The next day the body was borne into the castle chapel. Clothed in white satin, with her golden hair unbound, roses in her folded hands, a celestial smile on her lips, she looked as young and as lovely as a bride.
Although I had lived so long, it was the first time I had ever seen the dead body of one whom I had known in life. All those whom I had lost from my own circle—my mother, Elvira, Fritz Fürstenberg, the Dedopali, Mathilde—had died when I was far away, and I had always avoided looking upon the dead who were indifferent to me.
Very soon indeed I was to see more dead—among them one who was my world....
In July the news came of the appearance of a great work, in six volumes and in Russian, against war. The author was said to be a Russian state councilor, named Johann von Bloch. The book was entitled “The Future of War in its Technical, Economic, and Political Relations.” A German translation was shortly to appear. Permission to publish it had been granted only a short time before, after the author had had an audience with the Tsar.
News of hunger riots comes from Italy and Spain. For a time the danger has been acute that a United States squadron would attempt to land troops in Spain.
The Dreyfus affair takes its course: ever clearer proofs of Esterhazy’s guilt on the one hand, ever more insane adherence to la chose jugée on the other.
On the thirtieth of July comes the following entry in my diary:
Bismarck dead. The question arises whether the statesman is as yet born who shall be for the thought of humanity what Bismarck has been for German thought.
And a few days later:
In the cathedral at Berlin a funeral service is held at the Emperor’s command. Court preacher Faber quotes from the favorite psalm of the departed. The text[[22]] runs: