Lay Down Your Arms: The Autobiography of Martha von Tilling

by Bertha von Suttner

We were living in the Grand Hotel on the Boulevard des Capucines. It was occupied chiefly by English people and Americans. We met few of our own people—the Austrians are not fond of travel. Besides, we sought for no acquaintance. I had not put off my mourning, and we cherished no wish for company. Of course I had my son Rudolf with me. He was now eight years old, and a wonderfully clever little fellow. We had hired a young Englishman, who performed the duties partly of tutor, partly of nursery governess to the boy. In our long visits to the exhibition-palace, as well as our numerous excursions into the neighbourhood, we could not, of course, always take Rudi with us; and besides, the time was also now come for him to begin to learn.

New—new—new—to me, was the whole of this world here open to us. All the men who had come together from the four corners of the earth—the richest and most distinguished from every quarter—these fêtes, this expenditure, this turmoil. I was literally deafened by it. But, interesting and full of enjoyment as it was to me to receive into my mind these surprising and overpowering impressions, yet, when alone, I wished myself out of all this hubbub again, and in some remote peaceful spot, where I could live in quiet retirement along with Frederick and my child—nay, my children, for I was looking forward confidently to the joy of motherhood again. It is wonderful, indeed—and I find it often noted in the red volumes—how in retirement the longing rises for events and exploits, for experiences and enjoyments; and again, in the midst of the latter, for solitude and tranquillity.

We kept ourselves apart from the great world. We had merely paid a visit to the house of our ambassador, Metternich, and had let it be known there that on account of our domestic afflictions we did not desire any entrée into Court circles or society. On the other hand, we sought to make the acquaintance of a few prominent political and literary personages, partly from self-interest and for our mental improvement, partly with a view to “the service” into which Frederick had entered. In spite of the slight hopes he had of any perceptible result from his efforts, he never allowed it to escape him, and he put himself into communication with numerous influential persons, from whom he might gain assistance in his career, or at least information as to its position. We had at that time commenced a little book of our own—we called it The Protocol of Peace—into which all news, notices, articles, and so forth, bearing on the subject, were to be sedulously entered. The history also of the idea of Peace, as far as we could gain a knowledge of it, was incorporated in the Protocol; and along with this the expressions of various philosophers, poets, priests, and authors on the subject of “Peace and War”. It had soon grown into an imposing little volume; and in course of time—for I have carried on this composition down to the present day—it has grown into several little volumes. If one were to compare it with the libraries which are filled with works on strategical subjects, with the untold thousands of volumes containing histories of wars, studies on war, and glorification of war, with the text-books of military science and military tactics, and guides for the instruction of recruits and artillery, with the chronicles of battles and annals of états-majors, soldiers’ ballads and war songs: well, then, I allow that the comparison with these one or two poor little volumes of peace-literature might humiliate one, on the assumption that one might measure the power and value—especially the future value—of a thing by its size. But if one reflects that a single grain of seed hides in itself the virtual power of causing the growth of an entire forest, which will displace whole masses of weeds, though spread over acres of country, and further reflects that an idea is in the mental kingdom what a seed is in the vegetable, then one need not be anxious about the future of an idea, merely because the history of its development may be as yet contained in one little manuscript.

I will here produce a few extracts taken from our Protocol of Peace for the year 1867. On the first page was placed a compressed historical survey.

Four hundred years before Christ, Aristophanes wrote a comedy—“Peace”—into which a humanitarian tendency enters.

The Greek philosophy—afterwards transplanted to Rome—admitted a striving after “the unity of humanity” from Socrates, who called himself a “citizen of the world,” down to Terence, to whom “nothing human was foreign,” and Cicero, who represents the “love of the human race” as the highest grade of perfection.

In the first century of our era appears Virgil with his famous fourth eclogue which prophesies universal peace to the world under the mythological image of the return of the golden age.

In the middle ages, the Popes often strove, though in vain, to interpose as arbitrators between states.

In the fifteenth century the idea occurred to a king of forming a “league of peace”. This was Geo. Podiebrad of Bohemia, who wished to put an end to the wars of the emperor and the Pope; for this purpose he betook himself to King Louis XI. of France, who however did not fall in with the proposal.

At the close of the sixteenth century, King Henry IV. of France conceived the plan of a European confederation of states. After he had delivered his country from the horrors of the religious war, he wished to see toleration and peace assured for all future time. He wished to see the sixteen states of which Europe then consisted (for Russia and Turkey were reckoned parts of Asia) combined into a Bund. Each of these sixteen states was to have the right of sending two members to a “European Council,” and to this council, consisting thus of thirty-two members, the task was to be entrusted of maintaining the religious peace, and avoiding all international conflicts. And then if every state would bind itself to submit to the decisions of the council, every element of European wars would be thereby removed. The king communicated this plan to his Minister, Sully, who heartily accepted it and straightway commenced negotiations with the other states. Elizabeth of England, the Pope, Holland, and several others were actually won over; only the House of Austria would have offered resistance, because territorial concessions might have been demanded from her, which she would not have granted. A campaign would have been necessary to overcome this resistance. France would have contributed the main army, and she would have renounced beforehand any extension of territory; the sole aim of the campaign and the sole condition of peace imposed on the House of Austria would have been their entrance into the league of states. All the preparations were already completed, and Henry IV. meant to take the command of the army in person, when on May 13, 1610, he fell under the dagger of an insane monk.