“That such an unwonted instrument of will must work imperfectly for a time is obvious,” remarked a member of the German Reichstag, Dr. Barth, in speaking of the Conference, “and it takes just about the intellectual superiority of Frau Wilhelmine Buchholz and her (very widely scattered) kin to see nothing more behind this natural imperfection. On the other hand, whoever has any understanding for the imponderable things in the life of nations, and can separate the appearance from the actuality, will recognize in this as yet clumsily working Conference a very notable stir of the humanitarian sense of solidarity.”
It is to be desired that Congress and Conference may in future be held simultaneously, that is to say in alternate sessions, so that the participants of the one may be able to attend the other; for the representatives who meet in the Interparliamentary Conference are for the most part also members of the peace societies of their respective countries; their voices should therefore not be wanting in the deliberations of the Congress. And especially should all share unitedly in the festivities, the receptions, the gala performances and excursions which the city where the Congress is held offers to its peace guests. Too much is demanded of the people when they are expected to divide their enthusiasm between two successive occasions dedicated to the same object. Two opening ceremonies on the Capitol, two gala representations of Amico Fritz, two special trains to Naples and Pompeii, two illuminations of the Forum and the Colosseum in the course of a fortnight; it was a serious tax. And yet the Roman Committee, the authorities, and the generous-hearted southern populace managed to entertain in equally brilliant fashion first the Parliamentarians and immediately afterwards the delegates of the Peace Unions.
The two bodies are really at bottom only two different forms of the same movement, closely connected, the one an outgrowth of the other; the upper and lower house of the same parliament, so to speak. The unconstrained intercourse in an exalted frame of mind, plus the joyous acclamations of the populace, the waving of banners, the bands of music,—all this brings on fraternization and mutual understanding more, almost, than the deliberative work that precedes it. Besides, what can be produced by the congresses does not consist in effective paragraphs of law; it is only a fundamental thought that is to be championed—a great, shining, heart-warming fundamental thought—the principle of the solidarity of nations, the fellowship[[34]] of all the civilized peoples. Of such a fellowship void of enmity we surely have a joyous foretaste when we—the representatives of seventeen different nations—banquet around a flower-decorated table (the word PAX in white camellias on a green background) or take a jolly excursion in a special train furnished by the government, are greeted on our arrival by a crowd shouting evviva and received with official manifestations of respect, and take our places in the waiting landaus or banner-hung boats—and all this under the gracious ensign of harmony; they were intoxicating moments full of blessed inspiration. We forgot that what we had come to battle for there is not yet attained, that the world outside is still in the sign of Hate; at all events the world that we were just then in the midst of was unanimously inspired by the same faith, the same ideal. Yes, they were—I had almost said—“never-to-be-forgotten” hours!
There such images and impressions were imprinted on our minds as could be received only in such circumstances. It is one thing for a solitary tourist to wander through the streets of Pompeii, another thing for a happy pair on their wedding journey; still another for the assembled participants in a Peace Congress. All thoughts converge to the same paramount center. The view of Vesuvius, for example, whose summit was enveloped in clouds of smoke, could only on this occasion have suggested to a traveling politician the following observation which I heard from the lips of our Austrian delegate, Baron von Pirquet:
“How the old volcano hides his face in a veil of fog—apparently he is ashamed, in presence of us friends of peace, of the destruction which he has poured out upon the poor city and its wretched inhabitants. And yet what is the petty mischief that he has on his conscience compared to the devastation and scenes of horror that were spread over this very same region by the martial legions!... How infinitesimal are the crimes of such a mountain against mankind in comparison with the crimes against mankind which men perpetrate; it is for us to be ashamed.”
And when we all stood in the great arena listening to the explanations of the professor who was detailed by the government to guide us, that the gladiatorial contests were counted “the indispensable” for the Romans, we could not but say to each other, “And yet people have learned to dispense with them and to abhor them.” So if to-day many still count war indispensable, what does that prove? Or, again, many of us might make this observation: at bottom it was an innocent gratification to look on and see how a few dozen wrestlers—criminals at that, condemned to death—stretch each other on the sand or are killed by wild beasts, compared to that other custom of drilling millions of innocent men for the giant arena in which they are to be mangled and dashed to pieces not by lions and tigers but by artificial murdermachines....
In one of the little Pompeian houses an ancient inscription was still perceptible on the wall; our professor of archæology read it off:
A WOE TO HIM WHO CANNOT LOVE
A DOUBLE WOE TO HIM WHO WOULD PROHIBIT LOVE.
Then the thought thrilled through me: