Chapter V: Part SEVEN: Continued (3)

That was the time when a Jew-baiting chaplain—Deckert was his name—preached from the pulpit and in pamphlets in the most vehement terms against the Jews—with success. This induced the “anti”-union to enter the field and to appear with a protest before the president of the House of Deputies. But I will let my husband himself have the floor. He published in the _Neue Freie Presse_ the following article, the contents of which will best show what was going on in the camp of the Anti-Semites, and what thoughts and purposes were awakened thereby in the camp of their opponents:

THE PRESENT SITUATION

Now the wily old magician
Once again his leave has taken!
Spirits that owed him submission
Now shall at my call awaken.
I his cell invaded;
I have learned the spell!
I’ll do—spirit-aided—
Miracles as well!
Goethe: _Der Zauberlehrling_

For twenty years now the “Magician’s apprentice” (_Zauberlehrling_)
has been trying his experiments in Austria. The old master who knew
how to exercise and to exorcise the spirits has gone; constitution,
parliamentarianism, the fundamental law of the state, have become mere
documents, and the unbridled spirits are up to their mad tricks. And
now, since it has resulted as all who were not hiding their heads in
the sand saw that it would result, the cry of dismay echoes through
the land:

Lord, the need’s immense!
Those I called—the spirits—
Will not vanish hence!

Or perhaps it will still be claimed that they were never summoned?
Would any one wish to deny that we looked on with remarkable patience,
endured them,—yea, verily, absolutely defended them,—instead of
calling on the master who would have driven away the demons while
there was still time?

Yes, if with us a system had not grown into a standard separating
so-called “serious” politicians from dilettanti! The system, which is
called in plain English “I dare not” (_Ich trau’ mich nicht_), has
been wrapped up by the “serious” in a distinguished-appearing vesture,
and elevated under the title of “Opportunism” to the concept of
political wisdom.

What this Opportunism has on its conscience is fearful! It is the
brake, the slave chain holding back every energetic activity,
hindering everything, making every transaction impossible; it is the
cause of the broken-winged condition that obtains to-day, of the
distrust, of the fatalistic _après nous le déluge_; it is the cause of
the universal discontent and apathy on the one side, of the loud
shouts of triumph, the renewed efforts on that side yonder, which is
now only one step away from its appointed goal.

Here I can add a word from experience, for I have been standing in the
very midst of the stormy waves, and I shall still stand there as long
as the office is intrusted to me of representing that portion of my
fellow-citizens which has undertaken to oppose the assaults of the
preachers of hatred and the apostles of persecution. By virtue of this
office I feel myself called upon, indeed in duty bound, to put in my
word and to speak of the experiences which the Union for Resistance to
Anti-Semitism has had since it was founded.

I need only to point out the Rescue Society as an example of what
opposition humanitarian associations meet with from the influential
classes. Our Union was meant to be a rescue society in a certain
sense, namely, for the purpose of rescuing the good old Austrian
spirit, the spirit of patience, of justice, of brotherly love, the
spirit that used to prevail at that time when, in the struggle for
freedom and human dignity, Christians and Jews stood together in the
very van, united in purpose and in genuine brotherhood, to conquer or
to die. This spirit we desired to help rise to its old honorable
condition; this was the reason for our emerging from our peaceful calm
in order to take up the battle against poisoned arrows and every kind
of disgusting weapon.

What was more natural and more justifiable than for us to yield to the
expectation that every one who had any claim to culture and morality
should joyfully join with us and thus raise a millionfold protest
against the mad actions of the thoughtlessly unbridled spirits? What
was more reasonable than to hope that in the influential circles in
whose hands the reins are placed we should be greeted with joy as the
breakwater against the onrush of the destroying billows, as the dam
which is to be carefully repaired and made secure at a time when a
freshet is expected?...

Yes, we believed and expected that, but we had forgotten just one
thing,—Opportunism. Only gradually did we come to realize that warm
feelings, honorable enthusiasm, fresh, fiery zeal, are ideal concepts
which have found no place in the lexicon of higher politics; we
learned that everything must be diplomatically weighed, accurately,
even to milligrams, so that if possible, even in the most
heterogeneous conditions, a transaction may be satisfactory to A and B
and C; in short, that all things and everything must first be placed
on the scales of the Opportune before there can be any departure from
reserve.

We have, indeed, attempted to emancipate ourselves at times from this
terrible thing, and to undertake several little _coups d’état_ on our
own responsibility, but even then the capital O had to appear on the
door before it would open for us; and when we were admitted we heard
nothing more comforting than that “in case of exigency,” that is to
say, in case it should ever become opportune, our desires would be
taken into consideration.

We have seen how these pledges were kept in the affair of the Rescue
Society; in short, we were obliged to recognize that no support was to
be found in the quarter where it should have been freely offered us.

And yonder in the camp of our opponents they were not blind. This
buttoned-upness (_Zugeknöpftheit_) which we met with was a direct
encouragement to them to continue in the direction marked out, and
they have made the most of it in order to make capital out of it, in
order to win new support. Was that not to have been foreseen? Ought we
to wonder that in view of such official toleration the defection among
officials and teachers over to that side should grow ever more and
more serious?...

A frank, a decided word from above, spoken at the right time, in place
of evasive circumlocutions which, like the answers of the ancient
oracles, may be stretched and twisted to suit any interpretation,
would have prevented what had to come to-day—nay, not had, but was
allowed, to come. And this definite, frank utterance, open to no
misinterpretation, is the right of that portion of our fellow-citizens
who, contrary to all civil order, are exposed to the wildest insults
and threats, without protection and practically declared to be
outlawed. This frank utterance is: _Anti-Semitism, in print, in word,
and in deed, is a movement dangerous to society, deeply injurious to
the existence of the state and the fundamental laws of the state. No
government can permit it any more than anarchy or other endeavors
which, through exercise of force, tend to disturb internal peace and
to bring about civil war._

We have labored to have this or a similar judgment pronounced, and in
so doing we have done our duty. Come what will, we will not desert the
breach; for we have in our hearts the consciousness of occupying a
standpoint which every right-feeling and right-thinking man must take.
This consciousness is sufficient to keep up our courage. In our ranks
there is not one who is striving for any personal advantage from the
realization of these principles; on the contrary, we know that to-day
we stand just as unprotected, just as much exposed to all insults, as
are those whose rights we desire to see secured.

But, in conclusion, an old proverb says, “God helps those that help
themselves,” and it must come to self-protection if this particular
form of anarchy, which is already making the doors of Austria ring
with its blows, shall succeed in breaking them down. Let us rally if
it must come to that!

A. Gundaccar von Suttner

I said above that duty and pleasure took us to Vienna. Our pleasure consisted chiefly in going to the theater. Oh, it was indeed a delight to attend plays with My Own, who was so keen to enjoy, so thoroughly one of “the thankful public”! Especially in jolly plays he could laugh as no one else did! And next to the theater came social intercourse with sympathetic friends. We had long chats on literary and pacifistic topics with Carneri and Hoyos, with Groller, Herzl, and various other men of the pen.

Great pleasure was afforded us also in visiting at the house of my cousin, Christian Kinsky. Every time we came to Vienna we were invited to dine with him and his thoroughly sensible wife, Therese. Christian was then provincial marshal of Austria. The burden and dignity of his office took nothing from his coruscating humor, from his inexhaustible wit. And at the same time such free, clear-cut views of things! Therese also was very liberal-minded in all matters. Quite the contrary was Christian’s sister, Countess Ernestine Crenneville, who often came up of an afternoon with her handiwork for a little gossiping (_Plausch_). She occupied a lower floor in the Kinsky house in the Laudongasse, and, like the generality of the Austrian aristocracy, was very religious and ecclesiastically inclined. She had many times tried to convert her brother, but he always evaded the issue with laughter and bantering; and they got along together very well. It would indeed have been hard not to get along well with Ernestine, for her piety was tolerant, and she was goodness and gentleness itself. I had known her in her blooming, youthful beauty; now she was old, but still a pretty little lady, and had much that was interesting to tell of her life.

Once I jotted down in my diary a reminiscence of hers. The conversation had turned upon our Empress and her mania for traveling about the world so restlessly.

“I remember,” related Ernestine, “how one day we were sitting together after a little dinner at the Empress’s—a very small party, the Archduchess Valerie, the Duke of Cumberland, and I. A few ladies of the court were near. The Empress was very silent and sad. Suddenly she cries out, ‘Oh, let us go outside, out on the green grass and far away!’ Archduchess Valerie springs up: ‘For mercy’s sake, mamma....’ The Duke of Cumberland exclaims soothingly, ‘You are right, your Majesty,’ and whispers to her daughter, ‘Only never let her go alone, never alone.’”

War had broken out between Japan and China. Such events no longer left me so indifferent as they did when I was young. Even though this tragedy was being enacted far away, in another quarter of the globe, the fact that the fiend against whom our party was fighting had broken loose again indicated a setback for our movement; for who could tell what future wars, in which Europe might also be involved, this war would bring in its train?

Even during the Peace Congress at Antwerp, in the autumn of 1894, the Sino-Japanese conflict was rising threateningly above the horizon, and I remember that among the resolutions at that time one contained an exhortation to the two empires, and also to the other powers, to avoid the outbreak or the continuance of the war by means of arbitration or intervention; but we were not heard. The only government which paid any attention to this action was the Russian. From that came the following answer:

Ministry of Foreign Affairs, St. Petersburg, October 15, 1894
M. A. Houzeau, President of the World’s Peace Congress

Dear Sir:

I received in due time the letter which you addressed to the Imperial
Government, urging the great Powers in common to take steps to put an
end to the bloody war between Japan and China. The success of such
intervention would, above all, depend on unanimity of views and
endeavors, which latter his Majesty’s government will always be ready
to support for the possible avoidance, diminution, and prevention of
the horrors of war.

In giving you this assurance I beg you, my dear sir, to accept the
expression of my especial consideration.

Giers

And when the battles had begun, then the whole world again listened with the keenest interest. Yet this was noteworthy: little Japan proved to be more than a match for huge China. There was no little pride manifested in German military circles at these Japanese victories, since the complete system of armament and of tactics in the Land of the Rising Sun was the fruit of the instruction which German military instructors had given the Japanese army. We Europeans are the bearers of culture. Perhaps it is also going to be our province to make the Chinese into a first-class fighting nation. Attempts in this direction are not lacking; this comes under “unanimity of views and endeavors.” Quite naturally, he who possesses a set of white chessmen and likes to play chess must provide for an opponent with an equivalent number of black ones.

