Bertha von Suttner

The indefinite approximation of two loving hearts.—A serious illness.—Progress of Conrad’s suit to my sister.—Aunt Mary’s letter.—First rumours of war with Prussia.—Sequel of the Schleswig-Holstein war.—The pour-parlers and negotiations leading to the Austro-Prussian war.—Arguments with my father and aunt about war.—New-year’s day, 1866.—Conrad and Lilly engaged.—My father’s toast.—War visibly approaching.—Hopes and fears.—Recriminations and reciprocal provocations.—Prussia occupies Holstein.—The army of the Bund mobilised.—War declared.—Manifestoes of the sovereigns and generals.

“BROUGHT nearer—ever nearer! I have found out that this capacity of approximation of loving hearts belongs to the class of things of which divisibility is an example—things which have no limits. One might have believed that a particle might have become so small already that nothing smaller could be conceived, and yet it is susceptible of division into two halves; and so one might think that two hearts might be already so fused together that a more intimate union could not be possible, and yet some external influence acts, and the atoms—the two hearts—embrace and inter-penetrate each other still more firmly, and closer—ever closer.”

This was the effect of Lori’s sufficiently tasteless April fooling; and such was the effect of another external event which happened soon after; viz., a violent nervous fever which attacked me and laid me on a sick bed for six weeks. It was indeed a sad event, and yet how fruitful it was in happy recollections for me, and how powerful in its influence on the process sketched above—I mean the “bringing nearer and nearer” of two so closely attached hearts; whether it was the fear of losing me which made me still dearer to my husband, or whether it was that his love had merely become more noticeable to me by his behaviour as sick nurse—in short, during this nervous fever and after it I still more and still more surely felt that I was beloved, than before.

I was also truly afraid of dying—first, because it would have given me horrible pain to lose a life which seemed to me so rich in beauty and happiness, and to leave my dear ones: Frederick with whom I wished so much to grow to old age, Rudolf whom I wished so much to train up to manhood; and secondly, too, not in respect to myself but with regard to Frederick, the thought of death was horrible to me because I knew as well as one can know anything that the pain of laying me in the grave would be to the bereaved one well-nigh intolerable. No! No! People who are happy, and people who are beloved by those they hold dear, cannot feel any contempt for Death. The chief ingredient in the latter is contempt for life. On my sick bed, where sickness buzzed around me with its deadly power, as the warrior on the battlefield hears the buzz of the bullets around him, I was able to enter perfectly into the feelings of those soldiers who love their lives and who know that their death will plunge hearts they love into despair.

“There is but one thing,” said Frederick in reply to me when I communicated this thought to him, “in which the soldier has the advantage of the fever-patient—the consciousness of duty fulfilled. Still I agree with you in this: to die with indifference, to die with joy, as we are on all hands told to do, is what no happy man can do—only those could who were exposed in former times to all the ills of life, or those who have nothing left to lose in a peaceful existence, or such as can only free their brethren from shame and an intolerable yoke by their own death!”

When the danger was over how I enjoyed my recovery—my new birth! That was a feast for both of us, like the happiness of our re-union after the Schleswig-Holstein war, but still different. Then the joy came with a single stroke, and here little by little, and, besides, since that time we were closer to each other—ever closer.

My father had visited me daily during my illness, and shown much concern; but for all that I knew that he would not have taken my death to heart overwhelmingly. He was much more attached to his two younger daughters than to me, and the dearest of all to him was Otto. I had become to some extent estranged from him by my two marriages, and particularly by the second, and perhaps also by my totally different way of thinking. When I was completely recovered, which was in the middle of June, he removed to Grumitz, and gave me a warm invitation to come to him there with my little Rudolf. But I preferred, since Frederick was prevented from leaving the city by his duties, to take my country holiday quite close to Vienna, where my husband could visit me daily, and so I hired a summer lodging at Hietzing.

My sisters, still under Aunt Mary’s protection, travelled to Marienbad. In her last letter from Prague, Lilly wrote to me as follows, amongst other matters: “I must confess to you that Cousin Conrad begins to be by no means displeasing to me. During several cotillons I was in the humour to have said ‘Yes’ if he had put the important question. But he omitted to take the decisive step at the right moment. When it was settled that we were to leave the city he did, it is true, make me an offer again, but then I had again an impulse to refuse. I have become so used to do this to poor Conrad that when he used the accustomed form to me: ‘Will you not now become my wife, Lilly?’ my tongue replied quite automatically: ‘I have no idea of doing so’. But this time I added: ‘Ask me again in six months’. That means that I am going to examine my heart during the summer. If I long after him in his absence, if the thought of him (which now follows me almost uninterruptedly day and night) does not quit me when I am at Marienbad; if neither there nor in the ensuing shooting season any other man succeeds in making an impression on me, why, then, the perseverance of my obstinate cousin will have prevailed.”

Aunt Mary wrote to me about the same time. (This happens to be the only letter of hers which I have kept.)

“My dear child,—This has been a fatiguing winter campaign! I shall be not a little glad when Rosa and Lilly have found partners. Found they have, plenty of them; for, as you know, each has refused in the course of the carnival half-a-dozen offers, not counting the perennial Conrad. Now the same drudgery is to begin again at Marienbad. I should like to have gone to Grumitz to spend some time, above all things, or to you; and instead of this I am obliged to play over again the tiresome and thankless part of chaperon to these pleasure-seeking girls.

“I am very glad to hear that you are quite well again. Now that the danger is over, I may say that we were in great trouble—your husband used for some time to write us such despairing letters—every moment he was in fear of seeing you die. But let us thank God that it was not destined so to be. The novena which I kept at the Ursulines for your recovery also, perhaps, helped to preserve you. The Almighty designed to spare you for your little Rudi. Kiss the dear little boy and tell him to keep hard at his learning. I send him with this a couple of little books, The Pious Child and his Guardian Angel, a charming story, and Our Country’s Heroes, a collection of war-sketches for boys. A taste for such things cannot be instilled too early into the young. Your brother Otto, for instance, was not five years old when I used to tell him about Alexander the Great, and CÆsar, and other famous conquerors; and it is a real pleasure to see what a spirit he has now for everything heroic.

“I have heard that you prefer to remain for the summer in the neighbourhood of Vienna, instead of going to Grumitz. You are quite wrong there. The air of Grumitz would suit you much better than that dusty Hietzing; and poor papa will be quite bored all alone. Probably it is on your husband’s account that you will not go away; but it seems to me that the duty of a daughter also should not be quite neglected. Tilling, too, could surely come to Grumitz for a day sometimes. To be so very much together is not altogether good for married folks—trust to my experience of life. I have noticed that the best marriages are those in which the couple are not always sitting prosing together, but allow each other a little latitude. Now, good-bye; spare yourself—so as not to get a relapse—and think again about Hietzing. May heaven preserve you and your Rudi. This is the constant prayer of your affectionate

“Aunt Mary.

“P.S.—Your husband has, I know, relatives in Prussia (happily he is not so arrogant as his countrymen), so ask him what they are saying there about the political situation. It is surely very grave.”

This letter of my aunt made me reflect again that there was a “political situation”. During all this time I had not troubled myself about anything of the sort. I had, it is true, read a good deal both before and after my illness, as usual, daily and weekly papers, reviews and books, but the leading articles in the journals remained unnoticed, since I no longer debated with myself the anxious question: “War or no war?”; the chatter about home and foreign politics possessed no interest for me. The postscript of the letter quoted above looked serious, and it occurred to me to look up what I had neglected and inform myself about our present position.

“What does Aunt Mary mean by her expression ‘threatening’? you least arrogant among the Prussians,” I asked my husband, as I gave him the letter to read. “Is there then a political situation at the present time?”

“There is one, as there is weather, always—more’s the pity—and one is also as changeable and treacherous as the other.”

“Well, tell me then. Are they talking still about these complicated duchies? Have they not done with them yet?”

“They are talking about them more than ever. They have not done with them in the least. The Schleswig-Holsteiners have now a great fancy to get free of the Prussians—the ‘arrogant’ Prussians we are called in the latest form of speech. ‘Sooner Danish than Prussian,’ say they, repeating a signal given them by the central states. Do you know that the hackneyed ‘Meerumschlungen’ song is now sung with this variation:—

“‘Schleswig-Holstein stammverwandt Schmeisst die Preussen aus dem Land’?”[7]

“And what has happened to the Augustenburg? Have they got him then? O do not tell me, Frederick, do not tell me that they have not got him! It was on account of this, the only rightful heir, for whom the poor countries oppressed by the Danes were longing so, that the whole war had to be waged which might have cost me you! Leave me then at least the consolation that this indispensable Augustenburg has been reinstated in his rights, and is reigning over the undivided duchies. I take my stand on this word ‘undivided’. It is an old historical right, which has been assured to them for several centuries, and the foundation of which I had trouble enough in investigating.”

“It is going badly with your historical rights, my poor Martha,” said Frederick laughing. “No one says anything at all about Augustenburg now, except himself in his protests and manifestoes.”

From this time I began again to look into the political complications, and found out as follows: Absolutely nothing had really been settled or recognised, in spite of the Protocol signed at the time of the Peace of Vienna. Since that, the Schleswig-Holstein question had been brought into all sorts of stages, but now was “debated” more than ever. The Augustenburg and the Oldenburg had made haste, since the abdication which had taken place on the part of the GlÜcksburg, to make reclamation before the assembly of the Bund. And Lauenburg was eagerly desirous to be incorporated in the kingdom of Prussia. No one knows exactly what the allies were going to try to do with the conquered provinces. Each of these two powers attributed to the other a design of overreaching the other.

“What is this Prussia up to now?” Such was the question, indicating mischief, which Austria, the central states, and the duchies kept always asking. Napoleon III. advised Prussia to annex the duchies up to North Schleswig, where they speak Danish, but Prussia was not thinking of that for the moment. At last, on February 22, 1865, her claims were formulated to this effect: Prussian troops to remain in the countries; the latter to put their defensive forces under Prussian leadership, with the exception of a contingent of troops of the Bund. The harbour of Kiel to be occupied. Posts and telegraphs to be Prussian; and the duchies to be compelled to join the Zollverein.

Of these demands our Minister, Mensdorf-Pouilly, complained I do not know why. And still further (again, I have no idea why—presumably out of envy, that distinctive feature in the conduct of “external relations”), the central states complained also. They vehemently demanded that the Augustenburg should with all speed be at once inducted into the government of the duchies. Austria, however, had something to say also, and what she said was this. She treated the Augustenburg as non-existent, was willing to consent to the possession by Prussia of the Kiel harbour, but stood out against the right of recruiting and pressing sailors.

And so the quarrel went on without cessation. Prussia declared that her demands were made only in the interests of Germany; that she did not wish for annexation; Augustenburg might enter on his inheritance if he accepted the demands laid down; but if these necessary and moderate claims were not granted, then (with voice raised to the pitch of threatening) perhaps she would be compelled to demand more. Against this menacing voice other voices were raised in scorn, in mockery, in provocation. In the central states and in Austria public opinion became daily more and more embittered against Prussia and especially against Bismarck. On June 27 the central states accepted a motion to request information from the Great Powers; but, as giving information is not the habit of diplomacy but keeping everything snug and secret, the Great Powers negotiated in private. King William travelled to Gastein, the Emperor Francis Joseph to Ischl, Count Blome flitted hither and thither between them, and an agreement was arrived at on certain points: the occupation was to be half Austrian and half Prussian. Lauenburg, according to her own wish, was to be united to Prussia. For this Austria was to receive as compensation two and a half millions of thalers. This last result was not calculated to inspire me with patriotic joy. What good could this insignificant sum do to the thirty-six millions of Austrians? even if it was to be divided among them, which was not the case. Would it replace the hundreds of thousands which, for example, I had lost with Schmidt & Sons? Or still more the losses of those who were mourning for their dear ones? What pleased me was a treaty which was signed at Gastein on August 14. “Treaty,” the word sounds so promising of peace. It was not till afterwards that I learned that international treaties very often only serve, by means of opportune violations of them, to introduce what is called a casus belli. Then it is only necessary for one party to charge the other with “a breach of treaty,” and immediately the swords spring out of their sheaths with all the appearance of a defence of violated rights.

Still the Gastein treaty brought me repose. The quarrel seemed to be laid aside. General Gablenz—handsome Gablenz—for whom all we ladies had a slight penchant, was Stadtholder in Holstein, Manteuffel in Schleswig. I had at last to give up my favourite security, enacted in the year 1460, that the countries should remain together for ever “undivided”. As far as concerned my Augustenburg, for whose rights I had with so much trouble got up some warmth, it happened that this prince went on one occasion into his country and received the homage of his adherents, on which Manteuffel signified to him that if he ever ventured to come into those parts again without permission, he would unquestionably have him arrested. Whoever cannot see in that a good joke of Muse Clio’s can have no comprehension of the comicalities of history.

In spite of the Gastein treaty, the situation would not calm down, and as I now, being alarmed by Aunt Mary’s letter and the explanations of it which I received, resumed the regular perusal of the political leading articles and collected intelligence from all sides about the opinions which gained currency, I was in a position to follow once more with accuracy the phases of the varying strife. That the latter would lead to a war, I did not apprehend. Such legal questions would have to be brought to an issue in the legal way, i.e., by weighing the claim of right on the two sides, and by a sentence consequent on this. All these consultative meetings of ministers and assemblies, these negotiating statesmen and monarchs in friendly intercourse, would surely settle the debated points which were in themselves so trivial. It was with more curiosity than anxiety that I followed the course of this incident, the different stages of which I find noted in my red volumes.

An impudence—an assumption—such were the terms applied to this speech delivered at Berlin, and “the arrogance of Prussia” became a catchword. “We must protect ourselves against it,” was accepted as a dogma on all hands. “King William seems disposed to play the part of a German Victor Emmanuel.” “Austria’s secret motive is to reconquer Silesia,” “Prussia is paying court to France,” “Austria is paying court to France,” et patati, et patatÀ, as the French say. Tritsch tratsch is the German name for it, and it does not go on more busily in the coffee-house coteries of country towns than between the Cabinets of Great Powers.

The winter brought my whole family back to Vienna. Rosa and Lilly had amused themselves very much in the Bohemian watering-places, but neither was engaged. Conrad’s affairs were in an excellent way. In the shooting season he was to come to Grumitz, and, although at this crisis the decisive word had not yet been spoken, still both were inwardly convinced that they would end in being united.

Neither at this autumn shooting season did I make my appearance, in spite of my father’s pressing persuasions. Frederick could not get any leave, and to separate from him was to exist in such sorrow as I would not expose myself to without necessity. A second reason for not passing any length of time at my father’s was that I did not wish to expose my little Rudolf to his grandfather’s influence, whose effort always was to inspire the child with military tastes. The inclination for this calling, to which I was thoroughly averse as a profession for my son, had been awakened in him without this. Probably it was in his blood. The scion of a long race of soldiers must, by nature, bring warlike instincts into the world with him. In the works on natural science, whose study we were now pursuing more eagerly than ever, I had learned about the power of heredity, of the existence of so-called “congenital instincts,” which are nothing but the impulse to put in action the customs handed down from our ancestors.

On the boy’s birthday his grandfather was careful to bring him again a sabre.

“But you know, father,” I remonstrated, “that my son will certainly not become a soldier, and I must really beg you seriously——”

“What, do you want to tie him to his mother’s apron-strings? I hope you will not succeed there. Good soldiers’ blood is no liar. Let the fellow only grow up, and he will soon choose his profession for himself, ... and there is no finer one than that which you want to forbid him.”

“Martha is frightened,” said Aunt Mary, who was present at this conversation, “of exposing her only son to danger, but she forgets that if one is destined to die, that fate will overtake one in one’s bed as surely as in battle——”

“Then, suppose 100,000 men to have fallen in a war, they would all have been killed in peace, too?”

Aunt Mary was not at a loss for an answer. “It was the destiny of these 100,000 to die in war.”

“But if men had the sense not to begin any war,” I suggested.

“Oh! but that is an impossibility,” cried my father, and then the conversation turned again into a controversy such as my father and I used often to wage, and always on the same lines. On the one side, the same assertions and principles; on the other, the same counter assertions and opposite principles. There is nothing to which the fable of the hydra is so applicable as to some standing difference of opinion. No sooner have you cut one head off the argument, and settled yourself to send the second the same way, when, lo! the first has grown again. Thus my father had one or two favourite positions in favour of war which nothing could uproot:—

1. Wars are ordained by God Himself—the Lord of Hosts—see the Holy Scriptures.

2. There have always been wars, and consequently there always will be wars.

3. Mankind, without this occasional decimation, would increase at too great a rate.

4. Continual peace relaxes, effeminates, produces—like stagnant water—corruption; especially the degeneration of morals.

5. Wars are the best means for putting in practice self-sacrifice, heroism—in short, the firmer elements of the character.

6. Men will always contend. Perfect agreement in all their views is impossible; divergent interests must be always impinging on each other, consequently everlasting peace is a contradiction in terms.

None of these positions—in particular none of the “consequentlies” contained in them—could be kept standing if stoutly attacked. But each of them served the defender as a bulwark, if compelled to let another of them fall, and while the new bulwark was being reduced to ruins he had been setting the old one up again. For example, if the champion of war, driven into a corner, has to confess that peace is more worthy of humanity, more rich in blessing, more favourable to culture, than war, he says: “Oh, yes; war is an evil, but it is inevitable”; and then follow Nos. 1 and 2. Then if one shows that it could be avoided and how—by alliances of states, arbitration courts and so forth—then comes the reply: “Oh, yes; war could be avoided, but it ought not”; and then come in Nos. 4 and 5. Then if the advocate of peace upsets these objections, and goes on to prove that on the contrary “war hardens men and dehumanises them”. “Oh, yes; I allow that, but—” No. 3. This argument, too, is overthrown, for it is admitted that Nature herself will see that “the trees do not grow up to the sky,” and wants no assistance from man to that end. This, again, turns out not to be the result which the possessor of force has in view in making war. Granted, but No. 1. And so there is no end to the debate. The advocate of war is always in the right; his reasoning moves in a circle, where you may always follow, but can never catch him. “War is a horrible evil, but it must exist. I grant it is not a necessity, but it is a great good.” This want of consecutiveness, of logical honesty, all those people incur who defend a cause on principles which are not axiomatic, or else with no principles, merely from instinct, and to that end will make use of all such phrases or commonplaces as may have come to their ears, and which have obtained currency, in the maintenance of that cause. That these arguments do not proceed from the same points of view, that accordingly they not only do not support each other, but even do directly neutralise each other, makes no matter to them. It is not because this or that reasoning has originated from their own reflections, or is in harmony with their own convictions, that it comes into their train of argument; they merely use to bolster the latter up, without any selection, the conclusions which others have thought out.

All this might not have been so clear to me at that time, when I was disputing with my father on the topic of peace and war; it was not till later on that I had accustomed myself to follow with attention the movements of the intellect in my own and other people’s heads. I only recollect that I always came away from these discussions in the highest degree fatigued and excited, and I now see that this fatigue proceeded from this “pursuing in a circle” which my father’s way of argument necessitated. The conclusion was, however, every time a compassionate shrug of the shoulders on his part, with the words: “You do not understand that”; words which, as he was treating of military matters, sounded certainly very well deserved in the mouth of an old general as addressed to a young lady.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

New-Year’s Day, 1866. We were all sitting, with our punch and New-Year’s cakes, assembled round my father’s table when the first hour of this eventful year struck. It was a cheerful feast. We celebrated an engagement with the end of the old year—Conrad and Lilly’s. As the hand pointed to twelve, and a feu de joie was fired in the street, my enterprising cousin threw his arm round the young lady, who was sitting beside him, pressed, to the surprise of us all, a kiss on her lips, and then asked:—

“Will you take me in ’66?”

“Yes, I will,” she replied, “and I love you, Conrad.”

Then followed on all hands a clinking of glasses, embracing, handshaking, felicitations, and blessings without end.

“The health of the lovers,” “Long live Conrad and Lilly,” “God bless your union, my children,” “Heart-felt congratulations, cousin,” “Happiness to you, sister,” and so on, and so on. A joyful and peaceful frame of mind took possession of us all. Perhaps not quite free of envy in all, for as Death represents the most mournful and most lamentable of events, so love—the love which is sanctioned by the life-giving union—is the most joyful and the most enviable. I indeed could detect no trace of envy in myself, for the happiness which had only just become a promise to the new bride[8] had long since been my actual and firm possession; it was rather a feeling of doubt that crept over me. “Such perfect bliss as was prepared for me by Frederick can hardly fall to poor Lilly’s lot. Conrad is, it is true, a very amiable man, but there is but one Frederick.”

My father brought to an end the tumult of congratulations by tapping on his glass with the signet ring on his little finger and rising to speak. He spoke somewhat to this effect: “My dear children and friends, the year ’66 begins well. To me it is bringing in its very first hour the fulfilment of a cherished wish, for I have long looked forward to having Conrad for my son-in-law. Let us hope that this prosperous year may also bring our Rosa under the yoke, and to you, Martha and Tilling, a visit from the stork. To you, Doctor Bresser, may it bring many patients, though this as far as I see hardly goes with the many wishes for good health that we have all been exchanging; and to you, dear Mary, may it present (that is, provided that it has been destined for you, for I know and honour your fatalism) a pitched battle or a plenary indulgence, or whatever it is that you are wishing for. You, my Otto, may it endow with eminent ‘distinction’ in your final examination, and with all possible soldierly virtues and acquirements, so that you may one day become the ornament of the army and the pride of your old father. And to the latter also I must try and get something good to come; and since he is one who knows no higher wish than for the good and the glory of Austria, I hope the coming year may bring some great conquest to the country—Lombardy, or—who knows?—the province of Silesia. One cannot tell to what all this is preliminary, but it is by no means impossible that we may take back again from the insolent Prussians that country which was stolen from the great Maria Theresa.”

I recollect that the close of my father’s toast “threw a chill” on us. Lombardy and Silesia!—truly none of us felt any pressing need for them. And the underlying wish for “war,” i.e., fresh lamentation, more death pangs, that surely did not accord with the tender joyfulness which this hour, made sacred by a new bond of love, had awakened in our hearts. I even permitted myself to reply:—

“No, dear father; to-day is the New Year for the Italians and Prussians also, so we will not wish any destruction for them. May all men in the year ’66 and in the years that are to follow grow more united and more happy!”

My father shrugged his shoulders. “You enthusiast!” said he pityingly.

“Not at all,” said Frederick in my defence. “The wish expressed by Martha has no taint of enthusiasm, for its fulfilment is assured to us by science. Better and more united and more happy are men constantly becoming, from the beginning of all things to the present day, but so imperceptibly, so slowly that a little span of time, like a year, may not show any visible progress.”

“If you believe so firmly in everlasting progress,” remarked my father, “why are you so often complaining about reaction—about relapse into barbarism?”

“Because”—Frederick took out a pencil and drew a spiral on a sheet of paper—“because the march of civilisation is something like this. Does not this line, in spite of its occasional twist backwards, always move steadily onwards? The year which is commencing may, it is true, represent a twist, especially if, as seems likely, another war is going to be waged. Anything of that sort pushes culture a long way back in every aspect, material as well as moral.”

“You are not talking much like a soldier, my dear Tilling.”

“I am talking, my dear father-in-law, of a general proposition. My view about this may be true or false; whether it is soldierly or not is another question. At any rate truth can only be in any matter one way. If a thing is red, should one man call it blue on principle, because he wears a blue uniform; and black, if he wears a black cowl?”

“A what?” My father was in the habit, if any discussion did not go quite as he liked, to affect a little difficulty of hearing. To reply to such a “what” by repeating the whole sentence was what few people had the patience to do, and the best way was to give up the argument.

Afterwards, the same night, when we had got home, I put my husband under examination.

“What was that you said to my father? That there was every appearance that there would be another fight this year? I will not have you go into another war; I will not have it.”

“What is the use, dear Martha, of this passionate ‘I will not’? You would certainly be the first to withdraw it in face of the facts. By how much more visibly war stands at the gate, by so much the more impossible would it be for me to apply for my discharge. Immediately after Schleswig-Holstein it might have been feasible.”

“Ah, that unlucky Schmidt & Sons!”

“But now when new clouds are gathering——”

“Then you really believe that——”

“I believe that these clouds will disperse again. The two great powers will not tear each other to pieces for those northern countries. But now that it seems threatening again, retirement would have a cowardly look. You must see that too?”

I was obliged to be guided by this reasoning. But I clung to the hopeful phrase: “These clouds will disperse again”.

I now followed with anxiety the development of political events, and the opinions and prophecies about them that were current in the newspapers and public speeches. “Be prepared!” “Be prepared!” was the cry now. “Prussia is silently preparing.” “Austria is silently preparing.” “The Prussians assert that we are preparing, and it is not true, it is they who are preparing.” “You lie.” “No, it is not true that we are preparing.” “If they prepare, we must prepare also. If we leave off our preparations, who knows if they will?” And so the note of preparation sounded in my ear in all possible variations.

“But then what is all this clang of arms for, if one is not to take them in hand?” I asked, to which my father answered in the old phrase:—

“Si vis pacem, para bellum; we, that is, are only preparing out of precaution”.

“And the other side?”

“With a view of attacking us.”

“But they also are saying that their action is only a precaution against our attack.”

“That is malice.”

“And they say that we are malicious.”

“Oh, they say that only as a pretext, to be better able to make their preparations.”

So again an endless circle, a serpent with his tail in his mouth, whose upper and lower end is a double dishonesty. It is only by producing an impression on an enemy, who desires war, that the method of fighting him by preparations can be effective on the side of peace, but two equal powers, both desirous of peace, cannot possibly act on that system, unless each is firmly persuaded that the other is deceiving him with hollow phrases. And this persuasion becomes the more firm, the more one knows that one is oneself hiding the same views as one charges on one’s adversary under similar phrases. It is not only the augurs, the diplomatists also know well enough about each other, what each has in his mind behind the public ceremonies and modes of speech. The preparation for war lasted on both sides during the early months of the year. On March 12 my father burst into my room radiant with joy.

“Hurrah!” he shouted. “Good news.”

“Disarmament?” I asked delighted.

“What for? On the contrary, this is the good news: Yesterday, a great Council of War was held. It is really splendid what an armed power we are masters of! The arrogant Prussians had best take care. We are prepared any hour to take the field with 800,000 men! And Benedek, our best strategist, is to be commander-in-chief with unlimited power. I say this to you, my child, in confidence. Silesia is ours, whenever we choose.”

“Oh God! Oh God!” I groaned, “must this scourge come on us once more? Who—who can be so devoid of conscience as from ambition, from greed of territory——”

“Calm yourself, we are not so ambitious, nor are we greedy of territory. What we desire (that is to say not I exactly, for to me it would be quite the right thing to get our own Silesia back again), but what the Government desire is to keep peace: that they have asserted often enough, and the enormous strength of our active army, as it comes out in the communication yesterday made to the Council of War by the emperor, will inspire all other powers with due respect. Prussia, to begin with, will certainly sing small, and leave off trying to speak in a commanding tone. Thank God, we shall have our say in Schleswig-Holstein too, and I am sure we shall never endure that the other great power should by too great an extension of its dominion conquer for itself a preponderance in Germany. That is a matter which touches our honour, our ‘prestige’ as the French call it, perhaps our existence, but you cannot understand it. The whole affair is a contest for hegemony, the miserable Schleswig is the last thing in it, but this splendid Council of War has shown plainly which takes the first place and which is to dictate conditions to the other, the successors of the little Electors of Brandenburg or those of the long line of Romano-German Emperors! I consider peace as certain. But if the others are going on still to behave themselves in an impudent and arrogant way, and so to make war inevitable, then our victory is assured, and with it conquests which are absolutely incalculable. It were to be wished that it would break out——”

“Oh yes! and you do wish it too, father, and the whole Council of War seems to be with you! Then, I should like it better if you said it out plainly! Only do not let us have this falsehood—this assurance to the people and the friends of peace that all this purchasing of weapons and demands for war-credits are only for the purpose of your beloved peace. If you are already showing your teeth and closing your fists, do not whisper soft words all the while. If you are trembling with impatience to draw the sword, do not make believe that it is only from precaution that you are laying your hand on the hilt.”

So I went on talking for a while with trembling voice and rising passion, while my father was too much taken aback to answer a word, and at last I ended by bursting into tears.

Now followed a time of fluctuating hopes and fears. To-day it was “Peace is secure,” to-morrow “War inevitable”. Most persons were of the latter view. Not so much because the situation pointed to a bloody arbitrament, but on this account, that if once the word “war” has been pronounced there may be a good deal of debating one way and the other, but experience shows that the end always is war. The little invisible egg which contains the casus belli is brooded over so long that at last the monster creeps out of it.

Daily did I note in the red volumes the phases of the varying strife, and thus I knew at that time, and still know to-day, how the eventful “war of ’66” was prepared and how it broke out. Without these entries I might easily find myself in the same ignorance about this precise piece of history as most men are who live where history is being played out. The great majority of the people usually know nothing about why or how a war exists. They only see it coming for a certain time, and then it is there. And when it is there people make no more inquiries about the petty interests and differences of opinion which brought it about, but are then only busied with the mighty events to which its progress gives birth. And when it is over at last, what one remembers chiefly are the terrors and losses we have personally experienced, the conquests and triumphs that have marked its course, but on the political grounds for its origin no one wastes a thought. In the many works of history which appear after every campaign under the title of “The war of the year so and so historically and strategically described,” or something to that effect, all the old motives for the strife and all the tactical movements of the campaign in question are recounted, and any one who takes an interest in such things can pick out the explanation from the literature in which it is wrapped up, but in the remembrance of the people such histories certainly do not live. Even of the feelings of hatred and enthusiasm, of embitterment and hope of victory, with which the whole population greets the commencement of the war—feelings expressed in the common saying: “This is a very popular war”—even of these feelings all is wiped out after a year or two.

On March 24 Prussia issued a circular note in which she complained of the threatening preparations of Austria. Then why do we not disarm, if we do not wish to threaten? Why, how can we? For on March 28 you see it is enacted on the side of Prussia that the fortresses in Silesia and two corps d’armÉe are to be put on a war footing.

March 31. Thank God! Austria declares that all the rumours in circulation about her secret preparations are false. It has never even entered into her head to attack Prussia. And on this she founds the demand that Prussia shall suspend her measures of warlike preparation. Prussia replies that she has not the remotest idea of attacking Austria, but that it has become compulsory, in consequence of the late preparations, to be prepared for attack.

And so the responsive song of the two voices goes on without pause:—

The newspapers give the orchestral accompaniments to this duet. The leading articles revel in what is called conjectural politics. It was all poking up, baiting, bragging, slandering. Historical works on the Seven Years’ War were published with the avowed intention of renewing the old enmity.

Meanwhile the exchange of notes went on. In that of April 7 Austria again officially denied her preparations, but laid stress on an oral expression said to have been used by Bismarck to Count Carolyi that “it would be easy to disregard the Gastein treaty”. Must, then, the destiny of nations depend on anything that two noble diplomatists may have said to one another, in a more or less good humour, about treaties? And what kind of treaties can those be after all, whose contents remain dependent on the good-will of the contracting parties, and are not assured by any higher Court of Arbitration?

Prussia answered this note on April 15, that the charge was untrue; but she was obliged to persist in asserting that Austria had really made preparations on the frontier; and on this she founded the justification of her own preparations. If Austria were in earnest about not attacking she would first disarm.

To this the Vienna Cabinet replied: “We will disarm on the 25th of this month, if Prussia promises to do the same on the following day”.

Prussia declared herself ready.

What a breathing again! So then, in spite of all threatening signs, peace will be preserved! I noted this change joyfully in the red book.

But prematurely. New complications arose. Austria declared that she could only disarm in the north, but not in the south at the same time, since she was threatened in that quarter by Italy.

To which Prussia replied: “If Austria does not disarm altogether, we shall also remain in a state of preparation”.

Now Italy expressed herself to the effect that it had never, in the faintest way, entered into her mind to attack Austria, but that after this last declaration she was under the necessity of at least making counter preparations.

And so this charming song of defence was now sung by three voices.

I allowed myself to be again in a measure lulled to sleep by this melody. After such loud and repeated protestations, neither surely can attack, and unless one of them attack, there can be no war. The principle that it is only defensive wars that can be justified has now taken such firm possession of the public conscience that surely no Government can any more undertake an invasion of a neighbouring country; and if none but mere defensive troops are ranged opposite each other, however threatening their armies are, however determined they may be to defend themselves to the knife, still they cannot actually break the peace.

What a delusion! Beside “the offensive” there are, I find, many other ways of commencing hostilities. There are demands and interventions regarding some small third country, and which have to be resisted as unfair; there are old treaties which are declared to be violated, and for the upholding of which recourse must be had to arms; and, finally, there is “the European equilibrium,” which would be endangered by the acquisition of power by one state or the other. And so energetic steps are demanded to prevent such acquisition. It is not avowed; but one of the most violent impulses to fight is the hate which has long been stirred up, and which at last presses on to the death-dealing combat, as ardently and with the same natural force as long-cherished love to the life-giving embrace.

Events now began to tread on each other’s heels. Austria declared for the Augustenburg so decisively that Prussia characterised it as a breach of the Gastein treaty, and discovered in that a plainly hostile intention; the consequence of which was that the preparations on both sides were carried to their highest point. And now Saxony also began to do the same. The excitement was universal, and became more violent every day. “War in sight, war in sight,” was the announcement of every newspaper and every speech. I felt as if I were at sea and a storm approaching.

