. The constant demands for more money always mean a conflict between the ministers of war and the ministers of finance.”

“They ought to appoint ministers of peace,” said my husband, interrupting.

“Ministers of peace?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Well, yes, courts of arbitration, national tribunals—” And he began to talk with great practical knowledge about all the postulates of the peace movement.

“In my youth,” he told us, “when the movement was in its infancy,—I was then an attaché in Stockholm,—I enrolled myself as a member of the League.”

I gave him some details as to the condition and progress of the movement. Much of what I told him he already knew. The names of the prominent representatives whom I mentioned were familiar to him. He spoke first of Egidy. I handed him Houzeau-Descamps’s pamphlet, with a few appeals and articles. He asked me to keep him informed as to the course of events.

When at the end I expressed my delight at being able to press the hand that had written that epoch-making manifesto, he replied, “Je n’y suis pour rien; its only author is my august sovereign.”

The Spanish-American treaty of peace was signed in Paris. Our colleague, Émile Arnaud, addressed to the commission that was intrusted with this transaction a memorial, in which, among other things, it was suggested that a way should be made for establishing a Spanish-American arbitration treaty. The following reply was received from the chairman of the Spanish Commission:

I am in receipt of your valued letter of the fourth instant, in which you do me the honor of communicating to me the resolutions of the Turin Meeting of Delegates. The desires of the commission of which I am chairman, as well as my own personal feelings, are in full agreement with the ends so nobly pursued by the Peace League. All right-thinking men, whose souls are elevated above the conflicts arising from the passions and interests of colonial politics, are to-day at one in recognizing the necessity of settling controversies between nations by the only means worthy of reasonable and free beings. Our commission has been, and will continue to be, inspired by these ideas, and if these noble endeavors fail, it will not be our fault. I thank you infinitely for the amiable offers which you make in the name of the Peace League, and remain

The Dreyfus affair is settling down more and more to a forlorn hope; the military system is fighting for its threatened authority. With it all one thing that is good has taken place, namely, the union of the intellectual class with the laboring men.

General Türr had an audience with King Humbert. Apropos of the conference called by the Tsar, he spoke of the necessity of combining the Zweibund with the Dreibund, and forming a European confederation. I wrote in my diary, together with this bit of information, “This fact deserves to be noted.”

I find a very sad entry under date of December 30: Egidy dead!

Early yesterday, on his return from a lecture tour, he succumbed to an acute heart trouble. That is all I know as yet; I only know that a gap is made in my life, for I have had a warm love for this noble man, and have looked up to him in grateful admiration. His influence will continue, but what he would have yet done and accomplished with the magical power of his personality—that is lost. Moritz von Egidy, farewell!

Some time afterwards I received the following letter from his son:^[28]

Pardon me for my long delay in thanking you for the February number of your periodical; now the receipt of a second copy impels me to write to you at once.

What a comforting expression you have found for your loss and ours in those words, “The consciousness that an Egidy was here”;^[29] truly and with all my heart I thank you for those words; they are worth infinitely more to me than many, many words, dear and well meant though they might be, because—this may sound far enough from altruistic, but nevertheless is not to remain unspoken—because they animate a thought which lay in my mind but which I had not yet found any expression for. I do not know whether you know this immediate feeling of thankfulness which comes over one in such a case, and which I should like to make you understand.

All the more I am sorry to be obliged to tell you that you have been misinformed about father’s funeral, particularly because the information is so entirely contrary to father’s spirit. There is a lack of recognition of the courageous, magnanimous act of the priest, Court Chaplain Rogge, who appears in a wholly false light, from the fact that he is only mentioned on the occasion when, in accordance with the ritual of our Church (in which father was still a member in spite of everything), he pronounced the blessing.

Yes, indeed, it was a courageous act for a royal Prussian court chaplain, who, perhaps, the very next day preached before the Emperor in the Potsdam Garrison church, to say such words as you will find in the February number of Versöhnung, and the impression of this fine act of his on the assembly was quite extraordinary, as was openly acknowledged by men who, perhaps for the first time in dozens of years, were listening again to a minister, and who had come there in the secret apprehension of having their feelings of love for my father hurt in some way.

