“Oh, I hope that I shall be able to change your mind.”
Visitors taking their leave and the arrival of others, whose names were announced, rescued Franka. She was obliged to get up and abandon her place between the two ladies in order to devote herself to the departing and to the new-coming guests. The Baroness Rinski put her documents back into the bag: “Come, Albertine, we will call on your niece at another time, when she is alone. Let us say good-bye now.”
Franka made no effort to detain them and accompanied them to the door. “Well, I shall look for the lists.”
In the mean time the dramatic author had concluded his interesting anecdotes about the brilliant British author, and the conversation had become general, and was turning on the most unfortunate of all subjects: Austrian politics; the German-Bohemian linguistic disputes, Hungarian confusions and disorders, trade compacts and frontier obstructions, new tariffs and increased prices, and all in a tone of complaint and lamentation, such as is generally used when great calamities or great crimes are discussed, as if the whole activity of the municipality, of the Parliament, and of the State consisted in accomplishing as much harm and causing as much discontent as possible. Franka said to herself: “If Cousin Coriolan were present, he would know of two simple means of relief: to expel the Jews and establish absolutism.”
“Yes, you see, gentlemen and ladies,” said a little stout man with shining eyeglasses and equally shining forehead which extended over to the back of his neck, “this is the way things stand....”
The others listened excitedly, for the speaker was a highly respected publicist, who, as was well known, enjoyed the confidence of influential political circles—in other words, of the ministers of internal and external affairs.
“We have reached a great crisis in the history of our country. Everything which you have been lamenting and criticizing is in reality in a very wretched condition. The dissensions among the nationalities, the passion for independence on the part of the Transleithan population, the dangers from the Irredentists, the activities of the Socialists, the quarrel over confession, and God knows what else—are things which make it seem as if we were a thoroughly disunited and crumbling state; and so many elements unfavorable to us or watching for our inheritance may be supposed to be all ready to do us harm; and yet it has been already proved by the crisis in the Balkans that we are nevertheless a proud, brave, first-class power; proud of our strength and brave to the last degree; and that all petty internal quarrels will disappear when necessity arises to affirm ourselves against outside encroachments. Thus we have compelled respect ... with our constituted power we have proved that we can act, that we can take hold together, that we will not allow ourselves to be moved by international tribunals and conferences, because we are ready to defend our rights,—or, if you please, our ‘bon plaisir’—with guns and ships. In presence of this resolute attitude, all the intrigues weaving against us went to smash. It came near war, I know that; the men on the General Staff were at fever heat to strike ... the population was enthusiastic, ready for every sacrifice ... and because our ally showed himself resolved to stand by us to the ultimate consequences, but especially because we were so firm and energetic, we won—and that, too, without drawing the sword. Now it is our duty to solidify this position which we have acquired as a first-class power, if possible to make it still stronger, still more unassailable—we must build dreadnoughts. Perhaps this sounds harsh at a time when all sorts of peace fads are taking possession of people, but of course only among those who understand nothing of politics and its modernest phases, among those who do not know that this phase is imperialism. Unscrupulousness is the key to a strong policy. Self-consciousness and the development of force—that is necessary if one is not to be crushed, if one is to have a voice in the council of the nations.... But I beg the pardon of the ladies, and particularly of our gracious hostess, for having touched on a theme in which fortunately ladies are not interested. There is scarcely anything more repulsive than women who meddle with politics.”
Franka felt a sense of suffocation in her throat and a bitter taste in her mouth. The tone and the spirit of the political speech to which she had just listened were, indeed, detestable to her. She might have contradicted what he said; for her father had been living at the time of that crisis to which the imperialistic publicist referred, and he had closely followed the course of events and talked with her about them. She knew that the populace, during the hasty and secret mobilization, was the opposite of enthusiastic; she knew that the war so eagerly desired in high military circles was not allowed to break out for the reason that the Emperor Franz Josef opposed it, that peace was maintained—not from fear of the united bayonets of the central states, but because the other powers desired to avoid a European war and by continual yielding removed all the difficulties that pointed to an ultimatum. Franka might have said all this, but she controlled herself and replied:—
“You need not ask pardon, Doctor; perfect freedom of thought and of expression reigns here.”
At this point some of those present took their departure, and after a short time the rest followed, and Franka was left alone with her companion. She felt depressed—a sense of loneliness and isolation and unprotectedness overtook her, which is especially sad when it comes over one not in actual solitude, but as the aftermath of social intercourse.