Lay Down Your Arms: The Autobiography of Martha von Tilling

by Bertha von Suttner

“If they had finished their arrangements in proper time....” I was disposed to say in opposition, but I stopped myself. I could not surely raise any discussion with this dying person, and still less try to unsettle her about her favourite theory of “pre-ordination”.

“I have one comfort,” she went on, “that you at least, dear Martha, remain behind happy; the cholera has spared you, and that proves clearly that it is ordained for you to grow old in company. Only try to make of your little Rudolf a good Christian and a good soldier, so that his grandfather up in heaven may still find his joy in him.”

Even on this point I preferred to keep silence, for I was firmly resolved to make no soldier of my son.

“I will pray for you incessantly, so that you may live long and happily.”

Of course I did not dwell on the inconsistency that an “inevitable destiny” could be influenced in one’s favour by incessant prayer; but I interrupted the poor creature by begging her not to exhaust herself with talking, and, in order to distract her attention, told her about our doings in Switzerland and Berlin. I also related how we met Prince Henry, and that he had caused to be erected in the park of his castle a marble monument in memory of the bride whom he had lost as soon as won.

Three days afterwards poor Aunt Mary fell asleep, resigned and calm, fortified with the sacrament for the dying, which she had herself begged for and which she received with devotion; and thus were all my relations gone from the earth, all those in whose midst I had been brought up.

In her will the entire inheritance of her little fortune was left to my son Rudolf, and as his trustee Minister “To-be-sure” was nominated.

This circumstance brought me now into frequent contact with this old friend of my father. He was also pretty nearly the only visitor at our house. The deep mourning into which the unhappy week at Grumitz had plunged me caused me as a matter of course to live in perfect retirement. Our plan of settling in Paris could not be carried out till all my affairs were put in order, and in any case several months more would be necessary for that.

Our friend the Minister, who, as I have said, formed almost the whole of our society, had in these latter days either received or obtained his discharge—I never quite fathomed the matter—but in short he had withdrawn into private life, but he was still as fond as ever of busying himself about politics. He continually contrived to turn the conversation on to this his favourite theme, and we also willingly took our share in it. As Frederick was now occupying himself so busily with the study of international law, any discussion was welcome to him which touched on this province. After dinner (Mr. “To-be-sure”—for we always between ourselves made use of this nickname for him—was always asked to dine at our house twice a week) the two gentlemen would plunge into a long political conversation; but in doing this my husband took care not to let this conversation turn into the political gossip which he so hated, but was careful to lead it to views of more general interest. In this, to be sure, Mr. “To-be-sure” could not always follow him, for in his character as an inveterate diplomatist and official he had accustomed himself to follow what is called “practical politics”—a thing which is directed merely to the private interests which lie nearest to hand and knows nothing about the theoretical questions of social science.

I sat by, busy over some needlework, and took no share in the conversation—a thing which seemed quite natural to the Minister; for politics is, as is well known, far “too high a thing” for ladies; he was sure that I was thinking all the time of other things, whilst I, on the contrary, was listening very attentively, since it was my business to impress the tenor of this dialogue on my memory, in order to transfer it afterwards into the red book. Frederick made no secret of his opinions, though he knew what a thankless part it is to set oneself to oppose what is generally received, and to defend ideas whilst they are in the stage when—even if they are not condemned as subversive—still they are derided as fantastic.