Stewart looked dazedly out over the lighted square.
"I can't understand it," he said, at last. "I don't understand how such things can be. They aren't possible. They're too terrible to be true. This is a civilized world—such things can never happen—humanity won't endure it!"
Bloem passed a trembling hand before his eyes, as a man awaking from a horrid dream.
"Let us hope so, at least," he said. "But I am afraid; I shake with fear! Europe is topheavy under the burden of her awful armaments; now, or at some future time, she must come tumbling down; she must—she must—" he paused, searching for a word—"she must crumble. Perhaps that time has come."
"I don't believe it," Stewart protested, stoutly. "Some day she will realize the insane folly of this armament, and it will cease."
"I wish I could believe so," said Bloem, sadly; "but you do not know, my friend, how we here in Germany, for example, are weighed down by militarism. You do not know the arrogance, the ignorance, the narrow-mindedness of the military caste. They do nothing for Germany—they add nothing to her art, her science, or her literature—they add nothing to her wealth—they destroy rather than build up—and yet it is they who rule Germany. We are a pacific people, we love our homes and a quiet life; we are not a military people, and yet every man in Germany must march to war when the word is given. We ourselves have no voice in the matter. We have only to obey."
"Obey whom?" asked Stewart.
"The Emperor," answered Bloem, bitterly. "With all our progress, my friend, with all our development in science and industry, with all our literature and art, with all our philosophy, we still live in a medieval State, ruled by a king who believes himself divinely appointed, who can do no wrong, and who, in time of war at least, has absolute power over us. And the final decision as to war or peace is wholly in his hands. Understand I do not complain of the Emperor; he has done great things for Germany; he has often cast his influence for peace. But he is surrounded by aristocrats intent only on maintaining their privileges, who are terrified by the growth of democratic ideas; who believe that the only way to checkmate democracy is by a great war. It is they who preach the doctrine of blood and iron; who hold that Cæsar is sacrosanct. The Emperor struggles against them; but some day they will prove too strong for him. Besides, he himself believes in blood and iron; he hates democracy as bitterly as anyone, for it denies the divine right of kings!" He stopped suddenly, his finger to his ear. "Listen!" he said.
Down the street, from the direction of the river, came a low, continuous murmur, as of the wind among the leaves of a forest; then, as it grew clearer, it resolved itself into the tramp, tramp of iron-shod feet. Bloem leaned far forward staring into the darkness; and suddenly, at the corner, three mounted officers appeared; then a line of soldiers wheeled into view; then another and another and another, moving as one man. The head of the column crossed the square, passed behind the church and disappeared, but still the tide poured on with slow and regular undulation, dim, mysterious, and threatening. At last the rear of the column came into view, passed, disappeared; the clatter of iron on stone softened to a shuffle, to a murmur, died away.
With a long breath, Bloem sat erect and passed his handkerchief across his shining forehead.