It rejoices me that the thoughts that I wrote down meet with your approval. The optimism which I display is, however, rather a tactical maneuver than actual conviction. The great powers at The Hague were less than lukewarm, and I am not sure that their assent to The Hague conventions—especially in the case of Germany and Austria-Hungary—will be given. The rulers do not want the thing to succeed; they do not want war, indeed, but every institution in which they can detect any limitation of their absolute power (to do either good or ill) is instinctively repugnant to them.
Meantime, we in Hungary—where, after the beneficent parliamentary revolution of this winter, we are perhaps on the way to recuperation (but I repeat the word “perhaps”)—will do our best to bring our monarchy, through constitutional methods of pressure, into the right course. My position for this end has become somewhat better, and I will certainly make the most of it. I shall also endeavor to form the press league mentioned in my article. It is intended to form a connecting link between the Interparliamentary Union and the people. As for the rest, only a kind Providence can make anything good out of such wretched material.
With sincere respect,
Your wholly devoted
Albert Apponyi
As I turn over the leaves of my diary for that time, I find that three different objects filled my soul, each with different moods. There was my great life interest, my “one thing essential,” which just now through the Hague Conference had arrived at such a mighty stage of development. It was almost as if the goal, which only a few years before was so far away, had now come so near and was so distinct that soon all would perforce take note of it and therefore hasten to it. I saw clearly what I myself had to do: it was to give as many of my fellow-countrymen as possible a knowledge of the results of the Conference, and I devoted myself diligently to this task, writing numerous newspaper articles and my book on the Hague Conference.
I must confess I could not take an unqualified joy in doing this, for I had been a witness to the opposition, open and secret, which had been directed at The Hague against the realization of the “warless age.” But all the more strenuous was the obligation to put to the service of the cause all the new facts and supports which the present state of the movement afforded its defenders.
Something else was rising full of threat on the horizon. The war party in England seemed to be getting the upper hand; the Outlander crisis in the Transvaal was growing more and more acute. What if it broke into war? That would discredit the peace work that had been begun and would decidedly put it back. Can it be that between the two forces of Might and Right, Might is again to carry the day?
Another object of my thought and anxiety was found in our domestic circumstances. The losses in the quarries, in the failure of crops, and in unfortunate speculations had increased to such an extent that it was now almost impossible to keep our beloved Harmannsdorf above water much longer. And what then? What a grief for the poor old mother, for the sisters, and also for My Own, if the home nest were to be sacrificed!
The third field of my feelings and moods lay within our married happiness. In this was my peculiar inalienable home, my refuge for all possible conditions of life,—something beyond Harmannsdorf and the Transvaal, beyond everything, come what might,—and so the leaves of my diary are full not only of political and domestic records of all kinds, but also of memoranda of our gay little jokes, our confidential, enjoyable walks, our uplifting reading, our hours of music together, and our evening games of chess. To us personally nothing could happen. We had each other,—that was everything.