i • 
 

 SIX MONTHS 
 
 March— August 
 1914 
 
 CLARE BENEDICT 
 

 First Edition Sept. 12, 1914 
 
 Second Edition Sept. 26, 1914 
 
 Third Edition Oct. 24, 1914 
 
 Fourth Edition Nov. 14, 1914 
 
 Fifth Edition Dec. 12, 1914 
 
 Sixth Edition April 1, 1915 
 
 Seventh Edition April 15, 1915 
 
 Copyright 
 
 1914 
 
 Clare Benedict 
 
 
 ^' 
 
<y- 
 
 SIX iMONTHS 
 
 TJ AVING been travellers— not to say explor- 
 . 6^s— all our lives, my mother and I decided to 
 visit Dalmatia, Montenegro and Bosnia during the 
 months of March and April. We were— as was 
 our custom at that season— passing a few weeks 
 in Venice before proceeding northward. We oc- 
 cupied a splendid fourth-floor room at the Hotel 
 de 1 'Europe— the very room in which Verdi con- 
 ceived and wrote the fourth act of Rigoletto. The 
 sight of the raging sea in the basin of St. Mark is 
 said to have inspired the Italian composer, just as 
 the calmer aspects of the same incomparable scene 
 must have aided, if not inspired, the great German 
 to write the unsurpassed love music of Tristan 
 and Isolde in a second-floor apartment of this 
 same hotel. 
 
 We, too, witnessed a storm from Verdi's win- 
 dows, which command an uninterrupted pros- 
 pect extending from the Public Gardens to the 
 Salute. During the storm, which lasted for three 
 days, we sat in our wonderful sky parlour and 
 read The Count of Monte-Cristo, talking be- 
 tweenwhiles of Dalmatia and planning for it with 
 our good friends. Cook and Son. Finally, in spite 
 of considerable discouragement, great difficulties 
 and some misgivings, we embarked on the tour 
 which was to begin at Venice and end at Vienna, 
 
and to include glimpses of Istria, Dalmatia, 
 Montenegro, Bosnia, Herzegovina and Hungary. 
 
 Venice, which had been adorable in December 
 and quite possible in the Carnival, was now re- 
 assuming her tourist guise and was fast becom- 
 ing unrecognizable; we were glad to leave her in 
 the hope of finding her again in Dalmatia. 
 
 Our first day's journey was uneventful as was 
 our night at Trieste. We recalled a former stop 
 there years before when we had been fascinated 
 to watch the strange foreign craft loading and 
 unloading in front of our windows, a long, narrow 
 board invariably serving as gangway, up and 
 down which sailors, merchants and dogs continu- 
 ally passed and repassed. Today, things are less 
 picturesque, though the harbour with its encirc- 
 ling heights is always impressive. 
 
 The journey to Pola was extremely striking, 
 the railway line traversed a bleak Karst region, 
 the inhabitants of which look almost as wild as 
 their own fantastic rocks. At one station we saw 
 some young men under arrest. "Notorious ban- 
 dits" our guard informed us. This was our first 
 taste of what was to come. 
 
 At Pola we revelled in the great Roman re- 
 mains — the Arena, the various gates, the beautiful 
 Temple of Augustus; we admired also the fine 
 modern Austrian naval station ; the monument to 
 the Emperor Maximilian of Mexico had a pathetic 
 interest of its own. 
 
An Austrian Lloyd steamer carried us from 
 Pola to Cattaro, the southernmost point of our 
 sea journey — a wonderful trip, which ought to 
 have been all accomplished by daylight, though 
 the moon made the evening quite magical. We 
 stayed on deck until past midnight, watching the 
 steamer thread her way carefully through the nar- 
 row channel, between fairy-like islands and dim, 
 exquisite coast — it was a dream of enchantment. 
 
 In the morning, we noticed in the bow of the 
 boat a motley crowd of passengers, who must have 
 joined the ship during the night. Some were 
 Montenegrins in national dress, others were Al- 
 banians and Dalmatians, likewise gayly attired, 
 and all wearing the characteristic caps of their 
 respective countries. We made several stops, de- 
 livering immense numbers of parcels — boatloads 
 full of what seemed to be small paper packages. 
 Sometimes the steamer would go up to the dock, 
 sometimes small boats would be sent out — and 
 everywhere there was the same brilliancy of col- 
 our, everywhere the same incredible wealth of 
 racial types and national costumes. 
 
 When we entered the double-starred Bocche di 
 Cattaro, the climax of our voyage was un- 
 doubtedly reached. Our sail through the three 
 magnificent basins of the bay was one long vision 
 of beauty, which could scarcely be equalled even 
 in Norway. 
 
 On reaching Cattaro, we found our carriage 
 
waiting for us, and after a hurried lunclieon at the 
 quaint little hotel Stadt Gratz, we proceeded at 
 once up the endless zigzags of the famous military 
 road to Cetinje. 
 
 This drive, which is one of the finest — if not the 
 finest — mountain drive in Europe, excited in us 
 continual, delighted wonder — this was really worth 
 while, worth all the hardships that we might 
 have to endure. For the first third of the way, we 
 could see the exquisite bay of Cattaro, further and 
 further beneath us, like a Norwegian fjord in 
 miniature. When we passed the last Austrian 
 fort, the officers came out and saluted us courte- 
 ously. For an instant we felt like turning back, 
 it seemed as if we were bidding farewell to civil- 
 ization. 
 
 The road became rougher, the rocks more bleak, 
 the landscape, utterly barren and tragically un- 
 friendly. There was no vegetation anywhere — 
 nothing but grey rocks rising up on all sides in 
 apparent inaccessibility. Strange figures sud- 
 denly appeared from foot-paths or rather trails — 
 they were all going in our direction — we learned 
 afterward that they were bound for Cetinje to at- 
 tend the weekly market there on the following 
 morning. The men were tall and splendidly pro- 
 portioned, the young women were extraordinarily 
 handsome ; both men and women, indeed, had the 
 loveliest eyes and the sweetest mouths — anglic 
 
faces, which did not at all harmonize with their 
 surroundings. Every one wore the picturesque 
 national dress, and this, doubtless, heightened 
 their good looks ; still, for sheer beauty the Monte- 
 negrins can scarcely be matched, in our opinion. 
 
 At the boundary between Austria and Monte- 
 negro or rather at some little distance beyond it, 
 we made a pause to rest the horses. As I have said, 
 my mother and I had been for years inveterate 
 wanderers, and in the course of our wanderings 
 we had seen many strange hostelries, but never 
 had we seen a stranger one than that of Njegus! 
 We entered the small refreshment room and or- 
 dered coffee of the landlord, who, like all his 
 countrymen, had the countenance of an angel. 
 Presently, we became aware that a dark man car- 
 rying a gun and dressed in what looked like skins, 
 was observing us attentively from across the little 
 room. 
 
 I went out on the steps in order to see what I 
 could of the locality, whereupon the dark man, 
 who must have followed me, suddenly accosted me 
 from behind in broken German. I soon discov- 
 ered that he was King Nikita's customhouse of- 
 ficer. He asked me if we were English and upon 
 my assenting — for I knew that all English-speak- 
 ing peoples would be one to him — he made me an 
 elaborate bow, remarking that all English travel- 
 lers were welcome to Montenegro, nor did he so 
 
much as glance at our small luggage, which was 
 carefully packed in our carriage. As long as I 
 live, I shall never forget that dark official or the 
 angelic-faced landlord in that rockbound frontier 
 hamlet ! 
 
 When we resumed our journey, it was nearly 
 half past four and we had another mountain to 
 cross before reaching Cetinje, which lies in an 
 elevated valley. Trusting that darkness would 
 not fall until the ascent, at least, had been accomp- 
 lished, we urged our driver to make haste. This 
 individual was a young man of charming appear- 
 ance, who spoke a little Italian and (we suspected) 
 German as well, but he preferred Croatian, which 
 was awkward for us; nevertheless, we managed 
 with the help of gestures to make ourselves fairly 
 well understood. 
 
 This last part of the drive was intensely wild 
 and interesting ; in the hollows of what looked like 
 craters of extinct volcanoes, we saw round patches 
 of cultivation ; except for these the region was one 
 mass of grey rocks, as the shadows deepened, how- 
 ever, they soon appeared quite black. 
 
 We thought involuntarily of ancient tales of 
 robber bands and wondered that we had had the 
 courage to enter the fierce little kingdom, a land 
 whose war records exceed all others in glory, ac- 
 cording to Mr. Gladstone, and now, for the first 
 time, do we understand his meaning. The odds 
 
 8 
 
against which Montenegro has had to fight are so 
 extremely heavy — a cruel climate, a sterile soil, 
 poverty-stricken inhabitants — that her success in 
 maintaining independence first against Turkey 
 and afterwards against Servia and Austria, is in- 
 deed remarkable, not to say admirable. On the 
 other hand, we had heard recently from excellent 
 English authority that all Montenegrins were 
 thieves and scoundrels ! 
 
