We had scarcely entered the drawing-room (my husband accompanied me) when Count Muravieff came in by another door. He was of medium height, wore a gray mustache, and had a round, kindly face. In spite of a certain coldness and dignity he appeared sympathetic. Like all Russian grands seigneurs, he showed the most gracious courtesy and spoke faultless French. It gave him infinite pleasure, he said as he greeted me, to make the personal acquaintance of so zealous a champion of the idea for which the Tsar and his government had now enlisted as apostles,—an idea which he confidently hoped would gradually conquer the world.
On my return home, after a conversation which lasted almost an hour, I noted down the following utterances of the count in my diary:
“It is not to be expected that the end will be reached in a short time. Think only of the Geneva Convention; that also took years before it became the comprehensive organization that it is to-day. Only one step must be made at a time. For the present, the cessation of armaments is the first stage. It is not to be expected that the states will consent to complete disarmament, or even to a diminution of the contingent; but if we could reach a common halt in the ‘race to ruin,’ that would be a favorable beginning. Henceforth the endeavor must be made to put universal peace on a safe basis, for a war in the future is surely a thing of horror and of ruin,—really an impossible thing; to take care of the present huge armies in the field is impracticable. The first result of a war waged between the great powers will be starvation....”
I detected the echo of Bloch’s doctrine in those last words, and that justifies the assumption that the work of the Russian councilor had helped to give the impulse to the drawing up of the rescript. Only Bloch had added to the word “starvation” two others, “revolution” and “anarchy.”
From what Muravieff told us of his journey through Europe, it was evident that his presence and intervention had as a result the blunting of the edge of the Fashoda conflict. From his conferences with the different sovereigns he had evidently become convinced that there was no inclination at present to adopt any measures toward the reduction of armies, or to accept the principle that war and the military establishment should be done away with, and that, in face of this difficulty, a basis must be found on which the first step,—stopping the increase in armaments,—might be taken in common. “It cannot be expected,” he said, “that at this very first conference the great final object will be attained.”
“It would be sufficient,” I remarked, “if the powers would make an agreement not to wage any war in the next twenty, or even in the next ten, years.”
“Twenty years—ten years! Vous allez trop vite, madame. We could be satisfied if such an agreement were entered into for three years. But I believe even that will not be demanded. First and foremost there must be a pledge not to increase the contingents or make any new purchases of instruments of destruction. The constant demands for more money always mean a conflict between the ministers of war and the ministers of finance.”
“They ought to appoint ministers of peace,” said my husband, interrupting.
“Ministers of peace?” he repeated thoughtfully. “Well, yes, courts of arbitration, national tribunals—” And he began to talk with great practical knowledge about all the postulates of the peace movement.
“In my youth,” he told us, “when the movement was in its infancy,—I was then an attaché in Stockholm,—I enrolled myself as a member of the League.”