In May, 1895, the Asiatic war came to an end. The Peace of Shimonoseki was signed, and secured to the Japanese important advantages from the victory. This the European Powers would not endure, and they united in advising the Japanese to renounce various fruits of their triumph over China; otherwise they would feel compelled to back up this request by recourse to arms. Fortunately Japan yielded, and this “recourse” was not required. But why did the Powers not unite _before_ the war in intervening and demanding that the Korean question should be submitted to a court of arbitration?

The Interparliamentary Conference of the year 1895 met at Brussels. Although we were invited, this time we did not attend; but our correspondents kept us informed of the course of events. The principal features of this Conference were:

Submission and acceptance of the plan for a national tribunal
determined upon the preceding year, and formulated by Houzeau, La
Fontaine, and Descamps.

Resolution to send this plan to all governments.

Participation in the Union for the first time of a Hungarian group. At
the head of this group, Maurus Jókai, and, as its most brilliant
representative, Count Apponyi, whose eloquence makes a sensation.

Invitation of the Hungarians to hold the next—the seventh—Conference
at Budapest at the time of the Millennial Festival; accepted.

All these tidings filled me with joy. Once more a few important steps forward had been taken; an elaborated plan for a national tribunal was now placed before the governments, and the project did not emanate from unauthorized dreamers in private life, but from statesmen, the representatives of seventeen countries; and the whole thing came from the initiative of one of the strongest and most distinguished men of his day, William E. Gladstone. Moreover, it could be seen how the nucleus of the peace endeavor was gaining new force—this time from the acquisition of Hungary, with one of her most influential statesmen, Apponyi, and her most celebrated poet, Jókai.

It was as if there could be seen on the horizon something still small and distant, but slowly growing bigger, and certainly ever coming nearer. No longer a vision of the fancy, no mere “pious wish,” but something substantial, actual, which to be sure may still be attacked and hampered, but no longer flatly denied. And why attacked? Was it not good fortune and success drawing nigh? Ever larger would become the throngs of those who recognize it, and then they would all hasten to meet the approaching marvel and greet it with jubilation!

In our comprehension of this, My Own and I were happy, and we labored in the great work according to our feeble powers, full of joyous confidence. Not as if we did not see the obstacles in the way; we were painfully conscious of them, and we realized the opposition that was still to be overcome. Anything old and firmly rooted has very obstinate endurance, and the law of inertia gives it effective protection. Men do not like to be shaken out of their ruts; they avoid new roads, even though they lead them into paradise!

These were the thoughts that formed the basis of the novel _Sie wollen nicht_. The question of peace was not treated in it, but the question of social reforms in the domain of political economy: A landed proprietor introduces all sorts of improvements, desires to bring about conditions which shall give his laborers prosperity and independence, but “they do not want it”; they distrust him and ruin him.

Yes, the increasing, approaching ray of light on the horizon rejoiced us, but we had our trials in the immediate and the near which filled the world about us. Thus at that time terrible news began to arrive from Armenia,—butchery instigated, measures taken to exterminate a whole nation. From Spain also came gloomy tidings,—Cuba wanted to gain her independence, and, in order to retain her, her yoke was made ever more oppressive ... and the Madagascan enterprise of the French ... in brief, cause enough for horror and worriment all around! But also sufficient cause for hope and joy!

The Association Littéraire held its congress in Dresden. We were invited to attend, since my husband was a member of the society. I do not know what prevented us from accepting the invitation; but I find in my papers a report from there which at that time gave me great pleasure:

During a literary evening, at which the King and the Queen, the
leaders of official society of Dresden, and all the participants of
the Congress were present, J. Grand-Carteret, in an address on “German
Women as judged by the French,” said these words:

“Spiritually the German woman has been presented to us by Luther and
Johann Fischart, later by Goethe and Schiller, until at last, like an
incarnation of the human conscience she stands before us as the
apostle of peace and civilization, and with the Baroness von Suttner
utters the cry which long since ought to have found an echo in the
heart of every mother, _Die Waffen nieder!_”

At the banquet in Leipzig, Grand-Carteret returned to the same theme
in his toast:

“... I drink to the book, that is to say, to the general expansion of
humane thought.

“To the book that had its origin in Germany, _en pleine nuit armée_,
to the book born on crossroads and to-day casting a light on the
highway of the future; to the book which has arisen against the
sword....

“I drink to the feminine Volapük of the future, which all by itself,
if men continue to want to kill one another, will permit the women of
all countries to utter the cry, _Die Waffen nieder!_ For the first
time in thirty-five years we have felt the soul of the people here
vibrating. I drink to that soul to-day!”

At the same banquet Émile Chasles, Inspector General of Public
Instruction in France, delivered a speech which closed with these
words: “I salute the spirit of internationalism, which rises above the
quarrels of men and governs nations with the aim of drawing them
together.”

We made an excursion to Prague, the city of my birth. The Concordia Union had invited me to deliver a lecture. Before this affair, which took place at eight o’clock in the evening in the mirror room of the Deutsches Haus, we were invited to dinner at Professor Jodl’s. The famous philosopher—a friend of my friend Carneri—was then a docent in the University of Prague, while he is now a light in our Vienna Hochschule. It was a pleasant little meal, with few but choice guests. The professor’s young wife, Margarete, was a fascinating housewife, who had already won my heart, because I knew her as the liberal-minded translator of Olive Schreiner’s stories. This same Olive Schreiner, in her “Peter Halket,” has said a wonderful thing,—a thing that expresses beautifully my profoundest belief: “With the rising and setting of the sun, with the revolving flight of the planets, our fellowship grows and grows.... The earth is ours.”

Since I was to speak in a literary union, I had chosen the subject of peace literature, and as I was in Bohemia, I cited also Bohemian authors,—the two great poets Vrchlicky and Swatopluck Czech. In my absolute innocence I had no suspicion of the fact that it was something unheard of in Prague, so torn by national jealousies, to praise Czech geniuses in the Deutsches Haus. For a moment a certain feeling of restraint seems to have manifested itself in the hall, but when the splendid verses of the two princes of Czech poetry—paraphrased rather than translated into German by Friedrich Adler—rang out, the German auditors were disarmed and the ill-humor passed off. There is no field which would be better adapted to bringing about reconciliation between two contending factions than the field of supernational pacification.

At the banquet which followed the lecture I made the acquaintance of many interesting people, and particularly of the theatrical manager Angelo Neumann, and his wife, Johanna Buska. The latter was very much after the style of Sarah Bernhardt,—so delicate, so thin, so golden-voiced, so exquisitely elegant, and so many-sided in her art. There is no leading part in the repertory, from the naïve to the heroic, the sentimental, and the coquettish, which la Busca had not played and made the most of. That evening she recited a poem which Friedrich Adler had composed as a rejoinder to Carducci’s “Ode to War.”

The next day we went to see Vrchlicky. We were conducted by a maid into a little drawing-room, where we were kept waiting some time for the master of the house. When the door opened and he entered, I was rather disappointed. I have been so accustomed to find generally in the creators of beautiful works handsome people that I was literally horrified at Vrchlicky’s ugliness—for he is ugly, his best friend must admit it. A flat, potato-like nose, tangled hair,—only from the eyes shines forth his clear intellect, and in the metallic tones of his voice vibrates his fiery soul.

“I am very much delighted,” he said, as he shook hands with us, “that you have both come to Prague. You will find here a thoroughly intelligent public.”

“Well, the public, because of national antipathies, is surely not altogether receptive of our cause, as we discovered only last evening.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the poet, “there are no national passions in music.”

We did not understand the significance of this remark, and after a while the conversation took all sorts of turns, during which sometimes we and sometimes Vrchlicky showed the greatest astonishment in our faces, until it finally transpired that we were taken for Mr. and Mrs. Ree, the well-known piano virtuosos, who were going to give a concert that evening in Prague and had promised to call on Vrchlicky. When the misunderstanding was cleared away we warmed up to each other, and I saw that he was as enthusiastic an adherent of my cause as I was an enthusiastic admirer of his genius.

Our next little journey took us to Budapest—of course also in the interest of peace. “You have become genuine peace-drummers” (_die reinen Friedens-Commis-Voyageurs_), said my father-in-law banteringly.

Just as in the year 1891 it seemed a necessity to found a society in Austria, that the country might be represented at the Congress in Rome, so now, since the Interparliamentary Union had invited us to the Millennial Festival at Budapest, it seemed likewise necessary for a private society to come into existence there and invite the other societies to take part in a Peace Congress. Our Vienna Society took up the agitation of this matter in the Hungarian capital. Leopold Katscher, the well-known publicist, who had wide-branching affiliations in Hungary, where he had lived for many years, and who was now a member of our Union, made a trip to Budapest, and called on Maurus Jókai, and on the statesmen with whom I, for my part, was assiduously corresponding. And the result? Instead of giving a detailed account of this I will quote the text of the following dispatch which was sent to the Vienna press:

Budapest, December 15. Peace Union established yesterday. Meeting
conducted by B. von Berzeviczy, vice president of the Reichstag.
Addresses in Hungarian by Jókai, and in German by Baroness von
Suttner; a whirlwind of applause. Several hundred prospective members
come forward. Voted to accept the invitation to the Seventh World’s
Peace Congress. Influential personages chosen to serve on the
directorate, among them two members of the former cabinet. Jókai,
president. Unexampled enthusiasm shown by the press; all the Hungarian
and German papers devote from four to ten columns to the reports.
Prime Minister Banffy declared to Baroness von Suttner that both the
Interparliamentary Conference and the World’s Peace Congress would be
welcomed in Budapest, and that the government would not only assist
but would take the lead in the arrangements, though they were not
instituted by the government.

But simultaneously my diaries bring back the echo of very gloomy events and voices from that time. Under various dates of December I find the following entries:

“War in sight.” So it is reported in all the papers since this dispatch was received: “The President of the United States has spoken insultingly and imperatively now that England has rejected arbitration in the Venezuela affair.” Now England has no alternative—so run the leading articles—but to pick up the gauntlet. Fresh dispatches: All America aroused over Cleveland’s message; all England in a rage; demands for many millions for warships, torpedoes, fortifications; a hundred thousand Irishmen have offered their services to the United States. The war-prophesying tone of the leading articles is accentuated; the familiar “inevitableness” of the conflict is demonstrated. Every journalist on the Continent is able to point out with certainty what England cannot put up with except at a loss of her honor, what all Europe cannot permit without imperiling its interests.... What is going to be the result?...