 At the crest of the mountain which divides this 
 border country from the valley of Cetinje, we be- 
 held all at once a blaze of light far beneath us. In 
 answer to our surprised exclamation, our driver 
 informed us proudly that the King had had elec- 
 tric light installed in his capital. The incongru- 
 ity was both disappointing and reassuring; we 
 descended the uneven road with disquieting 
 rapidity and entered the town just as darkness 
 fell completely. 
 
 The hotel, which had evidently seen better days, 
 was now extremely decrepit, to say the least; for 
 instance, a mouse met us on the front stairs and 
 the stove pipe in our bedroom promptly fell out, 
 while the welcoming fire was burning merrily! 
 The Swiss landlord was most attentive, however, 
 and the food was not bad ; moreover the company 
 was both striking and varied. 
 
 When we entered the shabby dining-room that 
 night, we saw three large tables, two of which 
 
were empty, but upon our attempting to seat our- 
 selves at one of them, we were informed by the im- 
 posing native headwaiter, who resembled a digni- 
 fied, retired general, that those two tables were re- 
 served for the diplomats and the high military au- 
 thorities. We therefore took our places at the 
 third table, where we found a cosmopolitan com- 
 pany already assembled. There were English 
 people, Americans, Germans, Austrians, Swiss and 
 Italians, as well as a large party of Montenegrin 
 men with one beautiful young woman, about whom 
 we could learn nothing definite. Presently, the 
 diplomats made their appearance, rather a rough 
 set, we thought, of whom the Russian — a prince — 
 seemed to be decidedly the chief. He ordered 
 every one about with great assurance, which, at 
 breakfast next morning became undisguised arro- 
 gance. We learned subsequently that it was very 
 difficult to induce any one to accept the Cetinje 
 post. No married diplomat ever remained longer 
 than a few months, as the harsh climate, the re- 
 mote situation, the lack of society, not to mention 
 the insecurity, always frightened away the 
 ladies, so that bachelors only were now accredited 
 to the court of King Nikita. 
 
 Looking out of our windows that evening, we 
 noticed many young men patrolling the broad, 
 straight street, two and two, seemingly engaged 
 in earnest talk. This walk continued with almost 
 
 10 
 
uncanny regularity, it was not a march and yet it 
 suggested organized action. 
 
 Next morning, having feasted our eyes upon the 
 wonderful market, both the buyers and sellers of 
 which might have stepped out of The Arabian 
 Nights, we strolled towards the palace, as we 
 had a keen desire to see the King, who was that 
 morning holding a parliament, and who, a polite 
 Austrian informed us, would soon return to his 
 palace. Accordingly, we were not surprised, when 
 the picturesque procession passed slowly in front 
 of us, the King, in his small pony cart, his high of- 
 ficials walking respectfully behind. All wore the 
 national dress, the sovereign himself had on a 
 particularly splendid costume of sky-blue satin, 
 elaborately embroidered. In spite of his age and 
 infirmities. King Nikita looked strong and virile ; 
 in his prime, he must have been a fine specimen of 
 his race. 
 
 That afternoon, we drove down to Rjeka in or- 
 der to see the lake of Scutari at closer range ; we 
 saw, besides, a unique village, more Turkish than 
 anything that we had yet seen, with overhanging 
 wooden upper stories to the houses and strange 
 little cafes where nothing could be had but Turk- 
 ish coffee. Here, no one spoke anything but Croa- 
 tian or Arabic ; this was decidedly the most remote 
 point of our whole tour. 
 
 While our horses were resting, we walked to the 
 
 XI 
 
southern edge of the village, where we discovered 
 the King's winter palace — a good-sized country- 
 house, built against the hillside. The only thing 
 remarkable about it was the presence on the roof 
 of a large sentry box, in which a soldier stood, 
 scanning the road to Scutari with intent eyes. 
 
 The atmosphere, in truth, was charged with 
 electricity, fire seemed to smoulder everywhere — 
 beneath rocks, behind walls, in men's breasts, no 
 one could tell when the flames would burst forth. 
 Extreme tension was apparent even to the 
 stranger. 
 
 Our furtive landlord had whispered to us of im- 
 pending conflicts as well as of those that were 
 past ; he himself had seen the fighting at Scutari. 
 "War is terrible," he had murmured shudder- 
 ingly. The land, he said, was keen for combat, for 
 conquest — with nothing to lose and all to gain. It 
 would be practically impossible for an enemy to 
 invade the rocky fastnesses, whereas from Lovcen, 
 the sacred mountain, the Montenegrins might 
 harass the Austrians fearfully and perhaps re- 
 cover the seacoast. 
 
 Other tales he whispered of internal discords — 
 of Prince Mirko, the family black sheep, of the 
 wealthy German Crown Princess Militza, who un- 
 fortunately had no children, of the old King, who 
 had worked untiringly for his people. 
 
 On our return drive to Cetinje, we passed a 
 
number of vehicles carrying well-to-do Turks to 
 Scutari; we saw also many Albanians, mostly on 
 foot and clad in the peculiar dress of their tribe. 
 We had already learned how to distinguish these 
 two peoples. 
 
 That night we listened to further whispered 
 confidences of our landlord, who seemed to live in 
 fear of his life and who evidently had no opinion 
 of the Montenegrins. On our repeating to him Mr. 
 Gladstone's famous dictum, he merely gave us a 
 look, which, however, spoke volumes. 
 
 Altogether, we were thankful to be safely across 
 the border, although the experience had been a 
 memorable one in many ways. As we descended 
 the wonderful military road and saw beneath us 
 once again the fairy-like Bocche di Cattaro, we 
 reflected with sadness that this perfect paradise 
 might soon become a scene of carnage, for our 
 observations added to what we had heard, con- 
 vinced us that Montenegro was ready and eager to 
 fight — regardless of methods, regardless of 
 chances, regardless of anything except her own 
 primitive instinct for combat. In earlier days, 
 Turkey had been the hated foe, now it was 
 Austria; truly, the Middle Ages still survive in 
 the Balkans! 
 
 At the Hotel Stadt Gratz at Cattaro, in spite of 
 some drawbacks, we found a haven of rest after 
 the uncertainties of our recent expedition. The 
 
 13 
 
landlord, a Styrian by birth, with gentle manners, 
 did his best for our comfort, as did his excellent 
 boy headwaiter. When we left we said a word of 
 praise to the proprietor about this same young 
 waiter, whereupon the latter burst into suppressed 
 though delighted laughter. "We realized in a flash 
 that the two young men were brothers, Adolfo, 
 the elder, assuming the management of the little 
 hostlery, while the younger, a lad of seventeen, 
 undertook all the duties of the dining-room. 
 
 Our stay at Ragusa was so commonplace and 
 disappointing that I will not write a word about 
 it except to say that the place itself is quite delight- 
 ful. It has been so fatally spoiled, however, by 
 tourists and tourists' ways that the charm of the 
 historic old town has been considerably dimmed, 
 though as a picture it is still supremely beautiful. 
 
 Our next important adventure was our dash 
 into Herzegovina and Bosnia, which we under- 
 took with some misgivings, but we were de- 
 termined to carry out our itinerary. 
 
 The railway to Sarajevo crosses the whole of 
 Herzegovina and part of Bosnia and shows one a 
 country every rod of which is full of unique beau- 
 ty. It is the East, with her eternal mysteries and 
 minarets, her veiled women and sad, bearded men. 
 All day we watched the scene with fascinated eyes ; 
 it reminded us of a kaleidoscope of vivid pictures, 
 only in this instance the pictures were living. We 
 
 t4 
 
saw Roman camps and rushing rivers, walled 
 towns and Turkish bridges, grand defiles and 
 lofty mountains, and everywhere the strange 
 exotic inhabitants even more wild and medieval 
 than those that we had lately seen in Montenegro. 
 
 We reached Sarajevo after dark, thus missing 
 the first impression of the place. A long drive 
 over the roughest of roads brought us to our ho- 
 tel, which was large and surprisingly up-to-date. 
 There was something sinister about it, neverthe- 
 less, and we both felt a strong desire not to linger 
 there; in fact, it required all our nerve to stay 
 even one night. We could not explain this feeling 
 at the time, afterwards we realized that it had 
 been a subtle though certain premonition of hid- 
 den peril. 
 
 We fell asleep from exhaustion rather than 
 from any sense of security and awoke next morn- 
 ing to find the proprietor, a secretive-looking 
 Servian, at our door with a summons from the po- 
 lice that we should immediately present ourselves 
 and our papers of legitimation at the Town Hall. 
 In spite of ourselves, we were alarmed by this 
 message and upon my questioning the proprietor 
 as to its meaning, he replied that it would prob- 
 ably be nothing serious. His manner, however, 
 was anything but reassuring, moreover, he seemed 
 thoroughly to enjoy our perturbation. 
 
 We had hired a Moslem guide for the day and 
 
 IS 
 
accompanied by him, we betook ourselves to the 
 police headquarters. This Moslem guide inspired 
 in us instinctive confidence; he was an old man 
 with sad eyes and courteous manners ; in a land of 
 fatally mixed religions, the Mohammedan seemed 
 on the whole the safest companion. 
 
 When we entered the fine new Town Hall, from 
 which twelve weeks later the Archduke and his 
 wife went forth to meet their death, we were civilly 
 received by the authorities, several of whom 
 proved to be from Vienna. After glancing at our 
 letters of credit and inquiring how long we in- 
 tended to remain in the town, they dismissed us 
 smilingly. Their familiar Viennese dialect em- 
 boldened me to ask why we had been summoned, 
 as such a thing had never happened to us before 
 in Europe. They replied that Sarajevo being a 
 fortified town, they must be constantly on their 
 guard against spies. This reply increased our 
 desire to be gone. We resolved to see the sights 
 as thoroughly as possible and then to leave on the 
 following morning. 
 
 Our old guide conducted us first to the chief 
 mosque, where, seated in the spacious court, we 
 heard once more from the minaret the call to 
 prayer — always impressive in itself as in its ef- 
 fect — the faithful preparing themselves for wor- 
 ship by careful ablutions in the holy fountain, with 
 calm indifference to the curiosity of the onlooker. 
 
 i6 
 
Next, we visited the old Servian church, a veri- 
 table treasure house of antiquity and mellow col- 
 our. Here, too, we were struck by the absence of 
 self -consciousness on the part of the worshippers, 
 who seemed completely absorbed in adoration of 
 their various icons. The little church, which is 
 slightly sunken, is surrounded by a high wall, for 
 in earlier times it was not safe to hold Christian 
 services in Sarajevo. Today, the town possesses 
 a large Catholic cathedral, a huge Lutheran tem- 
 ple, a flourishing Jewish synagogue, several 
 Servian churches, besides the ninety mosques. As 
 we surveyed these widely-divergent places of wor- 
 ship, we wondered involuntarily whether toler- 
 ance would be engendered by them or deadly dis- 
 cord? 
 
 In the afternoon we drove to the tobacco fac- 
 tory, the carpet factory and that of the metal 
 workers, all institutions founded and fostered by 
 the Austrian government, in order to encourage 
 native talent and to give employment to many 
 hundreds. 
 
 Lastly, our guide took us to the handsome new 
 museum, but instead of entering it, we paused just 
 outside, attracted by a spectacle in the adjoining 
 parade ground. The Austrian cavalry was drawn 
 up to await the arrival of the commander-in-chief, 
 at his appearance, the band played the noble na- 
 tional anthem. All hands saluted, all faces bright- 
 
 17 
 
ened, even the spirited horses seemed to stiffen 
 with pride at the sound of the beloved strains. 
 Immediately afterwards the Bosnian hymn was 
 played. 
 
 The old Moslem at our side looked on in unim- 
 passioned contemplation, fatalism was stamped 
 plainly on his countenance. The rough Servian 
 official ordered us off the grass in Croatian, this 
 was repeated to our guide in Arabic, who told it to 
 me in German and I translated his words into 
 English. Later, at Spalato we went through this 
 circumlocution of language as a matter of course ! 
 
 At the close of the day, we parted regretfully 
 with our well-mannered guide, and ventured out 
 alone in the immediate vicinity of our hotel. We 
 were anxious among other things to procure a 
 Croatian translation of one of my great-great 
 uncle — Fenimore Cooper's — tales for our collec- 
 tion. In every shop, however, we were met by 
 blank looks and absolute denials. No matter what 
 we asked for, we were informed that it was not to 
 be had, though in several cases we had actually 
 seen the desired objects in the show windows. 
 Very much perplexed, we retreated to our hotel by 
 way of the fine new quay — that same quay which 
 twelve weeks later became the so-called "street 
 of bomb throwers." 
 
 "We could not explain the singular behaviour 
 of the shop people, we did not know until after- 
 
 i8 
 
wards that they were Servians and that they had 
 undoubtedly taken us for Austrians and hence had 
 treated us with scarcely-veiled hostility, for was 
 not the long-planned Slavonic rising close at hand, 
 that onrush of the united Slavic nations which was 
 to overwhelm and crush the cultured German ele- 
 ment in Austria, and which, supported by Russia 
 was to place the Slavs at length in a position of 
 supremacy? Many whispers of this plot had 
 reached us during our tour, the general opinion 
 was that the attempt would be successful owing 
 to careful organization and also to the fierce fan- 
 aticism of the Slavonic races. It would be like a 
 second invasion of the Huns, from which all civil- 
 ization would suffer more or less severely. 
 
 We reached our hotel much depressed and ill at 
 ease, we longed to leave the sullen city. We en- 
 tered the dining-room, which was crowded with 
 light-hearted Austrians, for the most part officers 
 and their wives, taking their supper at the best 
 restaurant that the town afforded. We surveyed 
 the scene with curious eyes, these people seemed 
 quite happy and unconcerned, one might have 
 fancied oneself at some suburban resort near 
 Vienna, so gay was the chatter, so thoroughly 
 amiable the company. Nothing suggested Sara- 
 jevo except the large coloured wall paintings, rep- 
 resenting local scenes of an Oriental character. 
 Twelve weeks later, after the murder of the Arch- 
 
 19 
 
duke, this same restaurant was practically de- 
 molished by the mob, the furniture and expensive 
 fittings were torn out and flung into the street, the 
 windows were broken, the proprietor dared not so 
 much as show himself, the rage of the people 
 against the Servians was so great. 
 
 As we travelled back to Ragusa the next day, 
 across the wonderful country that we had already 
 traversed once, the presentiment of evil to come 
 was strong within us, likewise the conviction that 
 Bosnia would never repay Austria for all the 
 money and pains that had been expended on the 
 sinister little province, that, on the contrary, she 
 would do her utmost to destroy her hated bene- 
 factress. 
 
 We gazed at the wonderful scenes with eager 
 eyes, for we knew that we should never see them 
 again, once out of Bosnia, we did not intend to 
 re-enter it — the sense of personal danger, of or- 
 ganized treachery was so intense. When we 
 emerged from the narrow defile of the Narenta — 
 a defile that can scarcely be matched in Europe 
 for grandeur — we drew a long breath of relief, it 
 was as if we had escaped from a death trap. 
 
 After another short stay at Ragusa, during 
 which we took several charming excursions, we 
 went by boat to Spalato, arriving there about mid- 
 night on a very wet evening. There was but one 
 available conveyance for travellers, a kind of 
 
 20 
 
omnibus into which we all clambered, leaving our 
 hand luggage in the clutches of wild-looking port- 
 ers, who restored it to us — half soaked — after it 
 had been examined at the custom house. When 
 we inquired the reason, as we had not come from 
 a foreign country, they pulled long faces, and 
 muttered, ''Spies — many smugglers." 
 
 We went to bed, thoroughly tired and rather de- 
 jected, for Spalato's welcome had been almost 
 as inhospitable as that of Sarajevo. 
 
 Next morning, however, we forgot our misgiv- 
 ings, when accompanied by a talkative Italian 
 guide, we made our way to Diocletian's marvellous 
 palace — a whole town in itself. It seemed to us 
 quite one of the wonders of the world, absolutely 
 unique and stupendous even in its decay; we 
 classed it with the drive to Cetinje, and the heav- 
 enly sail by moonlight among the Dalmatian is- 
 lands. How much greater are the Roman build- 
 ings in the provinces than the structures still 
 standing in the Eternal City itself. Compare for 
 instance the Pont du Gard near Nimes, the Thea- 
 tre at Orange, the Arena at Pola, the Palace of 
 Diocletian, with the Roman Baths, the Palace of 
 the Caesars and even the Forum. The Colisseum 
 and Pantheon, to be sure, can hold their own 
 against all rivals, though these, too, are sadly 
 marred by their environment. 
 
 Fascinated by the multiplicity of its attractions^ 
 
 21 
 
we wandered about the strange palace, within the 
 precincts of which no less than three thousand 
 people live at the present time. We were haunted 
 by the personality of Diocletian, we longed to 
 fathom the mystery of his retirement, of his death. 
 
 When we passed the Emperor's imposing sea 
 front the following morning at five o 'clock on our 
 way to the boat, we paused a moment — for we 
 were on foot — to gaze our last at the mighty struc- 
 ture and to speculate as to its future. What would 
 become of it, should the expected Slavonic inroad 
 take place, would it be wiped out together with all 
 the historic past of the land? 
 
 We quitted it in sadness — it is always sad to 
 quit great things — what sights it has seen, what 
 sights it may still see ! 
 
 I must not forget to mention our excursion to 
 Trail, an oasis of perfect beauty in a land of be- 
 wildering incongruities. 
 
 Trau is Venice in miniature, surrounded by wa- 
 ter, containing exquisite buildings, and possessed 
 withal of that indefinable grace which Venice 
 alone in her best days knew how to give. An Ital- 
 ian custodian showed us the treasures of his 
 choice little cathedral; soft-eyed Italian women 
 pointed out to us the Lion of St. Mark over gates 
 and on doorways; everywhere there was charm 
 and distinction, Venice without vulgarity, Venice, 
 as she must once have been. 
 
 2a 
 
We had found a fourth star to add to our list 
 of precious memories — the drive to Cetinje, the 
 magical coast sail, Diocletian's Palace and now — 
 Trail! 
 
 Salona, which we visited on our return, must 
 be intensely interesting to antiquarians; it was, 
 indeed, extremely interesting even to us — the 
 sight of those early Christian tombs — so massive, 
 so numerous, showing such evidence of love and 
 care — was most impressive, not to say, moving. 
 The primitive church seems nearer to us here 
 than anywhere else in all the world, for here it is 
 unencumbered by later additions — by later tradi- 
 tions ; the early Christian burial ground is a direct 
 survival, and as such makes a profound appeal to 
 the imaginative beholder. 
 
 To all Christian creeds, Salona is of incalculable 
 value, if it were more easily accessible, it would be 
 thronged — just as Pompeii is thronged — with 
 eager pilgrims. As it is, the ruins are visited by 
 the learned and by the occasional Dalmatian tour- 
 ist, but they are not over-run and thus their 
 strange solemnity is maintained. 
 
 The following day we sailed from Spalato to 
 Zara — a matter of some twelve hours, as we in- 
 sisted on taking the slow coasting steamer in order 
 to travel by daylight and also in order to have a 
 few hours at Sebenico. The express boats go by 
 
 S3 
 
night and omit Sebenico, which we were not will- 
 ing to do. 
 
 Our ship was primitive in the extreme, but the 
 gruft Hungarian steward, who, at first, positively 
 refused to give us breakfast, ended by doing his 
 very best for our comfort — very characteristic — 
 this — of his nation. 
 
 We had a wonderful sail among the islands, 
 making frequent stops to let off and take on pas- 
 sengers and cargo. The day being a Festa, all 
 the inhabitants of the remote little hamlets gath- 
 ered at the boat landings, and thus we had a fine 
 chance to see many different types and costumes — 
 in fact, the whole trip was one long orgy of colour. 
 
 We reached Sebenico before noon and hastened 
 at once to the cathedral, which is thought by many 
 to be the finest in Dalmatia, it is assuredly the 
 most original. Built entirely of stone and marble, 
 a thing unique in Europe, the wonderful stone 
 wagon roof is indeed world renowned. 
 
 On entering the beautifully carved north door, we 
 found the building packed with people, the women 
 were all dressed in black, and both men and women 
 carried lighted tapers, even the children, of whom 
 there were a great many, held small candles, with 
 which they played between times, in true Italian 
 fashion. In the centre of the nave there was a 
 large catafalque draped in black and surrounded 
 by kneeling attendants, who likewise held burning 
 
 24 
 
tapers; from the raised choir monotonous chant- 
 ing sounded ; it was evidently a mass for the dead. 
 
 Our curiosity was keenly aroused, who could 
 this person have been whose death had caused such 
 grief to an entire town? 
 
 From our place we commanded the whole nave 
 and we could therefore see the faces of the con- 
 gregation, which were all turned in our direction, 
 those of the women were for the most part con- 
 vulsed with sorrow, though occasionally a face 
 stood out by reason of its rapt faith and resigna- 
 tion. Every one in the church seemed to be pray- 
 ing with his or her whole soul, every one seemed 
 to be intensely concerned in the service — person- 
 ally concerned, as it were. 
 
 We remained motionless, fascinated by the 
 scene, which harmonized so wonderfully with the 
 venerable pile in which we found ourselves. 
 
 After the function, when the people had some- 
 what dispersed, we sought the sacristan and in- 
 quired eagerly for whom the mass had been said? 
 He replied simply: **It was a mass for all the 
 dead; we always have one on the last Friday of 
 this month." 
 
 We left the church in a subdued mood, but also 
 in one of comfort ; to behold sincere faith in a vast 
 multitude is always consoling not to say uplifting. 
 
 The harbour scenes at Sebenico were the most 
 picturesque that we had yet seen — Italian sailors, 
 
 25 
 
Eastern merchants, Croatian peasants, and 
 mingled with them, the smart Austrian naval of- 
 ficers, for the harbour of Sebenico is one of the 
 most valuable on the whole coast, being strongly 
 fortified and very difficult of access. Sebenico, in 
 short, received one of our double stars, along 
 with the drive to Cetinje, the Dalmatian coast, 
 Diocletian's Palace and Trau. 
 
 Zara seemed to us less remarkable, although the 
 round church of San Donato, erected upon the 
 ruins of Roman buildings, is positively blood- 
 curdling to the imaginative beholder. The sight 
 of the ancient columns, topsy turvy, overthrown, 
 in mad confusion, as a foundation for a solid 
 Christian edifice, suggests a nightmare. Surely, 
 nothing like it has ever been seen by mortal eyes ! 
 That wilderness of fluted pillars lying on their 
 sides in complete abandonment, and then, on top, 
 the ancient church, which has stood since the ninth 
 century. 
 
 We emerged into the air with dizzy heads — 
 were the early Christians insane or merely mad 
 with bigotry? Is it possible that such a founda- 
 tion was deemed secure, and yet it has proved so, 
 we remind ourselves wonderingly. One has often 
 seen Christian churches, which were built on the 
 site of heathen temples, but never where, as in the 
 case of San Donato, the under structure was so 
 uneven and wildly hazardous. 
 
 26 
 
Another small coasting steamer took us from 
 Zara to Fiume, with a stop at Arbe, that city of 
 dreams. This trip was also extremely beautiful 
 and Arbe is surely the loveliest of all Dalmatian 
 towns. Perched on a rock, with her towers fac- 
 ing the sea, the little city presents a warlike front, 
 as her walls are still intact. 
 
 Lovely Arbe, what will your fate be if the Slavs 
 win in the coming struggle? The Italian ele- 
 ment has already been systematically suppressed, 
 that Latin culture, which has survived so many 
 centuries. Whatever happens, we have seen you 
 in all your beauty, and we have given you a place 
 of honour in our cabinet of memories. 
 
 From Fiume we travelled by train to Buda-Pesth, 
 another fine mountain journey through a region 
 unknown to us. As gypsy lovers, we looked out 
 eagerly for some of the tribe, but without definite 
 success. The Hungarian peasants wear a rough 
 white costume, their features differ markedly 
 from those of other races ; their faces are broad, 
 with irregular noses and fine eyes, their beauty 
 consists in vivid colouring and sprightly expres- 
 sion. Their manners are peculiar, very independ- 
 ent and apparently hostile to strangers, though we 
 were assured that this was not really their inten- 
 tion, but that they had lived by themselves and 
 were not used to foreign ways. 
 
 At Buda-Pesth we revelled frankly in creature 
 
 27 
 
comforts ; after our strenuous tour, it was perfect 
 ecstasy to have a bathroom I We gave ourselves, 
 nevertheless, very little leisure to enjoy our lux- 
 uries, for there was much to see and we were due 
 in Vienna in a week. 
 
 "We besieged the Gallery of Old Masters, where 
 we found, besides many great pictures, a fragment 
 of what we believed to be a real Giorgione ; we at- 
 tended a performance at the opera and witnessed 
 a charming ballet, which was given to illustrate 
 some of Schumann's Kinderscenen — very touch- 
 ing and tenderly poetic and a great relief to us 
 after the exotic wildness of our recent experiences, 
 for it seemed safe and sane and highly civilized. 
 
 Buda-Pesth, as a whole, interested us extreme- 
 ly, although it is too modem to fascinate by pic- 
 turesqueness, but the town is splendidly situated 
 and rich in public buildings, and the people are 
 vigorous, intelligent and deeply patriotic. In time 
 of need, I believe they would rally to a man, to 
 serve their King and to defend their land from 
 depredation. Have they not always been the out- 
 post in a place of danger, and have they not 
 sturdily held their own against continual Servian 
 machinations ? 
 
 I must mention one incident which had a sequel 
 in Vienna. We went to the Royal Palace one day 
 in order to visit the Queen Elisabeth Museum, and 
 having examined the various souvenirs with sym- 
 
 28 
 
pathetic interest, we having always been great ad- 
 mirers of the beautiful Empress, we happened to 
 make a remark to that effect to one of the at- 
 tendants, whereupon we were immediately con- 
 ducted to a locked room, where the custodian told 
 us, a number of other mementos were kept, which 
 he would be glad to show us. Unlocking the door 
 he ushered us into two large rooms, fitted with 
 show cases and hung with numerous portraits. 
 Left alone, we began to study the objects in the 
 cases. One case was evidently devoted to books 
 about the Empress. I gave a cry — My Past was 
 among them ! We scarcely believed our own eyes 
 — ^how could that volume have found its way hith- 
 er, a book by the notorious ex-Countess Larisch, 
 the Empress's niece and protegee, who had been 
 banished from Austria by the Emperor for the 
 part that she had played in Crown Prince Rudolf's 
 affairs, and who, in revenge, many years later, 
 had published this vile attack on her dead bene- 
 factress, slandering her as only those that have 
 accepted benefits habitually, can slander! That 
 this volume, officially forbidden in Austria, should 
 have been placed in a museum, founded and main- 
 tained by the Empress 's most devoted and loyal 
 adherents (in Hungary her memory is revered 
 as that of a saint), disturbed and perplexed us 
 beyond words. We resolved to investigate the 
 matter at all costs in Vienna. 
 
 29 
 
 + 
 
Just before leaving the Hungarian capital, we 
 drove to the Elisabeth Church, erected as a me- 
 morial to the dead Empress, and containing a life- 
 sized statue of her in the vestibule. This statue 
 represents her as coming down a flight of steps, 
 and the effect, in the half light, is wonderfully 
 natural, not to say, startling. 
 
 The only other monument that impressed us 
 greatly at Buda-Pesth — that city of monu- 
 ments — was that of the so-called Anonymus, the 
 unknown chronicler of the Arpad period. It is a 
 seated figure of a monk, with his cowl dra"\vn over 
 his head — a most mysterious, poetic figure, which 
 might well serve as a pendant to that of the mys- 
 terious, tragic Empress. 
 
 Our journey to Vienna afforded us fine views of 
 the Danube (that noble river which is so much 
 less known than it deserves to be), and thus com- 
 pleted our splendid gallery of mental nature pic- 
 tures, for until now we had seen no great river on 
 our tour. 
 
 My mother recalled an earlier journey over this 
 same road when we had travelled by the same 
 train as the late Crown Prince Rudolf, and when, 
 at every station between Vienna and Buda-Pesth, 
 gypsy bands had played entrancingly in honour of 
 the heir to the throne. We listened in vain for 
 uny gypsy music now. 
 
 On crossing the March, we bade farewell to the 
 
 30 
 
land of the Magyars, that land of violent contrasts 
 and national arrogance, but also the land of noble 
 courage and chivalric devotion. 
 
 At Vienna we spent delightful weeks, hearing 
 such music as only Vienna can produce. Our 
 rooms overlooked the beautiful Ringstrasse, and 
 we were never tired of watching the animated 
 scene. 
 
 Vienna had been so dear to us for so long — so 
 a part of ourselves — that like Venice, the mere 
 sight of her happiness clutched at our heart- 
 strings. Just as some people weep when they see 
 exquisite dancing, so are we moved to tears by the 
 gaiety of beloved places. There are cities and 
 cities — some, we admire and respect, some we are 
 interested in, a few we love. Vienna is one of 
 these. 
 
 Meanwhile, we had not forgotten My Past, but 
 we were hesitating as to the best course to pursue. 
 We thought first of applying directly to the Em- 
 peror, but fortunately we relinquished this idea, 
 addressing ourselves to Mme. de Ferenczy in- 
 stead. This lady was for thirty-five years the 
 Empress's reader and confidential companion, it 
 was to her that her mistress entrusted her most 
 precious bag of papers before she left Austria for 
 the last time, so that after the assassination, Mme. 
 de Ferenczy was immediately summoned to pro- 
 duce the bag, which she did, half dead with grief. 
 
 31 
 
Whereupon, according to the precise directions, 
 the bag was cut open in the presence of the Em- 
 peror, as no one had been allowed to have a key. 
 
 Knowing this lady's absolute devotion to the 
 Empress 's memory, we decided to put the case be- 
 fore her in writing. The response was instantane- 
 ous, and we then learned for the first time of the 
 serious complication, which had hampered all ac- 
 tion in connection with the libellous volume. The 
 Emperor himself was not acquainted with its 
 contents, lo one had dared to tell him, fearing the 
 effect on his heart and mind. 
 
 **It would kill him," the lady declared to us 
 with a tragic gesture, **he could not bear it, if he 
 knew that his queen had been so maligned ! ' ' She 
 assured us, however, that everything possible 
 should be done indirectly to effect the removal of 
 the book from the museum — the Emperor, alone, 
 could order it to be removed, for it was the Em- 
 peror who had given the money for the purchase 
 of all works, which had been or should be written 
 about his consort. 
 
 * * Oh, won 't you tell every one in your great, gen- 
 erous country that those stories are cruel, cruel 
 slanders?" she cried with tears in her eyes. "Her 
 Majesty was the best, the noblest lady!" 
 
 Her confidence in our powers of influence was 
 touching, we could not bear to shake it. We 
 
 33 
 
promised to do our utmost. At this she bright- 
 ened and we parted as real friends. 
 
 Immediately after this came the news of the 
 serious illness of the Emperor, an illness, which 
 hung over Vienna like a heavy cloud for six long 
 weeks. No one pretended to rally, the gloom was 
 so universal that it was impossible to escape from 
 it even if one had wanted to. The anxiety about 
 the future was intense, as the Heir Apparent was 
 not only unpopular, but a dark horse as well. 
 
 When the monarch was at length pronounced 
 convalescent, the relief was so boundless that one 
 could actually feel it like a heartbeat — a heartbeat 
 of joy throughout the whole land. It convinced 
 us, had we needed any such conviction, that the 
 Emperor Francis Joseph is the most passionately- 
 beloved of all living sovereigns. Trials he has 
 had without number, unheard-of sorrows and dis- 
 asters, but he has had one great possession — the 
 love of his people — and of that possession no one 
 can rob him — not Servians, not Russians, not even 
 Socialists — that possession he will carry with him 
 to his tomb. 
 
 On one of our last evenings in the imperial city, 
 we went to the Burgtheater, that most precious 
 stronghold of German culture in Austria, that bul- 
 wark against the insidious and ever-increas- 
 ing advance of Slavic and Polish influences. 
 
 33 
 
Two plays were given, The Language of the 
 Birds, a poetic fantasy, introducing King Solo- 
 mon as one of the characters and Resurrection, a 
 modern comedy by Felix Salten. Both pieces were 
 brilliantly acted, both gave much food for thought 
 by reason of their piquant contrast of time and 
 theme. As we strolled back to our hotel after the 
 performance, which was over at the sensible hour 
 of half past nine, my mother repeatedly com- 
 plained that her cloak felt very heavy; she was 
 wearing a plain black cloth garment with deep 
 pockets, called most inappropriately the ** Nor- 
 ma." We had reached the inner court of the 
 venerable Hofburg, through which one always 
 passes in order to shorten the distance, before we 
 discovered that the bulky object in my mother's 
 right hand pocket, which she had supposed to be a 
 pair of opera glasses, was in reality a large pistol 
 enclosed in a leather case! 
 
 We paused in consternation — my mother was 
 wearing a gentleman's overcoat instead of her 
 ** Norma!" Upon examining the coat, we found 
 that it belonged to Count Emerich Thun, a young 
 naval officer, who next day, returned our 
 "Norma" to us. 
 
 Thus was our last impression of the beloved 
 Kaiserstadt, an impression strongly mingled of 
 war and peace — the height of polished art at the 
 conservative, fastidious court theatre and then a 
 
 34 
 
large loaded pistol in the pocket of a member of 
 the audience ! 
 
 This picture of ourselves crossing Vienna at 
 night, carrying formidable firearms, fitted in 
 strangely with what has happened since. 
 
 Soon after this we attended another perform- 
 ance of special interest, which was given at the 
 Dresden Opera house in honour of the great Rus- 
 sian barytone, Baklanoff— the opera was To sea. 
 