Yes, the long way to the grave; but still it infused such a firm, steadfast trust into our hearts as I escorted my splendid mother along; our eyes were constantly attracted by the dazzling white heron plume on the fur hussar cap as it nodded in front of us, keeping time to the step of the bearers; the white plume, pointing upward, seemed to us a symbol in the falling shadows of the evening. You know his motto: “Forward! upward!”

Especially interesting to me was the news on page 61 about the resolution of the organized English workingmen; for you see on the very evening before I got the book I had quite a long discussion with the professor who lectures for us on history here at the Academy. He asserts that, in consequence of the English election law, the predominant power in parliament will more and more pass over to the side of the masses, i.e. the workingmen; and herein, he says, lies the chief danger for peace, for the instinct of the masses is always directed to war, especially in England, where the people’s heads are turned by their imperialistic notions, joined with an ever more and more pronounced national conceit. A more striking answer to this assertion than the so-called resolution I can scarcely imagine.

Have I already told you, Baroness, that I presented “Marmaduke” (in English text) to a French officer, with the dedication Un souvenir [de] nos idées qui se rencontraient,—and that, too, after a speech on the Alliance franco-allemande, which was made in the presence of French army and navy officers, officials, and merchants, at four o’clock in the morning, if you please, in our wardroom, on the Seeadler, and not long before Fashoda, when the Russian friendship was still very warm. The affair is noteworthy, for the reason that the Frenchman is usually, in a large company, quite extraordinarily careful and reserved. Moreover, the speech was made by a French physician who was on the expedition with Marchand when lack of support from his reserve stations compelled him to return. It was known quite accurately in Madagascar at that time, April, 1898, that a French expedition must have arrived at the Nile or would soon arrive there, and every day the news of it was expected.

Remember me kindly to your husband, and I kiss your hand as

Stead told me that the Emperor Nicholas, in speaking to him of his circular, had said:

“Have I had a single letter, or has a single person ever represented to me that I exaggerate the danger? Not one! they all agree that I have spoken the truth. ‘But,’ they ask me, ‘what do you propose as a preventive?’ As if it were my affair and mine alone to prescribe a remedy for a disease from which all the nations are suffering!”

Even on the peoples’ side there was not that enthusiasm which the author of the rescript might have expected. “How diminish the burdens that rest so heavily on the shoulders of the people?” he cries to his fellow-rulers, and he begs them to seek some means to avoid the evil that threatens the whole world. And what is the answer to it? The masses to whom the Emperor specially appealed remained indifferent. Although the threat of war between France and England seemed to be dispelled, the preparations were continued unabated on both sides. The German Emperor, on his return from his journey to Jerusalem, immediately insisted on increasing his army by twenty-six thousand men.

In St. Petersburg a feeling of deep discouragement prevailed. By the beginning of December the disappointment was so great that the authorities almost decided to give up the project and call instead a conference of ambassadors in that capital.

But the world had, after all, not remained so indifferent. In England mass meetings were held in behalf of the projected Conference. William T. Stead proposed the scheme of an international peace crusade. The peace societies of the Continent gave a mighty response; thus, for example, in Austria our Union provided for participation in that action by means of assemblies and public demonstrations, and for many weeks in succession the “International Peace Crusade” formed a standing rubric in the Neue Freie Presse and the Neues Wiener Tagblatt. In the same way the peace workers were bestirring themselves in other countries.

By this means, as well as through the influence of a few resolute members of the Russian government, the hope of success was again awakened in St. Petersburg, and the half-formed determination to substitute a simple gathering of ambassadors in place of the Conference was dropped; on the sixteenth of January a second circular was dispatched by Count Muravieff, once more inviting the governments to participate in the Conference as planned, and “suggesting” a programme of eight points:

1. An agreement not to increase, during a fixed period, the present strength of the armed military and naval forces, nor the budgets pertaining thereto, and a preliminary examination of the means by which a reduction might be effected in future in the forces and budgets above mentioned.

2. To prohibit the adoption, in the armies and fleets, of any new kind of firearms and explosives, or of any kinds of powder more powerful than those now in use either for rifles or cannon.

3. To restrict the use of the formidable explosives now existing, and to prohibit the throwing of projectiles or explosives of any kind from balloons or by similar means.

4. To prohibit the use, in naval warfare, of submarine torpedo boats or plungers, or other similar engines of destruction, and to adopt an agreement not to construct, in the future, vessels with rams.

5. To apply to naval warfare the definitions of the Geneva Convention of 1864 as amended by the additional articles of 1868.

6. To neutralize, in accordance with the same convention, ships and boats engaged in saving those in danger of drowning during or after an engagement.

7. To revise the declaration concerning the laws and customs of war which was elaborated in 1874 by the Conference of Brussels but has remained unratified to the present time.

8. To accept in principle the employment of the “good offices” of mediation and optional arbitration in cases lending themselves thereto, with the object of preventing armed conflicts between nations; and to come to an understanding with respect to the mode of applying these good offices, and to establish a uniform practice in using them.

It is understood that all questions concerning the political relations of states and the order of things established by treaties, and, in general, all questions which do not directly fall within the programme adopted by the cabinets, are to be absolutely excluded from the deliberations of the conference.

When the text of the second circular is compared with the first, it can be seen how much water had been poured into the fiery wine that was first offered to the world. In the first document there is no trace of points 3–7. Only in points 1 and 8 are the fundamental thoughts preserved. The other six points were evidently inserted as a result of the replies, recommendations, and opinions that Count Muravieff had gathered in his journey through Europe, and perhaps also from personal letters emanating from the various courts.

In the press, also, numerous utterances had declared that the only reasonable and positive result which could be attained by the Conference was to be found in modifying the regulations of war and in the domain of the Red Cross. Here even those who were not opponents of war and militarism would be able and willing to coöperate. Out of diplomatic consideration for such persons the six points in question were inserted. The famous military surgeon Professor Esmarch, a brother-in-law of the German Empress, worked especially hard for the Red Cross at the Conference.

By this introduction of questions concerning military customs and the humanizing of war into the deliberations of the Peace Conference, a wedge (surely not without purpose) was driven into it calculated to rob it of its individual character. That was distinctly shown in the Second Hague Conference, in 1907.

But I will not anticipate the historic evolution of things. For the time being I will confine myself to the year 1899, the last year of the departing century.

The conference was called; the date of its opening was set. Points 1 and 8 of the programme contained in essence everything that a complete revolution in accordance with the opinions of the peace champions could involve; and I remember that we—I mean my husband and myself and all our colleagues—faced the event, when it was announced, as one would face a momentous crisis full of promise, or rather already fulfilled. I was conscious of this historic phenomenon not merely as something that was taking place in the world without, but as my own inmost experience, as altogether a phase of my personal destiny. And I regarded it as “the one important thing.”

The skeptics of that day shrugged their shoulders at this notion, and even the wise ones of to-day would largely smile at it. Certainly, they might say, universal peace has not resulted from the Hague Conference; on the contrary, horrible wars followed it, and since it was called and repeated, the rivalry in increasing armaments has gone on with accelerating strength.

It is hard to make headway against such naïve arguments when they are based on succession of events rather than on their connection and their causes. There are minds on the chessboard of society which absolutely cannot see farther than from one square, from one move, to the next.

Assuredly, for the great majority the whole matter was something so novel, so unprecedented, so unexpected, and it was so unapproachable by familiar paths of thought and feeling, that the widespread misconception of it was quite natural. For the rest of us, who for years had been concentrating our labor, our thought, and our desires on this field, for us who had traced its origins and seen the bright-shining goal clearly outlined before us, for us it was just as natural to realize that the new epoch—the warless day, l’ère sans violence, as Egidy used to call it—had already come when the first steps toward its practical inauguration were taken so publicly.

In January, 1899, my husband and I went to Berlin to work there in behalf of the crusade, or at least to arrange for a meeting in behalf of the coming Conference. Our first call was on the Russian ambassador, Osten-Sacken. It was remarkable, but we found that he was no enthusiast for the affair inaugurated by his auguste maître; his wife also showed herself rather skeptical.

I addressed notes of invitation to the various leaders of political and scientific circles of Berlin to meet for a discussion. Many of the gentlemen responded to my call, and after a very interesting debate a committee was formed to take charge of public demonstrations in favor of the Peace Conference. Unfortunately, my diary of that period was not kept up, and I cannot mention by name all those who responded to my invitation and suggestion, or who declined it. I remember only that the deputies, Theodor Barth and Professor Förster,—the latter also director of the observatory,—were among the first group; that General du Verdy wrote a very sympathetic letter, and that Bebel replied with the following interesting note, which is still in my possession: