But I no longer had “The Age of Machinery” and its fate so much at heart. I had on the stocks another work, which had taken possession of me; to this all my thoughts and purposes were turned. I wanted to be of service to the Peace League, and how could I better do so than by trying to write a book which should propagate its ideas? And I could do it most effectively, I thought, in the form of a story. I should certainly find a larger public for that than for a treatise. In treatises one can only lay down abstract appeals to the reason, can philosophize, argue, and dissertate; but I wanted something else: I wanted to be able to put into my book not only what I thought but what I felt, felt passionately; I wanted to give expression to the pain which the image of war burned into my soul; I wanted to present life, palpitating life, reality, historical reality; and all this could be done only in a novel, and best in a novel written in the form of an autobiography. And so I went ahead and wrote Die Waffen nieder, “Away with Weapons.”[[20]]
It was to be the history of a young woman whose fate was closely involved with the wars fought in our own day. But in order that the historical events introduced should correspond to the reality, that the descriptions of the battle scenes should be truthful, it was requisite for me to make preliminary studies and collect material and documents.
This I did conscientiously, as well as I could. I read up in big-volumed histories, I rummaged in old newspapers and archives, to find reports of war correspondents and military surgeons; I got such acquaintances of mine as had been in the field to relate episodes of battles; and during this period of study my horror of war waxed to the most agonizing intensity. I can certify that the sufferings through which I led my heroine were actually experienced by me while I was working on it. What a woman must suffer when she knows that a beloved husband is engaged in war I could now more easily imagine, for the depth of my own conjugal love sufficed to put me mentally in such a situation. And the portrayal of a noble personality, as I attempted it in drawing the figure of my hero, was rendered the easier by the fact that my own husband sat as model for this character.
What a feeling of relief and satisfaction when I wrote the word “End” at the bottom of the second volume!
Now for placing it. I had no fears about this; many periodicals had begged me to send them a manuscript, and that great weekly which had printed my earlier works, and which had never refused anything I sent, would doubtless publish this manuscript too. I sent it in without misgivings. My astonishment was not little when the reply came:
Gracious Lady:
It is with regret that we find ourselves compelled to return to you the ... [some compliments] manuscript. Large classes of our readers would take offense at what it contains.
So I tried it on another editor: the same result. And then on others—unanimously rejected. In one of the answers (which were all more or less sugar-coated with courteous phrases) it said: “In spite of all these merits, however, it is quite out of the question to publish the novel in a military country.”
So perhaps it was better to forego the thought of serial publication and let Die Waffen nieder make its first appearance in book form; and so I sent the much-traveled package to my publisher Pierson. He hesitated a long time. The book seemed to him dangerous. At that time there had just been decided in Germany a case under the press laws, of which the consequence was to be an increase in the strictness of the censorship and a rigorous suppression of all writings that contained any sort of mutinousness against existing institutions. Pierson advised that I should give the manuscript to some experienced statesman to look over, and ask him to strike out everything that could give offense. I cried out in indignation at such a demand. A work in which I had written off from my soul all the rage and all the pain that the hallowed “existing institution” of war had begotten in me (and assuredly in thousands of others beside me, only that they dared not express it)—to get somebody to lop and trim in diplomatic-opportunist fashion such a work, which, whatever its worth or worthlessness, had at least the one merit of being hotly felt and unreservedly sincere,—to remodel it by the rules of that most contemptible of all arts, the art of suiting everybody,—no, sooner into the stove with it. Then I should alter the title at least, was the publisher’s next suggestion. No! The title embraces in three words the whole aim of the book. Of the title, too, not a syllable is to be changed. After this ultimatum Pierson gave way, and Die Waffen nieder made its appearance.
The publisher had no cause to regret his audacity: to-day the novel is circulated by hundreds of thousands and has been translated into a dozen languages. From this quite unexpected success I draw only one conclusion: the idea which permeates the book was to the taste of the public. In spite of the editors’ fears that the warlike German public would take no interest in the idea of peace, it was shown that this idea is cherished in wide circles—even in military circles; for from these too there came to me many tokens of appreciation. When a musical note sounds strongly in a room, this does not demonstrate so much the fullness of the tone as the favorable acoustic properties of the room. The spirit that usually obtains in newspaper offices, in theatrical directorates (as a generality, in managements of all sorts), is usually behind the times with regard to the wants of those masses who are in each case concerned: judgments are formed there according to the state of public opinion as it made itself felt ten or twenty years ago; but meanwhile public opinion itself, in its uninterrupted transformation, has progressed to another stage.