The result I chronicled ten days later in the following words:

It was a test of strength. Only a few years ago, when the peace idea had not as yet taken form and utterance, the misfortune would have inevitably occurred. The greater part of the press, the chauvinists of all countries, the military parties, the speculators, those engaged in the industries of war, adventurers of all kinds who expected personal advantage from the general scrimmage,—all these have assuredly left nothing undone to promote the breaking out of war. On the other hand, negotiations were instituted. Not only our Unions, but also chambers of commerce and mercantile corporations took a stand against the war, and in almost all churches sermons were preached against it, and statesmen, interviewed as to their opinions, revolted at the thought of settling the question by an appeal to arms.

Lord Rosebery says, “I absolutely refuse to believe in a war between England and the United States over such a question, for that would be an unexampled crime.”

Gladstone says, “Simple human reason is here sufficient.”

The English heir-apparent and his son telegraph to the _World_, “It is impossible for us to believe in the possibility of a war between the two friendly states.”

How if the Prince of Wales had spoken out in as martial a tone for his nation as certain continental editors found it for their interest to do in the name of “all England”? How if he had sent a sword-rattling, fist-doubling dispatch? Or rather no dispatch at all? How did heirs to the crown happen to write to mere newspapers? The generality are gathered together, or at least recruits—so tradition likes to have it—and the requisite blunt threats are uttered. The future King of Great Britain acted otherwise.

My novel _Vor dem Gewitter_ (“Before the Storm”) was finished. The newly founded Austrian Literary Society issued it as its first publication in an edition of three thousand copies, and this inauguration was celebrated by a banquet given by the publisher, Professor Lützow. The actress Lewinsky, from the royal theater, read a chapter from my novel; congratulatory addresses were made, and when the champagne went round a great success was predicted for the enterprise; but in a few years—Austria is no field for literary establishments—the business failed.

When I had written the word “End” on the last page of the book _Vor dem Gewitter_, I began another under the title _Einsam und arm_ (“Lonely and Poor”). And My Own, besides working at his two-volume _Sie wollen nicht_, wrote many stories of the Caucasus region. We were as industrious as bees,—that must be granted us. There we sat evenings at our common worktable, generally until midnight or later—and wrote and wrote. We used to talk about what we were doing, but we did not read our manuscripts to each other; we did give ourselves the delight, however, of reading each other’s proofs.

Ah, those happy, lovely times! Even though they were full of cares,—for the Harmannsdorf stone quarries were getting more and more involved in difficulties, causing the whole family deep anxiety; for the fear ever increased that we should not be able to keep up the dear home. One sacrifice after another was demanded,—even the quite opulent rewards of our literary labors were swallowed up in the abyss,—all in vain; as I look back on those days the exclamation is nevertheless justified,—Oh, those lovely times! For I was sincerely happy and so was My Own, in spite of Venezuela, in spite of Armenia, in spite of Cuba, and even in spite of Harmannsdorf. Our kingdom lay elsewhere,—the kingdom of our closely united, laughing hearts.

And then our studies. It was our custom at that time to read aloud at least an hour every day to each other. We had then just discovered Bölsche. He introduced us into the halls of nature’s marvels, initiated us into the mysteries of the splendid universe. It often happened that when the reading had brought us a new revelation we would stop and exchange a silent pressure of the hand.

XLVIII
POLITICAL KALEIDOSCOPE

Gumplowicz: father and son · The Italian campaign in Africa · Utterances
of King Menelik · The defeat of Adowa · The warlike press ·
Demonstrations against war · Victory of the peace party · Correspondence
with Carneri · From Armenia and Macedonia · Insurrection in Cuba and a
sharp proclamation · Professor Röntgen’s discovery · The Anglo-American
arbitration treaty · Death of Jules Simon · A letter from Jules Simon.

Among the letters preserved from the year 1896 I find an interesting one from Gumplowicz, the professor of philosophy. How I came to correspond with him I do not remember. It is not to be supposed that I could have been drawn to his works in admiration and sympathy, for, together with Gaboriau and Joseph Chamberlain, he is one of the most influential defenders of that vicious race theory on which are based Aryan pride and German and Latin conceit, which are so hateful to my very soul. Probably his son was the occasion of this correspondence. As radical as the father was conservative, he had sent me for my periodical a series of poems, entitled “The Angel of Destruction” (_Der Engel der Vernichtung_), translated by himself in a masterly manner from the “Slave Songs” of the Polish poet, Adam Asnyk. Whether it was this translation or some other publication which had aroused the displeasure of the German authorities, all I knew was that the young singer of freedom was condemned to a long period of imprisonment. When, during my lecture in Prague at the Deutsches Haus, I quoted various poems, I read also some stanzas from “The Angel of Destruction.” I see from an old account of that lecture that I informed the public of the poet’s fate in the following words:

A soul of fire ... but not wise and prudent: what moved him—sympathy
with human misery, indignation against human enslavement—he spoke out
too clamorously and in the wrong place, and he is now atoning for it
in state prison, with two years and a quarter of solitary
confinement.... Do you realize what that means for a youth with
exuberant powers of vitality, with a soul full of poetic inspiration,
with eager yearning for work, for love, for helping the world to
betterment,—seven and twenty months of solitude!... I believe it will
rejoice his heart if word is sent him that his verses, so deeply
penetrated with emotion, have been heard in this circle, and that his
fate has touched a few noble hearts here—it will be to him like a
greeting from freedom, for freedom.... And if you now applaud this
sentiment, may every handclap count as applause for our imprisoned
colleague.

The hearty applause that followed vindicated the defiant bard of peace in Plötzensee.

Here is the letter from the professor at Graz:

Graz, April 21, 1896

My dear Baroness:

Your note caused me great embarrassment. I am asked to give my views
on your article, “Two Kinds of Morals,” which would necessitate
uttering my opinion concerning your whole philosophy of peace. I will
make you a counter-proposal,—fling me, together with the horrid
Sighele, into a pot, and leave these naughty professors entirely out
of consideration. There is nothing to be done with them. They only
spoil your temper, drive you out of your dreams, and spoil that
noblest enjoyment of yours which you find in agitating the peace idea.
I, at least, will not take it upon me to play such a rascally rôle in
opposition to you. You desire to see the picture at Sais and I am to
raise the curtain, am I? No, my dear Baroness, that I will not do. I
have long made it my principle:

“Where’er a heart for peace glows calm,
Oh, let it be, disturb it not!”

Must I on your account go back on these principles? Again the poet
warns me:

“Believe my word, that were a fault!”

Not for a moment do I yield to the illusion that I could persuade you;
the chasm is too wide for me to be able to throw a bridge across, and
I am not convinced that by doing so I should do any good. It would be
a better thing if _you_ could convert _me_; but hops and malt are lost
on me,—I am even worse than Sighele.

The difference between us bad professors and you, Baroness, is this,
that we are stating facts,—among them the _fact_ of the “Two Kinds of
Morals,”—while you are preaching to the world how it ought to be. I
always listen to your preaching with great pleasure. I should have no
objection, on the contrary I should be very happy, if the world would
change in accordance with your ideas. Only I am afraid that it does
not depend on the world to slough off its skin, and that your
moralizing is in reality a complaint lodged against the dear God in
heaven, who made the world as it is. Yes, if you could stir him to
bring out his work in a second revised edition, that would be really a
success!

By all means believe that if the world will only “have the will,” then
everything will come out all right! Because of taking that very
standpoint my son is in prison in Plötzensee. He, too, could not
comprehend that the State is so “unmoral” as to let the unemployed go
hungry while it has control of bread and nourishment in ample
sufficiency, this being in direct contravention of the commandment
about love for the neighbor. And so he went forth and gave the State a
castigation, calling it a “band of exploiters,” a “legally organized
horde of bandits.” From the standpoint of “the one and only morality”
he was perfectly right. Since he has been in prison I have refrained
from attacking this standpoint to his face. Why? Because this
enthusiasm for this “one and only morality,” the bringing about of
which he has been striving for, makes him happy and enables him easily
to endure all the trials and privations of his dungeon. And just for
the same reason I have no idea of attacking to your face the
standpoint which you accept; for in your endeavor to make this clear
to all the world you are certainly finding your greatest happiness.
How could I satisfy my conscience if I willingly disturbed your
happiness?

Go on your way, my dear Baroness, in peace; do not worry about the
Sigheles; do not read Gumplowicz’s “Conflict of the Races”; it might
cause you sad hours; and do remain always what you are,—the champion
of a beautiful idea! In order to fulfill that mission stick to the
persuasion that this idea is the truth, the sole and only truth. And
of this belief may no professorial chatter ever rob you!

With this wish, I remain with the sincerest respect

Your most faithful
Gumplowicz

I have inserted this letter in my memoirs because I like to let the opponents, especially such eminent opponents, have their say. What reply I made to the professor I do not remember, but assuredly I did not leave uncontroverted the idea that I was pleased by the condescension with which he regarded my views as pleasing delusions! The morality that to-day is already beginning to influence the lives of individuals is not a fact handed down by tradition from the creation of the world, but a phase gradually won by social development and beginning to react on governmental life and to work on quite different factors from mere “hearts that glow calmly for peace.”

Italy at that time was trying to make war in Africa. It wanted to conquer Abyssinia; but that was not so easy. The Negus was victorious in many battles. The Italians had been obliged to withdraw from Fort Makoli. Then Menelik expressed his desire to enter into peace negotiations. General Baratieri sends Major Salsa into the enemy’s camp. But no conclusion of peace is reached. The Negus demands the evacuation of the newly acquired territories; whereupon Baratieri sends word that these propositions can neither be accepted nor be taken into consideration as a basis of further proceedings. So then, further prosecution of the war. Reënforcements are sent. The _Riforma_ declares that Baratieri has done well in refusing the Negus’s overtures; they insult the dignity of the nation.

In place of Baratieri another generalissimo is to be shipped off, and the victory of Italy is assured. General Baldissera, Austrian born, who in the year 1866 had fought against Italy, is intrusted with this mission of conquest. So now let it be said that it can be something else than the most glowing patriotism that moves the mover of battles!...

And Menelik meantime? A French physician, drawn to the enemy’s camp during a journey of research, wrote from Oboch:

The Negus received me.... Is he really sad, or does he only put it on?
He keeps affirming that he is to the last degree troubled about this
war which has cost and will continue to cost the shedding of so much
Christian blood. He is attacked—he defends himself; yet if he is too
hard pushed and they want to try it again, then—Menelik seems
confident as to the upshot of the war, but why so much blood?