The most hated and most reviled man in Europe then was called Bismarck. On May 7 an attempt was made to assassinate him. Did Blind, the perpetrator of the deed, wish to avert this storm? And would he have averted it?

I received letters from Prussia from Aunt Cornelia, from which it seemed that in that country the war was anything but desired. While with us there prevailed universal enthusiasm for the idea of a war with Prussia, and we looked with pride on our “million of picked soldiers,” inward contention reigned there. Bismarck was no less reviled and slandered in his own country than in ours; the report went that the Landwehr would refuse to go out to the “fraternal war,” and it was said that Queen Augusta threw herself at her husband’s feet to pray for peace. Oh! how glad should I have been to kneel at her side, and how gladly would I have hurried off all my sister-women—yes, all—to do the same. It is this, and this alone, that should be the effort of all women: “Peace, peace. Lay down your arms.”

If our beautiful empress had also thrown herself at her husband’s feet, and with tears and lifted hands had begged for disarmament—who knows? Perhaps she did—perhaps the emperor himself also wished to preserve peace, but the pressure proceeding from the councils, and the speakers, and the shouting and the writing was such as no one man—even on the throne—could stand against.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On June 1 Prussia declared to the assembly of the Bund that she would at once disarm if Austria and Saxony set the example. Against that came a direct accusation from Vienna that Prussia had for a long time been planning, in concert with Italy, an attack on Austria, and on that account the latter now desired to call the whole Bund to arms, in order to request it to undertake the decision of the case of the duchies. She desired at the same time to call the Estates of Holstein to co-operate.

Against this declaration Prussia lodged a protest—inasmuch as it overturned the Gastein treaty. That being so the position reverted to the Vienna treaty, i.e., to the common condominium. The consequence was that Prussia had also the right to occupy Holstein—as on her side Austria was permitted to occupy Schleswig. And the Prussians at once moved into Holstein. Gablenz withdrew without sword drawn, but under protest.

Bismarck had previously said in a circular letter: “We have found no disposition at all to meet us at Vienna. On the contrary, expressions have fallen from Austrian statesmen and councillors of the emperor which have reached the ear of the king from authentic sources (tritsch tratsch), and which prove that the ministers wish for war at any price (to wish for public slaughter, what a fearful accusation!), partly because they hope for success in the field, partly to get free of internal difficulties, and to eke out their own shattered finances by contributions from Prussia (statecraft).”

The Press was now completely warlike, and of course (as the patriotic custom is) sure of victory. The possibility of defeat must be entirely left out of view by every loyal subject whom his prince summons to the battle. Numerous leading articles pictured Benedek’s entry into Berlin, and also the sack of that city by the Croats. Some even recommended to raze the capital of Prussia to the ground. “Sack,” “raze to the ground,” “ride over spurs in blood”—these are expressions which do not indeed any longer express the popular conception in modern times of what is right; but they have, since the days of our school-studies of the ancient histories of war, been always clinging to people; and they have been so often recited in the histories of battles learned by heart, so often written down in our essays in German, that if a man has to write an article on the subject of war in a newspaper, such expressions drop from his pen spontaneously. Contempt for the enemy cannot be too strongly expressed—for the Prussian troops the Vienna newspapers had no other term than “the tailors”. Adjutant-General Count GrÜnne expressed himself thus: “We shall chase off these Prussians with a flea in their ear”. That is the kind of way to make a war quite “popular”. That sort of thing strengthens the national confidence.

June 11. Austria proposes that the Bund shall take action against Prussia’s helping herself in Holstein, and mobilise the whole army of the Bund. On June 14 this proposition is put to the vote, and by nine votes to six—accepted! Oh! those three votes! How much grief and how many shrieks of pain have made groaning echo to those three voices!

It is done—the ambassadors have received their dismissal. On the 16th the Bund requested Austria and Bavaria to go to the assistance of the Hanoverians and Saxons, who were already attacked by Prussia.

On the 18th the Prussian war manifesto appeared, and at the same time the manifesto of the Emperor of Austria to his people, and the proclamation of Benedek to his troops. On the 22nd Prince Frederick Charles published his orders to his army, and thus commenced the war. I copied the four original documents at the time. Here they are:—

King William says:—

Austria will not forget that her princes were once the rulers of Germany, and will not regard modern Prussia as a co-partner, but only as a hostile rival. Prussia, it is held, must be opposed in all her efforts, because whatever profits Prussia injures Austria. The old unblessed jealousy has again burst out into a fierce flame. Prussia is to be weakened, destroyed, disinherited. With her no treaties are to be any longer in force. Wherever we look in Germany we are surrounded by foes, and their war-cry is “Humiliation for Prussia”. Up to the last moment I have sought for and kept open the way to a friendly solution. Austria refused.