Our officials believed without any kind of real investigation that they must applaud that manifesto with drums and trumpets, solely for the reason that it had the mighty Tsar as its originator; and they kept up this policy of groveling when there was no more possible doubt that the originator of this manifesto was not the Tsar, but those international peace enthusiasts of the stamp of Suttner and her allies, whom hitherto no one has taken seriously. Our Emperor has found the only correct answer to the Tsar’s proposal; we can wait until his answer is taken to heart in the quarter for which it is intended, and then the Utopian idea of an international conference for disarmament, which is of no earthly use, will disappear finally from the programme.—Staatsbürgerzeitung, September 9.

At the banquet of the Westphalian Provincial Diet, on the eighth of September, Emperor William said:

“Peace will never be better assured than by a thoroughly drilled army ready for instant service, such as, in detachments, we at the present time have had opportunity to admire and to rejoice over. God grant us that it may be ever within our power to conquer with this always keen and well-cared-for weapon. Then the Westphalian peasant may go to sleep in peace.”

LVI
EVENTS AND MEETINGS

The Empress Elisabeth · The last days of my father-in-law · Egidy on the assassination of the Empress · Session of the delegates in Turin · Egidy evening in Vienna · Reminiscence of the campaign of 1866 · William T. Stead in Vienna on his pilgrimage · His portrait · His audience with Nicholas II · His meeting with Bloch · My interview with Muravieff · Conclusion of Spanish-American treaty of peace · Reply of the chairman of the Spanish Commission to a memorial from Émile Arnaud · Still the Dreyfus affair · General Türr with King Humbert · Egidy dead · Letter from his son

The Empress Elisabeth assassinated! An infamous dagger thrust into a quiet, proud, unworldly, and generous heart. Once again mourning and terror flashed through the whole civilized world with lightning speed. More and more it is shown that this civilized world has only one soul. The memory of this princess, so opulent in sufferings, so endowed with beauty, will go down in history as a radiant and poetic vision. And that vision will be haloed with a tragic charm—so shockingly sad though it is, so hateful the deed that was responsible for it—from the fact that she did not die in her bed of illness or old age, but fell under the deadly blow of a fanatic madman, just as she was setting out on a new voyage into the splendor of nature which she loved so well. Out of the gray monotony of the commonplace thou standest forth for all time,—a figure in shining black,—Elisabeth of Austria!

My father-in-law, then seventy-nine years of age, had been for some time, especially since Lotti’s death, very much shattered in health. He no longer took his daily walks, often dropped off to sleep, sometimes began to wander in his speech,—in short, his demise was evidently near at hand. Nevertheless he had his secretary and faithful attendant—my husband’s former tutor—read the newspaper to him every day. When the news of the assassination of the Empress arrived we made haste to warn Herr Wiesner (that was the secretary’s name, though at home we always called him “Dominus”) not to read to the old gentleman the passages regarding the tragedy. Attached with the deepest devotion to the imperial house, Old Austrian to his finger tips, an enthusiastic admirer of the beautiful Empress,—the news of her death would have terribly shocked him, and we desired to spare him that.

Only a few days after this event he died in My Own’s arms. At five o’clock one morning we were summoned to his bedside. The nurse thought that he was dying, but he soon rallied and lay peacefully. About nine o’clock—meantime the doctor had been called and all the members of the family stood about the bed—he sat up and took my husband’s hand.

“Artur,” he said, “you know I have always been an industrious worker—I must write a few letters to-day; ... there the Dominus stands waiting for me to dictate—but, Artur, I should like to rest to-day—I may, may I not?—just a little sleep—yes?”

My Own laid him gently back on the pillow. “Dear father—sleep!”