Chapter VIII: Part SEVEN: Continued (6)

My father-in-law was greatly delighted to hear from you again. All the
cordial greetings from yourself and your husband are most cordially
reciprocated.

In the hope of being able to carry out your commission successfully, I
am

Yours with deepest respect
Marie Büchner

During the month of November the Dreyfus case made the whole world hold its breath. My Own and I followed the affair with the greatest interest and sympathy. At that time Scheurer-Kestner, Bernard Lazare, and Émile Zola came out in favor of the reopening of the trial. The _Figaro_ had published Esterhazy’s autograph; it was an ocular demonstration that the handwriting was the same as that on the _bordereau_. All the military, and especially the Anti-Semitic circles, were against a new trial. The interest which I took in the course of the affair is frequently reflected in my diary:

November 18. Probably the case will be taken up again. The mere possibility that the man banished to Devil’s Island is innocent would be horrible, supposing the sentence should stand ... and we are bound now to believe in this possibility. The public conscience would remain forever oppressed by this thought.... Again it has been strikingly shown that there is such a thing as a “European soul.” A French journal remarks, in a peevish tone, about the many comments in other countries, “In the last analysis, the matter concerns France only.”

No, no! such national exclusiveness has ceased in our day. If a catastrophe occurs in any country,—the assassination of a ruler, the burning of a charity bazaar,—expressions of sympathy stream in from all directions, making the afflicted country glad. But if it permits other countries to share in its good and evil fortunes, then it must also be willing that its right and wrong actions should be judged everywhere. The partisans of justice all over the world have an equal interest in the conquest of justice and truth over tyranny and concealment. And, vice versa, the partisans of authority, the race persecutors, are in the same camp all over the world; not only in France but also in Austria and everywhere are to be found passionate anti-Dreyfusards!

The two camps are growing more and more clearly divided. But the forces are very unequally distributed. The party that champions the right has certainly on its side the overwhelming power that is peculiar to its object,—universal human happiness; the other party has the actual power, however—has the cannon behind it....

Power engenders pride. Everything is permitted to it—so it thinks—and it wishes to make manifest that it is bold enough to attempt anything. So the whole Esterhazy investigation, the Esterhazy trial, and the shameful Esterhazy apotheosis are a pure satire on every judicial proceeding, a slap in the face of august Justice,—even more, a trampling of her scales under the spur-armed heel of the soldier’s boot! The people must knuckle under,—that must be borne in upon them so that another time the desire may pass of pulling down the General Staff’s sacred ensign of error! You wanted to run up against a _res judicata_, did you? Very well, now you have two of them. And quite right; the people knuckled under. “The affair is at an end” (_Affaire liquidée_ is the heading over the leading articles in the papers); but a man got up and uttered the cry of his soul,—_J’accuse_,—one man against an army! The far-distant ages to come will praise this heroic action.

Even in our family circle there were disputes about the affair. My father-in-law, the conservative-minded, ardent reader of _Das Vaterland_, would hear nothing of the proofs in favor of the exile. He also believed in the “Jewish syndicate” that was bent on buying the rehearing. And my mother-in-law had nothing good to say about Zola; she had even gone so far once as to make a great auto-da-fé of such of his books as had strayed into the house.

The year 1897 closes with an event that might well arouse much anxiety among the partisans of peace. We know how it began, but we can never know how it will end; it carries war in its womb, for it is once more something undertaken under the emblem of force,—the voyage of the fighting squadron to the Yellow Sea.

So then ... Port Arthur besieged by the Russians, Kiauchau by the Germans,—that is the newly created situation. High Politics, that is fifty or sixty men and a following of newspapers, see to it that there shall never be any rest, that no progress can ever be made toward the healing of internal troubles, the elevation of human society. A cruel state of things for the champions of peace! For years there have been perpetual wars and rumors of wars, even while in the governmental circles there were constant assurances of peace. Japan and China, the Venezuela controversy, Spain and Cuba, Armenian massacres, Italy and Africa, Greece and Turkey, England and India, and now this East-Asiatic expedition! And all the time constantly increasing armaments and paroxysms over fleets. No wonder that the slow, as it were subterranean, peace movement remains unobserved by the masses.

LIV
A STIRRING HALF YEAR

Outbreak of the Spanish-American War · Article in mourning borders ·
Fridtjof Nansen’s lecture in Vienna · Extracts from diary · Bereavement
in the family, Countess Lotti Sizzo’s death · Johann von Bloch’s book ·
Death of Bismarck · End of the Spanish-American War

The beginning of the year 1898 brought me much anxiety. Not domestic anxiety or heart sorrow or worry about money. My troubles—faithfully shared indeed by my husband—were far away from Harmannsdorf; they were on the distant ocean.

The United States warship, the _Maine_, blows up. The suspicion is rife that the ship was destroyed by the Spaniards; can it be true? In heaven’s name, what is not possible among men, who in general regard hate and slaughter as “political” weapons? In American jingo circles there is a mad craze to declare war on Spain as a punishment for this—“unproved”—crime. I have direct information that in government circles (with McKinley at the head) as well as in wide circles among the people, the peace sentiment is strong. In Spain also there is excitement, in the name of national honor. The journals _Globo_ and _Liberal_ (how everything calls itself liberal!) regard any concession in the Cuban question, any acceptance of an indemnity, as out of reason,—rather, utter ruin, “rather let us all perish!” And the Bishop of Madrid heads a subscription for the purchase of battle ships.

Long the scales waver this way and that. Our friends in America and also in Europe put forth their utmost efforts. Petitions are sent to McKinley, to the Queen Regent—but in vain. The May number of my magazine appeared with a black border, and printed the following text on the front page:

Bordered with mourning black we present here the tidings that in the
last week of April, 1898—so short a time before the entrance of a new
century—the grewsome fury and bearer of the old barbarism is again let
loose.

What makes our trouble harder to endure is this: America, the cradle
and shelter of the peace movement—America, which scarcely a year ago
was on the point of putting into vigorous actuality the long-cherished
ideal of the first permanent arbitration treaty—America, which is
unacquainted with militarism—America must be the field where war is
let loose!

By that outbreak the signal for a universal war may have been given,
for who can foresee the consequences? There is a fire; the burning
rafters are flying, and all our roofs are thatched with straw—with
petroleum-soaked straw.

Once again has the mighty Ancient won the victory over the as yet not
sufficiently strengthened New. Again Force chooses to set itself up as
the judge and avenger of sins committed by Force, and heaps up sins on
sins all calling for revenge. Cruelty and oppression in Cuba; that was
the long-continued accumulation of the “unendurable.” Why could not
the European Concert have swept this “unendurable” off the face of the
earth? Because they will not grant the principle that peoples may be
allowed to throw off the yoke.

Our movement has thus suffered a heavy blow. All the opposing elements
are triumphing, yet we must not allow the results of the work that has
already been done to be obscured. The forms of those—both individuals
and corporate bodies—who stand for the ideals of a time free from
manslaughter and oppression, remain unbowed; their voices still ring
out loud and clear; their light, be it the torch swung high or a
modest spark, still shines into the darkness. The present, though
still so dark, must not make our faith in a brighter future grow
faint.

Yet even this faith does not help to deaden the pain of the days that
are before us. Misfortune—though perhaps deserved, yet none the less
severe—has overtaken our poor race during these spring days.

On the sixth of May the famous Arctic explorer Fridtjof Nansen came to Vienna, and gave a lecture that same evening in the hall of the Rathaus before two thousand people. We were prevented from going to the city, but I wrote Nansen the following letter, to reach him a few hours before the lecture:

Harmannsdorf, May 5

Dear Sir,
Highly and sincerely honored:

You have no time to read long letters; so I can only indicate, without
offering reasons, what I desire to ask. You will, I know, meet with
perfect sympathy what is only half said.

A new era must be dawning for the world,—after the old heroic age of
war comes the heroic age of knowledge and investigation. Who would be
better authorized than you to point out the way thither? This evening
thousands of my fellow-countrymen will listen to you. I beg of you to
weave into your lecture two lines which shall express this thought:
the reign of war must yield; the future must belong to the right. The
impression will be immense, just at this moment, when the sea is again
desecrated with burning and exploding ships. Speak words like these
and you will thus give the work of peace a powerful impulse forward.

With the most profound respect
Bertha von Suttner

The text of the lecture was published, from the manuscript, on the seventh of May, by the _Neue Freie Presse_. In it there was no reference to general questions of civilization. On the other hand, _Das Tagblatt_ published a report taken stenographically, and there it said:

Nansen brought his lecture to a close as follows: “People will ask,
what are the results of polar explorations? I reply, science desires
to know everything. There must be no spot on the earth unseen by a
human eye and untrodden by a human foot. Man’s lot is to fight the
battle of light against darkness. There are still many problems to be
solved. The time for great wars of conquest has passed; the time for
conquests in the land of science, of the unknown, will last, and we
hope that the future will bring us many more conquests, and thereby
forward the interests of mankind.”

Further entries in my diary during May echo all kinds of events from abroad:

... The great sea fight which the public of the arena is so anxiously awaiting is still unfought. Epidemics are breaking out in Cuba and the Philippines, and “the red cock,” that dreadful bird, is flying from place to place....

... The craze for fleets has also reached Austria. Enormous plans for strengthening the navy have been broached. Unions of the great industries are pleading for it. The slogan “Protection for exports” is throwing a mantle of political economy around the wish to pocket great profits from manufacturing and furnishing supplies. Nevertheless Switzerland has an export trade, and without a fleet, either!

... Debates over the increased price of grain. Of course the price of bread is not raised by the American war and the closely guarded boundaries! Oh, no! Our political economists know better. The Stock Exchange is to blame for everything; and a sure means for relief of the distress has been proposed by a friend of our mayor,—hang three thousand Jews; or, still better, grind up all the Jews for artificial fertilizer. This last proposition was only meant humorously—gentlemen can also be witty....

... [The Dreyfus Affair.] The Zola case is to be brought once more into court. Esterhazy threatens to kill Picquart; the mob insults Zola—_à l’eau! à l’eau!_—and the persecuting press again resumes its system of abuse and slander.

... In England the Colonial Secretary gives utterance to a speech which has brought the whole European press into turmoil. He said that war should have been declared against Russia long before.... The speech is universally pronounced unstatesmanlike. Well, yes, the accepted course is to prepare for war, make plans, bring it on, and scheme for it,—that the diplomatists do; but to call it by name in times of peace, oh, never! The customary method demands that one must speak of the familiar “good relations.”

Chamberlain also jostles the Transvaal; he is bound that the sovereignty of England shall be recognized there. Kruger produces the text of treaties which make such a demand untenable, and suggests submitting the matter to an arbitration tribunal. Chamberlain and his organs haughtily announce that a question regarding Great Britain’s right of sovereignty shall never under any conditions be submitted to arbitration. How far below par has the splendid thought, “Right instead of Might,” everywhere fallen! The waves are hissing and roaring around it on all sides, are threatening to swallow it up; but this thought is a rock,—the billows will dash into spray and fall back, and the thought will tower on high.

Up till to-day (May 28) the two hostile fleets have not met. The great naval battle for which the whole body of spectators is waiting (glass-house owners who anxiously want to see how the stones fly) has not as yet taken place. Only a privateering game is played on the ocean. A prize court has been instituted in order to decide whether a ship is rightfully captured or not. Why not a court that shall discontinue the whole business of official piracy?

The month of June brought an unexpected bereavement into our family circle. One afternoon, I remember, my sister-in-law Lotti, the Countess Sizzo, came into our room and sank with a groan into an easy-chair. She held a great bunch of roses in her hand and had just come in from the garden, where she had got overheated in picking and watering the flowers. After a while she felt better, chatted quite gayly, and left us to go to her own room. There, as we were immediately informed, she fainted. She was put to bed. It was a slight stroke of apoplexy. A physician was summoned from Vienna. When he arrived she seemed better, and he announced that the invalid would be well in three weeks. It was about the twelfth of June, and with minds at rest we took our usual wedding anniversary excursion. When we got back our poor “Hendl”—this was my sister-in-law’s nickname, but I do not know why she was called so—had grown decidedly worse. The Vienna doctor had come again and was now ordering constant application of ice bags to her head. The sisters took turns in caring for her, and My Own also spent many hours by Lotti’s sick bed, for she seemed most grateful and happy to have her brother near her. On the eighth or tenth day the death agony began. The death rattle lasted from four o’clock in the afternoon until one at night. We were all gathered around her bed and in the next room,—the aged parents, the two sisters, Marianne and Luise, the families from Stockern, and also a cousin who had loved Lotti for years. I still see him before me as, hearing from the next room the heavy breathing, he staggered, leaned against the wall with outstretched arms like one crucified, and cried, “That is the end—the end!”

And it was the end. The pastor was summoned. Then it lasted an hour or two longer; the rattling grew more subdued, the breathing less frequent, and the last sigh was drawn gently.

The next day the body was borne into the castle chapel. Clothed in white satin, with her golden hair unbound, roses in her folded hands, a celestial smile on her lips, she looked as young and as lovely as a bride.

Although I had lived so long, it was the first time I had ever seen the dead body of one whom I had known in life. All those whom I had lost from my own circle—my mother, Elvira, Fritz Fürstenberg, the Dedopali, Mathilde—had died when I was far away, and I had always avoided looking upon the dead who were indifferent to me.

Very soon indeed I was to see more dead—among them one who was my world....

In July the news came of the appearance of a great work, in six volumes and in Russian, against war. The author was said to be a Russian state councilor, named Johann von Bloch. The book was entitled “The Future of War in its Technical, Economic, and Political Relations.” A German translation was shortly to appear. Permission to publish it had been granted only a short time before, after the author had had an audience with the Tsar.

News of hunger riots comes from Italy and Spain. For a time the danger has been acute that a United States squadron would attempt to land troops in Spain.

The Dreyfus affair takes its course: ever clearer proofs of Esterhazy’s guilt on the one hand, ever more insane adherence to _la chose jugée_ on the other.

On the thirtieth of July comes the following entry in my diary:

Bismarck dead. The question arises whether the statesman is as yet born who shall be for the thought of humanity what Bismarck has been for German thought.

And a few days later:

In the cathedral at Berlin a funeral service is held at the Emperor’s command. Court preacher Faber quotes from the favorite psalm of the departed. The text[22] runs:

Let the high praises of God be in their mouth,
And a two-edged sword in their hand;
To execute vengeance upon the nations,
And punishments upon the peoples;
To bind their kings with chains,
And their nobles with fetters of iron.

Sword and chains—well, yes, those were the Iron Chancellor’s ideals. Now he belongs to the past. The future requires other symbols,—instead of blood-dripping iron, the light-streaming diamond.

The Spanish-American War is at an end. The hostilities ceased on the fourteenth of August.

And ten days later the world was surprised by an event, the account of which I must give in a new part of these memoirs.