Why, O swarthy Emperor? Because the white gentlemen in the editorial offices declare that it is the “duty demanded by honor.”

In Italy the protest of the people against the continuation of the war continues to grow louder. But since it is Republicans and Socialists who vote for the discontinuance of the campaign, their demonstrations are suppressed by the government. On February 29 a great anti-African banquet was planned in Milan, but forbidden by the prefecture. And on the next day comes the terrible news of the defeat in Adowa,—eight thousand men fallen—the rest put to flight—two generals killed—in short, a catastrophe; wild agony in Italy and sympathy throughout Europe. All the fury is concentrated on Baratieri because he attempted such a sortie.

Out of the multitude of reports about Adowa I have entered in my diary only one or two lines from _Il Corriere della Sera_ of the eighth of March: “The soldiers of Amara, who are cruel brigands, hacked down the Italian wounded, mutilated them, and tore the clothes from their bodies.”

Gentlemen of the press, who have demanded the continuance of the war, does it not occur to your consciences that you are accessories in the mutilation of your fellow-countrymen? No, they demand that the blood of the fallen shall be avenged,—in other words, that still others, unnumbered, shall experience the same misfortune. _L’Opinione_ writes:

Baratieri’s act was that of a lunatic; he wasted in a craven way the
lives of eight thousand soldiers and two hundred officers. But our
military honor remains unblemished. The material lost will be replaced
within a month; our military power remains as it was. The country
understands this and is ready to avenge the blood of the fallen. Those
who think the contrary are a handful of people [that is to say, those
who come out against the war—ah, why are they only a handful?], people
without God and without a country. Nevertheless, these people can do
no harm, for the nation is against them.

Was it?... A dispatch of March 9 says:

The anti-African movement is assuming great dimensions. In Rome,
Turin, Milan, Bologna, and Padua, committees of ladies are active in
getting signatures for a peace petition to Parliament. This has been
signed by many thousand persons.

So acted the ladies; the women of the people were still more energetic. They threw themselves down on the rails before the cars that were about to carry away their husbands and sons to the place of embarkation, and thus actually prevented the departure of the trains.

Likewise in the barracks, a protest is made against sending more men to the African shambles, and large numbers of deserters are escaping over the border. What is beginning to take place in the whole country is a battle between the idea of war and that of peace.

The King, the first war lord, with a military education, grown up in soldierly traditions, sees only the possibility of continuing the war, of winning a victory, of brilliantly bestowing the honor of his arms,—would sooner abdicate than conclude peace _now_!... He would be glad to retain Crispi, but a storm is arising against him throughout the land and—Crispi falls. A new ministry is formed. Rudini—that name stands on the list of the Interparliamentary Union—becomes Prime Minister. What will he demand in the name of the government at the opening of Parliament? The Crispi journals and the papers representing the war party are fierce against any idea of peace: “Revenge for Adowa!” _Guerra a fondo!_ (“War to the bitter end!”) And had it been a lustrum earlier, this cry alone would have come to the surface. Yet louder and more impetuously now arise the voices in protestation against the continuance of the unrighteous war. The movement of protest was organized; hence it was effective. Through Teodoro Moneta I learned all that was going on in this direction. It was a victory; for the new minister, Rudini, did not demand the continuance of the war....

It might be urged that what I am relating is really a political-historical chronicle, and not a biography. But it _is_ my life’s history; for the very life of my soul was closely bound up with these events. My thoughts, my labors, my correspondence, were all filled with those performances on the world’s stage. And that I am repeating what is for the most part a matter of common knowledge, what was printed in the newspapers everywhere, and therefore is treasured in the memory of all,—this I do not believe. The forgetfulness of the public is great. What one day brings, the next swallows up again. I know from my own experience how, before I had begun to live for the peace cause, political events, even though they were important, disappeared from my memory without leaving a trace, if indeed they had attracted my attention at all. But now I noted in my diary everything that related to the struggle that was taking place between the new idea and the old institutions; this was the red thread which I followed in weaving the history of the day,—a thread which assuredly has quite escaped those who have not kept their eyes expressly fixed upon it.

A letter from my friend Carneri, written during the Italo-African war, shows that I had vigorously complained to him of the pain which that tragedy was causing me. The letter ran:

Marburg, March 5, 1896

My dear Friend,

Do not be vexed if I fail to attain my object, which is none other
than to give you permanent comfort in your suffering over the present
condition of the civilized world.

We two from the beginning have taken a quite different standpoint (you
may still remember my hesitation at the first invitation to join the
Peace Society, and that I yielded, much less won by the cause itself
than by your own personal charm), and I should like to bring you to my
way of thinking, which consequently _should_ be yours.

“Consequently,”—how so? I hear you say. Because you, like me, accept
the theory of evolution. This knows nothing of a complete cessation of
conflict, and recognizes only a gradual amelioration of the methods of
the conflict. It also knows nothing of a complete disappearance of
want—not to be confused with the wretchedness of poverty, which can
very properly be checked; this theory holds rather that want is the
great stimulus to progress. A cessation of all want would be absolute
stagnation, and therefore it is just as little thinkable as a world of
nothing but good people, which would be a contradiction in itself,
just as it would be to think of a day without night.

I believe firmly in progress; but I expect it to come not in a
universal improvement of men, but as a gradual refinement of the good.
If you could be content with this modest but firmly established view
of life, you would not need to make any change in your activity in the
cause of peace, but you would look at the world with that calmness
with which one must face what is unalterable, and you would be
safeguarded against disillusions as painful as they are superfluous.

The movement toward the quickest possible establishment of a general
arbitration tribunal is now on, and must take its course. At least do
not promote it; for if it remain without results, this would be far
more favorable for the cause of peace than if such a court, which
would have to be preceded by an international agreement, should make a
perfect fiasco. The only practical thing to-day is that the contending
parties should themselves choose arbitrators in whom they have
confidence. This custom is, happily, getting to be more and more
generally adopted, and all attempts to push it can only endanger it.
To win more and more advocates for this custom is the task which will
bring the greatest blessings from the work of these peace unions; but
all the peace unions in the world have not as yet in all this time
performed such a service for the idea of peace as my Martha alone with
her matchless tale.

This is one thing you have to keep ever before you, and if you will
join me in smiling at the Utopias of those who believe it possible to
have a world of angels, then you will share my indifference in the way
you regard that ancient beast, Man, and his constant readiness to heap
up inflammables on inflammables.

Do you remember how I warned you against an American who counseled
disarmament? They will yet, in alliance with Russia, threaten Europe;
and I am thoroughly convinced that it is only the enormous armies,
which no one would be able to command and provide for, that are to-day
an assurance of peace and are smoothing the way for the arbitrators.

The defeat of the Italians in Africa pains me; but it is a wholesome
lesson. If I were Crispi’s successor, I should have no scruple in
openly declaring, “Italy has been deservedly punished for a great
offense; let us not make the offense worse; we have something better
to do,” and Italy would give jubilant ratification to

Your Carneri

I possess a copy of my reply, and I give some extracts from it:

Harmannsdorf, March 10, 1896

Dear Friend,

Your letter is a new proof of your affection. I have known for a long
time that you are not one of us,—have known it from the day when you
discovered that it would be money ill spent to contribute a legacy as
a proof of respect to my life work. You find my work useless,—almost
harmful; but at the same time you love Martha and Löwos, and would
like to spare Martha pain. But, my dear, if I did not feel pain what
would be the impulse for my work? Certainly not, as my enemies say,
vanity? You surely do not believe that? No, pain at the way men stick
to their barbarism is what penetrates me and compels me to oppose my
weak activity against the general inaction. If one should keep waiting
for the next century or so for things to be done of themselves, they
would never get done. After the principle of railroads was discovered
(they, too, were sufficiently opposed), locomotives and tracks had
also to be built, without waiting until a future generation should be
ripe for such a mode of travel....

The war that does not break out because of worry over the
responsibility, that is to say, because of the excess of armaments, is
not peace, for it is doubly precarious: in the first place, because
the armaments are in themselves ruinous, materially and morally, for
they exhaust all resources, they enslave and degrade men, and they
_must_ keep alive the spirit of war and the worship of force, which is
happening in all schools at the present time; secondly, because the
explosion of the powder magazine is left to depend on the arbitrary
will of a few people....

Of course disarmament—especially of a single state—cannot begin
immediately; but just as the interminable increase of armaments is the
consequence of the anarchy that prevails in the mutual relations of
states, so would disarmament be the consequence of their mutual
relations based upon law....

And if only people would not keep saying to us believers in evolution
that the progress of culture is slow, as if we did not know it! But,
because of that, to leave the first steps to the next generations and
stand still ourselves is not a correct way to apply our knowledge of
the slowness of the general movement forward; for we ought also to
know that this trifling advance of the whole mass is the result of the
greatest haste and the greatest output of energy on the part of single
atoms.

... Yes, you are right; one looks calmly into the face of the
unalterable and is spared painful disillusionment; but you are not
right in adding that with such a realization I could maintain the same
activity; for I regard the present state of things as not unalterable,
and my whole activity consists in nothing else whatever than in modest
but steady coöperation, according to my ability, in bringing about the
change.

Your scruples about the Universal Court of Arbitration now in process
of establishment rest upon an erroneous conception of the plan. That
is usually the cause of mistaken judgments. It is believed that Mr. X
is aiming at something irrational, and one therefore hesitates about
helping Mr. X. On the other hand, Mr. X knows very accurately all the
objections to what is attributed to him; unfortunately, however, the
real thing that he wants is not known....

“Share your indifference in the way I regard that ancient beast, Man,
and his constant readiness to heap up inflammables on inflammables.”
No, the “young God” in man cannot have this indifference if he is
going to conquer the ancient beast in man. The great heaps of
inflammables, which are to-day growing smaller and smaller, even
though they are still predominant, must not be left under the illusion
that their realm is inviolable; and besides,

“He is guilty of half the harm
Who, to stop it, will not lift an arm.”

What separates us two is faith. If you believed, as I do, in the
possibility of the result, you would suffer as keenly as I do from the
inertia of the world around us, but you would yourself take hold and
act, and you would find your own pain and grief a small price for the
beckoning reward; at the same time you would have the additional joys
which often stir me when I see how the work is advancing; how, here
and there, ever more numerous and ever more determined, are arising
those who demand the accomplishment of what is already granted
theoretically by the majority.