Your wholly devoted
Dr. Haase
Vienna, October 9, 1891
The days before the opening of our Congress were devoted to preparatory labors and to confidential communications. The French, English, and Italians wanted to bring before the Congress a discussion of the Alsace-Lorraine affair, which had been tabooed by the Interparliamentarians; but we Austrians succeeded in persuading our foreign colleagues not to touch upon this ticklish theme. It would make the Germans too shy to be handled; they would be afraid of being regarded at home as guilty of high treason should they permit the result of the Frankfurt treaty to be treated as a “question” in their presence. The peace movement was as yet a very tender plant; it must be kept away from any over-chilly draft. In the confidential session there was utterance of various views, but not the slightest discord. All alike felt themselves comrades, fellow-combatants for a great object which promised a blessing equally to all nations. The two great peace veterans Frédéric Passy and Hodgson Pratt had the gift of spreading around them an atmosphere of confidence and devotion; it was felt that the fundamental trait in their nature was greatness of soul. And Ruggero Bonghi made a third. The chairmanship of the Congress was put into his hands.
We also met the Grelix couple—that is, Grete and Felix Moscheles. Grete looked as if she were Felix’s daughter, a dainty little Sèvres figure; blond hair, done up with the touch of genius and framing her face as with a mist of gold; a delicately cut and amusing visage—amusing because it was animated by mischievous dimples and sparkling eyes, and because the mouth, opening a trifle awry in speaking, disclosed among her white teeth an especially comical, conical eye-tooth. At the same time this little woman with the scintillating wit always wore, in opulent variety, toilets in the height of style and yet arranged to suit her own artistic taste—Grete is a painter. Always costly ornaments suited to her gown; but an enthusiastic socialist—the two things are quite compatible, it seems.
Baron Pirquet, who had taken part in the Conference as a member of the Reichsrat, now came into the Congress in his quality as a director of the Austrian Peace Society. This man of peace had, like General Türr, begun his career in the military service. The son of an Austrian general of Belgian extraction, he had been in the campaign of 1859 against Sardinia as a lieutenant of dragoons; and then for many long years was connected with the diplomatic service. Very distinguished in his appearance, with a classically handsome head and most delightful manners—such was the man outwardly. The inner man I learned to value in after years as a true friend and as a zealous worker in the cause of peace. He remained at the head of the Austrian group of the Interparliamentary Union until he was taken ill; and he prepared the way for, and brilliantly organized, the Conference of 1903, which was held in Vienna.
Great and deep were the impressions which I brought away from those meetings in Rome. In later times I have been present at many other Peace Congresses which were not less magnificent; but that one was the first I had attended, and we know how everything which is experienced for the first time is felt as a tenfold intensified experience.
First the opening session on the Capitol. The very approach of the delegates was spectacular. When they got out of their carriages on the square before the Capitol, a military band played the march from Lohengrin, and a double lane of guards in gala uniform stood on the terrace, on the steps, and before the entrance of the great hall where the meeting was to be held. In the hall itself, the walls of which were decorated with the flags of all the nations represented, stood the president’s table, in the background on a platform; on the right and left, in seats arranged like those in an amphitheater, a numerous public; and in front of these seats, on each side, a row of curule chairs reserved for the leaders of the various delegations (just imagine with what pride I took my place there: sella curulis—once the seat of honor for the kings, and later for the magistrates); at the directors’ table Minister-President Biancheri, who delivered the address of welcome. After he had finished, the delegates of the peace societies were to speak, one for each country. They were called up in alphabetical order: “Angleterre” was the first. Hodgson Pratt left his curule chair and mounted the platform. When he had ended his words, “Autriche” was called, and, as I was the presiding officer of the Austrian group, I as their spokesman had now to repair to the chairman’s table.
Stage fright ... that was a condition from which I had suffered distressfully all my life. When I was to sing at the Duprez recitals, or later at concerts, or even before two or three expert critics, the demon trac would always, even after long familiarity with the experience, clutch me by the throat and deprive me of half my powers amid unspeakable moral anguish. And here, for the first time in my life, at a world’s congress, in the presence of statesmen, in such a solemn assembly, in such a place—the Capitol!—I was to deliver a public address, the words of which would be taken down stenographically and sent off by telegraph by the newspaper correspondents of all countries. One would have supposed that the aforesaid demon must now pounce upon me and throttle me lamentably. Nothing of the sort. Quite calmly, unconcernedly, in glad exaltation, I said what I had to say, and a storm of applause followed my words. This is the way I explain the matter: stage fright is an accompaniment of vanity, a trembling question addressed to Fate: How shall I please? with the whole accent on the word “I.” Here at the Capitol, among the servants and interpreters of a world cause, I was an incidental! I had something to say which seemed to me important, and which I knew would be a welcome and joyous message to the like-minded persons who surrounded me. Who was going to say it, and what personal impression my insignificant person would produce, was a thought that did not come to my consciousness at all; and so I spoke without any uneasiness, with the assurance of an ambassador who has definite and good tidings to communicate. I could tell them that in a country of Central Europe where no Peace Society existed till six weeks ago, to-day, at the first summons of a powerless woman who had no other claim than having written an honest book, two thousand people had already banded together that they might be represented in Rome; and if in a few days two thousand fellow-combatants had offered themselves, then at the next Congress there would be twenty thousand members of the Austrian group to be represented. In conclusion I laid on the chairman’s table some of the most enthusiastic letters of approval, signed by illustrious names—Tolstoi, Haeckel, the Duke of Oldenburg, and others.
I was mistaken in my prophecy that during the following year the membership of the Union would be increased tenfold. The New does not march forward so rapidly. When it first makes its appearance it powerfully attracts all who were already quietly cherishing similar ideas. The rest of the world now gives ear in surprise, but means to wait and see if the New is successful; and if that does not come to pass immediately, then they turn away again and decide that the matter has no vitality. Meantime it germinates and sprouts and ramifies quietly until it reveals itself once more to the contemporary world with a new impulse.