 Although as a rule after leaving Vienna, we are 
 not very keen for musical entertainments given 
 elsewhere, yet on this occasion we determined to 
 lay aside all scruples and to hear the performance. 
 We were fully repaid, for the guest's Scarpia held 
 us spellbound by its cleverness, its finish, its dia- 
 bolical power. We shuddered, we admired, we 
 succumbed; but underneath there was the horror 
 of the Slavonic pressure. Baklanoff played on 
 his audience at his pleasure — a great genius truly, 
 but a brutal genius at bottom. His Scarpia was a 
 masterpiece of characterization, but one longed 
 to knock him down for his magnificent insolence. 
 
 The performance of the great Slav artist fol- 
 lowing so closely upon our adventure with Count 
 Thun's pistol, seemed prophetic of what was to 
 come. 
 
 At Franzensbad, Bohemia, where we made our 
 annual iron cure, we passed a quiet month, bath- 
 ing, drinking the springs, reading, resting and 
 
 35 
 
walking; nothing disturbed our peace during this 
 interval, indeed, I believe it was the strength we 
 gained there that enabled us to endure subsequent 
 miseries without collapsing. 
 
 Only one thing impressed us rather painfully — 
 the immense increase of the Slavonic element 
 since our last visit. We noticed that in the shops 
 and on the street, Russian visitors were markedly 
 predominant; the natives complained bitterly of 
 the fact, saying that it was most injurious to the 
 reputation of Franzensbad as an international 
 bathplace. The Slavs on their part, as if con- 
 scious of these secret murmurs, increased their 
 arrogance, which, indeed, was scarcely bearable 
 even to the mere passer-by. 
 
 And just here, I wish to say that I am quite 
 aware that the Slavonic nations have had cruel 
 grievances, that they have been downtrodden, 
 cheated and oppressed. Smetana's opera of 
 Dalibor gives a moving picture of Slavonic suf- 
 ferings and aspirations, and it is a picture which 
 arouses sympathetic pity; nevertheless, if the 
 Slavs should ever get the upper hand, I believe 
 that it would be a sad day for civilization. 
 
 At the end of our Bohemian sojourn, the bloody 
 deed of Sarajevo horrified the world. As we had 
 so recently visited the fatal city, it came home to 
 us with peculiar intensity. Servian cunning had, 
 indeed, scored a great triumph. Luring the Arch- 
 
 36 
 
duke's morganatic wife, herself a Slav by promises 
 of imperial homage, which hitherto she had never 
 been able to obtain, they caught both her and her 
 husband in a trap — and what a trap ! The details 
 of it make gruesome reading. If the doomed pair 
 had escaped from ''the street of bomb throwers," 
 and had reached the Konak, where they were to 
 have lunched, there were bombs under the table 
 and even in the clocks, if they had escaped these, 
 on the way back to the station, bombs had been 
 placed in overhanging boughs of trees. Had 
 everything failed, elaborate arrangements had 
 been made to wreck the train in which the un- 
 happy couple would have had to travel on their 
 return journey! 
 
 Our intuitions in regard to Sarajevo had cer- 
 tainly been verified, plots must have been posi- 
 tively seething when we were there — long-laid 
 schemes for driving the Austrians from the coun- 
 try and for establishing Servian rule. The pre- 
 meditated murder of the Archduke forced Austria 
 to make reprisals, if she had not, she would have 
 lost her own self respect, as well as that of the 
 world. Knowing this, and with Russia to back 
 her up, Servia played her cards and apparently 
 won. 
 
 Let all those who blame Austria for taking the 
 so-called initiative, consider what other countries 
 would have done in her place. If Belgian con- 
 
 37 
 
spirators had enticed the Prince of Wales into 
 Ireland, knowing the chronic discontent there, and 
 had then deliberately murdered him, and if the 
 deed had been traced directly to Belgium, would 
 England have listened to representations from the 
 Powers that she should refrain from demanding 
 satisfaction of Belgium'? And if that satisfaction 
 had been refused, would England have swallowed 
 the insult or would she have declared war? 
 
 Take another instance. If Mexico, having in- 
 vited his presence, had treacherously assassinated 
 an American officer of high rank, would the United 
 States have acceded to the wishes of foreign coun- 
 tries that the matter should be settled by diplo- 
 macy and not by force of arms ? 
 
 It is very easy to accept the injuries done to 
 other people, but when they are done to ourselves, 
 the affair assumes a different colour. Austria 
 chose the path of honour at the risk of possible 
 destruction, any other course would have been un- 
 worthy of a great nation. 
 
 We left FranzensBad, saddened and uneasy, we 
 feared the future for that Austria which was so 
 dear to us. We dreaded the suffering which might 
 come upon that kindly and gifted people, who 
 had — high and low — added so much to our com- 
 fort and happiness all these many years. The gold- 
 en heart of Vienna is proverbial — it had never 
 failed us — and now was that heart to throb with 
 
 38 
 
bitter anguish 1 Were all the treasures of art and 
 industry which the Dual Monarchy had produced 
 and was producing, to be jeopardized in the ter- 
 rible struggle that was impending? 
 
 The peculiar charm — the peculiar gift of the 
 Austrian peoples — is the fruit of centuries of 
 cultivation grafted on great natural aptitude. 
 The Austrians are to the Germans what the best 
 kind of woman is to the strong man — gracious, 
 sensitive, affectionate, deeply religious, highly 
 endowed, at bottom, naive. 
 
 If this race should be overwhelmed by the Slavs, 
 it would mean the sacrifice of what the world 
 could ill afford to lose. 
 
 Bayreuth seemed another world, idyllic jand 
 yet intensely active ; every one was working hard 
 to reach the desired goal — in this case artistic per- 
 fection. It was German industry as contrasted 
 with Austrian charm, though both cooperated 
 most happily at the musical Mecca, for many 
 Austrians were in the orchestra and among the 
 singers. We were to attend the dress rehearsals 
 and a few performances and then to proceed to 
 England by slow stages. 
 
 As we were living at a little villa on the hill, 
 near the theatre and also near the delightful 
 forest, we felt justified in calling our Bayreuth so- 
 journ an "after cure." We spent our mornings 
 reading aloud in the woods and then at about a 
 
 39 
 
quarter to four we would stroll up the shady path 
 which separated us from the historic Festspiel- 
 haus. Having entered the building we straight- 
 way forgot that any other life existed outside ! 
 
 Seated in the front row with fifteen empty 
 places on either side of us, and two vacant rows 
 behind for the exclusive use of Wagner 's son, who, 
 as stage manager, wished to see the scenes from 
 all points of view, we drank in the life-giving 
 music and feasted our eyes upon the wonderful 
 effects of clouds, water, earth and magic fire. 
 Sometimes, Dr. Muck would slip in at our extreme 
 left, sometimes a musical assistant would station 
 himself at our right, in order to judge of some dif- 
 ficult point. In the audience, which nearly filled 
 the auditorium from the fifth row backwards, we 
 noticed many familiar — not to say famous faces — - 
 among others, those of Humperdinck and Haupt- 
 mann and Dr. Schweninger, Bismarck's cele- 
 brated physician. Singers were there, too, by 
 the score and conductors and teachers; almost 
 every one, in fact, was either a trained musician 
 or a person of .eminence in some other line. The 
 atmosphere was refreshingly professional, there 
 was no ignorant applause, but there was keen ap- 
 preciation of whatever was of the first order. In- 
 deed, when the public performances began, there 
 was a decided loss in the quality of the listeners, 
 distinguished as many of them were. 
 
 40 
 
We had, for example, the Kaiser's fourth son 
 and his beautiful wife — Prince and Princess 
 August Wilhelm — as near neighbours on the first 
 day of the Ring. It was from this young man, the 
 handsomest of the Prussian princes, that we re- 
 ceived our first intimation of imminent danger. 
 
 The Austrian note to Servia and its outcome 
 had, of course, created intense excitement at Bay- 
 reuth. Most of the Austrian artists left at once, 
 including several members of the orchestra as 
 well as our splendid Gurnemanz and a number of 
 Hungarian noblemen. Still, the alarm was not 
 general, people hoped that the conflict could be 
 localized. 
 
 The Ring proceeded, there was no noticeable 
 change in the audience, the English and Ameri- 
 can visitors seemed quite unconcerned. Near us 
 sat a retired American diplomat, a man of long 
 years ' experience both in Germany and elsewhere. 
 We tried to approach him on the subject of pos- 
 sible international complications, but he, too, re- 
 fused to take the matter seriously. 
 
 Then, all of a sudden, something happened, 
 which revealed to us in a flash the gravity of the 
 situation. We were standing in the small, free 
 space at the side of the house, waiting to take our 
 seats, when our attention was attracted to Prince 
 August Wilhelm. He had let the ladies of his 
 party precede him to their places, while he had 
 
 4« 
 
stayed behind in a dark corner — unobserved, as 
 he thought by anyone — in order to hold a private 
 conversation with Prince Hohenlohe-Langenburg. 
 "We could not, of course, overhear what they were 
 saying, but we saw their expression, which 
 startled us by its solemnity. Prince August Wil- 
 helm, indeed, was quite transformed — the day be- 
 fore, he had been a bright, good-natured boy, to- 
 day he was an anxious, stern-faced man. 
 
 With one of those intuitions which we have 
 learned to follow implicitly, my mother instantly 
 resolved to leave Bayreuth as soon as possible, 
 sacrificing our remaining tickets, and travelling 
 straight to England! 
 
 The next day we made all necessary arrange- 
 ments, ordering our railway tickets to Charing 
 Cross and drawing money at the bank. We were 
 able to secure, besides German gold and paper, 
 five English sovereigns, which as it turned out, 
 were of inestimable value. 
 
 There was still no apprehension at Bayreuth, 
 though the Prussian royalties had left the town 
 that same night, and there was a rumour that sev- 
 eral Bavarian regiments had already been 
 despatched to the Polish frontier; we, ourselves, 
 saw a mysterious Zeppelin, sailing majestically in 
 the same direction. 
 
 The performance of Gotterdammerung passed 
 off without incident — how that music haunted us 
 
 42 
 
on our subsequent, terrible journey ! With heavy 
 hearts we bade farewell to the beloved building, 
 where so many of our most glorious hours had 
 been passed, we said a tearful good-bye also to the 
 kind family with whom we lodged, all the mem- 
 bers of which, including Hansel the canary, were 
 tried friends, then we drove down to the town, 
 which was gayly beflagged in honour of the visit 
 of a Bavarian prince; the Flying Dutchman was 
 to be given that afternoon. 
 
 Even at the last moment, we questioned our de- 
 cision, everything tempted us to remain in a place 
 which we loved and where we were well known. 
 After all, were we not rushing off at a tangent 
 merely because of the expression on the face of 
 one young man ! 
 
 At the station, an old friend saw us off, a man 
 in whom we had the greatest confidence. When 
 we asked him to tell us frankly what he thought of 
 the situation, he looked very grave and remarked : 
 "Today, things seem more serious. But," he 
 added, "I have the firm belief that our Emperor 
 will hold war back until the last possible moment.*' 
 We shared this belief to the full, had not Emperor 
 William kept peace for twenty-six years? 
 
 We quitted Bayreuth on Friday, July 31st — 
 since that day we have heard nothing from there, 
 it is as if a thick black pall had fallen between us 
 
 43 
 
and those we left behind — not a word, not a sign 
 has reached us to show that they are even alive. 
 
 We gazed at the pretty Franconian country with 
 troubled eyes, everything looked peaceful, 'but 
 what might not a single day bring forth ! If Rus- 
 sia was mobilizing, Germany would be obliged to 
 do likewise — and that would mean war. 
 
 The Nuremberg station was full of people, but 
 we did not notice anything extraordinary until we 
 entered the restaurant. There we found every 
 one reading small extra sheets, which were dis- 
 tributed gratis. I managed to get hold of one of 
 these and to my horror read the fatal words: 
 * * Germany is in a state of threatening war, which 
 is equivalent to a state of siege in Prussia. 
 Frontiers, bridges and tunnels are to be immedi- 
 ately guarded. Traffic and mails will be greatly 
 restricted, contrabands will be seized, etc., etc." 
 
 We glanced about the huge room, consternation 
 was imprinted on many faces, we saw no elation 
 anywhere, only quiet, gloomy resolution. The at- 
 titude was that of accepting the inevitable with 
 resignation — that courage was there too, has been 
 amply proved by events. 
 
 As for ourselves, we made our plans rapidly, 
 we would travel straight to Cologne without stop- 
 ping, sleep there, take up our registered luggage 
 and continue our journey to England on the fol- 
 lowing morning. General mobilization had not 
 
 44 
 
yet been announced, so that we might, by acting 
 quickly, get ahead of the rush. That was our hope 
 as we left Nuremburg after a wait of an hour, and 
 in fact we did accomplish the greater part of the 
 distance to Frankfort without interruption, but 
 when we reached the outskirts of the latter city, 
 we were detained for a long time without explana- 
 tion. Finally we were told that it was because the 
 troop trains were being hurried off to Metz. This 
 was our first contact with martial law ; there were 
 patrols everywhere and order was rigidly main- 
 tained. 
 
 We descended from the train at Frankfort to 
 find the spacious station literally crammed with 
 excited people, tramping up and down and eagerly 
 scanning the latest bulletins, which, during our 
 five hours in the building, followed each other 
 with ominous rapidity. All the through trains 
 had already been discontinued and we were faced 
 by the alternative of sleeping at Frankfort or of 
 taking the 1:46 a. m. express for Flushing via 
 Cologne — which was the only train for the north 
 scheduled to leave that night. 
 
 We hesitated ; we were extremely tired, it would 
 mean waiting for hours in the crowded station, 
 and even then, we might not be able to force our 
 way into the train. Next day there might be a 
 better chance. The temptation was strong to 
 sleep at the neighbouring Englischerhof, where we 
 
 45 
 
were known, and where we could enjoy comfort 
 and quiet. We decided to consult the station- 
 master. That weary official was frantically at 
 work in his inner office, but on hearing our anxious 
 questions, he paused a moment, gave us one look 
 and then said: *'I'd advise you to go at 1:46." 
 
 That settled it. Having fortified ourselves with 
 what refreshments we could procure, we made our 
 plan for storming the train. By dint of de- 
 termined efforts, we succeeded finally in forcing 
 our way through the gate to the line on which the 
 Flushing express was expected to arrive. There, 
 we saw masses of luggage piled up in heaps and 
 guarded by soldiers ; to our dismay, our five trunks 
 were of the number ! We realized in a flash that 
 we must abandon all idea of their going with us — 
 this was one of the hardest moments we had had 
 to face. To relinquish even temporarily so much 
 that was quite irreplaceable, required all the nerve 
 that we could muster between us. If only we had 
 not seen the precious trunks, if only we could have 
 fancied that they had gone on to Cologne ! 
 
 When the train came in, it was literally stormed, 
 in five minutes there was not an inch of space un- 
 occupied. Following an inspiration, we made for 
 one of the sleeping cars, judging rightly that the 
 majority of travellers would besiege the day 
 coaches. After a fearful struggle, we managed to 
 mount the steps, dragging our small luggage with 
 
 46 
 
us, and sitting down on it in the corridor. There 
 we sat or rather crouched for the rest of the night, 
 in the narrow passage outside the sleeping com- 
 partments. A kind lady gave us a cushion from 
 her bed, but the polyglot Belgian porter made 
 things as difficult for us as he possibly could, de- 
 manding money for allowing us to sit on the floor, 
 and resorting to various petty tyrannies which 
 were very hard to endure. 
 
 There were a good many American girls in the 
 car, mostly travelling alone and without available 
 money. Their distress was pitiable indeed, they 
 were bound for Holland, as being the nearest neu- 
 tral county. We heard afterwards that the Dutch 
 had treated all foreigners very badly. 
 
 I shall never forget that journey down th^ 
 Rhine, first by moonlight and then by dawn. 
 Closely wedged in as we were against the low 
 windows, we commanded an uninterrupted view 
 of the historic river. The wonderful mobilization 
 had proceeded apace; by this time, a few hours 
 after the first official announcement, not only were 
 the troops massed at the frontiers, but every tun- 
 nel, every bridge, every signal station on the en- 
 tire route, was guarded by soldiers. It was as if 
 they had sprung up by magic; in the morning 
 there had been no sign of military activity, at 
 night, Germany was fully armed and under 
 martial law from end to end. A button had been 
 
 47 
 
touched at Berlin and behold, the vast machinery 
 had moved without a hitch. It was terrible, and 
 yet it was magnificent, the triumph of organiza- 
 tion working as a nation which had been taught 
 to obey from the cradle, a nation, moreover, in 
 whom the sense of duty has always been supreme, 
 and who would shrink from no sacrifice which 
 would benefit the beloved Fatherland. 
 
 As we passed each dear, familiar, place — 
 Mayence and Bingen, the Loreley rocks and all 
 the castles — it seemed like some horrible dream, 
 for everything looked so peaceful by the dim light, 
 and all the while, those other Rhine scenes and 
 that Rhine music of the Gotterdammerung, floated 
 before our eyes and sounded in our ears — could 
 anything be more symbolic, more prophetic of 
 danger than just that work! It was strange that 
 this year for the first time, it had been our last 
 performance, hitherto, we had always avoided 
 leaving after it. We gazed at the ghostly river 
 with dim eyes, was it, too, to be overwhelmed by 
 disaster? Hagen's cry — ''Need — Need is here!" 
 echoed insistently in our ears. Likewise Briinn- 
 hilde's *'Eid und Meineid — Miissige Acht." 
 
 Was Wagner's nation — the nation of Goethe 
 and Beethoven and of all the great scientists, who 
 had laboured so patiently for the good of man- 
 kind — was this highly-civilized, progressive coun- 
 try — this country of domestic virtue and of in- 
 
 48 
 
tellectual preeminence — was this land — this Ger- 
 many of our hearts to plunge desperately into de- 
 struction, and were all the other kingdoms of the 
 earth to band together against her? Already, her 
 two most formidable neighbours were in a state of 
 war with her, and in her dangerous situation — be- 
 tween two fires — her only chance lay in pre- 
 cipitate action. This we realized and yet our 
 souls were sick within us. 
 
 At Cologne, where we arrived, much exhausted 
 at seven a. m., we drove directly to Cook's office, 
 which, however, was closed. We then went to the 
 Hotel du Nord, but on the way thither, I jumped 
 out of the carriage, in order to read one of the 
 large proclamations which were posted up every- 
 where. The fourth clause stated that all strangers 
 must leave Cologne within twenty-four hours of 
 arrival unless they could show satisfactory rea- 
 son for their presence. This greatly increased 
 our growing panic. We hurried to the hotel to 
 consult our old friend the hall porter, who had 
 a record of thirty-five years' service in the same 
 situation. He told us that the ten a. m. express 
 for Ostende was sure to run. Again we wavered, 
 the hotel seemed quiet and safe, we were sorely 
 in need of sleep, moreover, by remaining in 
 Cologne for twenty-four hours, we might possibly 
 recover our lost luggage. 
 
 We decided to make one more visit to Cook's 
 
 49 
 
office; we found it still shut, but we waited in 
 front with some other harassed travellers until 
 at last the iron shutters were partly raised. We 
 crawled in to find one Englishman in charge. He 
 was in a high state of nervous excitement, abso- 
 lutely refusing to do anything for us, and saying 
 that he expected to close the establishment that 
 afternoon. 
 
 We left the office in much dejection, for the first 
 time in all our long experience. Cook had failed 
 us ! No doubt, it was from necessity, nevertheless, 
 it caused consternation not only to us but to many 
 others. 
 
 We hastened back to the hotel, passing the 
 great cathedral for the third time that morning. 
 We longed to step inside for a moment in search 
 of strength if not of comfort. Eleven years before, 
 we had attended a service there in memory of 
 Pope Leo XIII, then lately dead. It had been most 
 impressive in the dusk, with the lights of the nave 
 looking like funeral torches. We little thought 
 that anxious morning that another Pope would so 
 soon be gathered to his fathers — the good Pius X, 
 whom we had known and loved as Patriarch of 
 Venice. 
 
 Meanwhile, our time was growing fearfully 
 short, if we were to catch the ten o'clock express 
 for Ostende, as we had reluctantly decided to do. 
 We gave our precious luggage ticket to the old 
 
 50 
 
porter, with nrgent instructions to get our trunks 
 at the earliest possible moment and lock them up 
 at the hotel, whereupon, with heavy hearts, we 
 took our departure. Germany had seemed safe, 
 Germany had treated us kindly, we were leaving 
 behind us many dear friends of long years' stand- 
 ing, we were cutting ourselves off from much that 
 made a part of our life ; we were also abandoning 
 our luggage — which was a calamity in itself. 
 Nevertheless there was something that drove us 
 on. 
 
 We left Cologne at the scheduled hour, every- 
 thing seemed as usual except that there was no 
 dining-car and no chance of buying provisions. 
 The passengers this time were mostly English 
 people ; in our compartment were two ladies from 
 London with whom we travelled most of the way 
 to Ostende. There was both gain and loss in 
 this — gain, because a party of four is more im- 
 pressive than one or two — loss, because in great 
 emergencies, each person must have keen wits 
 and quickness of action; and these ladies, al- 
 though very agreeable and speaking both French 
 and German fluently, lacked decision, which was 
 absolutely essential if we were to come through in 
 safety. It is just as important to know what 
 not to ask as what to ask ; questions must be care- 
 fully considered and then hurled out with de- 
 termination to have any chance of success at such 
 
 SI 
 
a moment. Any meandering is fatal in dealing 
 with officials, especially in Belgium, where they 
 seemed to enjoy misleading one as much as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 All went well until Herbesthal, the German 
 frontier, where we received an imperative sum- 
 mons to alight, as no train was going through, we 
 should have to walk to Verviers ! We did so by a 
 circuitous route, in the broiling sun, weighed 
 down by our hand luggage. It was a small con- 
 solation to us to see that no trunks could have 
 been taken. We tramped through endless streets 
 in a straggling procession, if we had been blind- 
 folded, we could not have been more confused as 
 to our direction. After a rapid walk of three- 
 quarters of an hour, we reached Verviers, where 
 we were fairly pushed into a small train, which 
 started off almost before we could throw our- 
 selves and our hand bags into it. Thus began our 
 mad rush through Belgium. 
 
 We travelled third-class most of the way, there 
 were no guards, no porters, it was as much as 
 one^s life was worth to accomplish the frequent 
 changes and not be left behind. No one would 
 tell us where to go, no one would carry our hand 
 luggage. At Liege, where we changed carriages 
 for the third time, a whole row of idle men stood 
 and laughed at us as we attempted to transport 
 our belongings from one train to the other — no 
 
 52 
 
money tempted them, no appeals roused their 
 pity, we spoke in French naturally, but they 
 jeered at us openly. One man remarked, "You 
 have plenty of time to lose your train!" 
 Finally, utterly fagged and unstrung after the 
 unexpected insults that we had received, we 
 reached Brussels, where, in spite of deliberate at- 
 tempts to put us wrong, we managed to catch the 
 express for Ostende. 
 
 As we traversed the well-known route to the 
 sea — that route which we had traversed countless 
 times in careless ease, it seemed like a dream that 
 we were actually fleeing ! 
 
 I read the name Dilbeek on one of the smaller 
 stations not far beyond Brussels and it flashed 
 across my mind that a Belgian school friend of 
 mine had invited us to visit her there on our way 
 to England. This, too, seemed quite like a dream, 
 though I had received the letter but two weeks be- 
 fore. And here we were, whirling by in frantic 
 haste towards the coast, while my friend, whose 
 fine castle I was not to see, was probably in mortal 
 anxiety. 
 
 We thought, too, with concern, of Van Dyck, the 
 only other Belgian in whom we were particularly 
 interested — the greatest of Parsifals, the most 
 courteous of gentlemen. 
 
 At Ostende, where we arrived at six p. m., we 
 were told that a boat would cross to Dover prob- 
 
 53 
 
ably about midnight, as it had to wait for trains 
 from all directions. Thankful at least to have 
 gained the coast, we waited anxiously, not leav- 
 ing the Maritime Station for a single moment. At 
 the ticket office when we applied for a private 
 cabin, we saw the ominous notice posted up that 
 the German frontier was already closed. This 
 gave us of course a severe shock, for it meant 
 that all communication with Germany and Austria 
 was cut off — we could not hear from our friends 
 perhaps for months — we could not write to them. 
 At this moment our distress of mind was acute. 
 Had we done right to get out in such haste, with- 
 out our luggage and at such a cost to our nerves? 
 
 We had not lost consciousness for an instant 
 since we started and it was now almost a necessity 
 to get a few hours' sleep. All the private cabins, 
 we found, had been sold twice over, so to speak, 
 but knowing the Ostende boats as we did, we knew 
 that there was one cabine de luxe, which, as most 
 of the refugees possessed no spare money, might 
 possibly be still available. Producing our prec- 
 ious store of English gold, we offered to pay it out 
 if that cabin could be ours. To our joy, the man 
 agreed to reserve it for us, and thus encouraged, 
 we got through the hours until eleven p. m., when 
 we were allowed to go on board. 
 
 My mother lay down immediately and slept for 
 an hour, while I sat at the door of our large cir- 
 
 54 
 
cular cabin and watched the passengers assemble. 
 There were many schoolgirls and English families 
 with nurses and babies, and American tourists 
 and nondescript youths. They came and came in 
 ever increasing numbers — it was like a vast flight 
 and gave one a sense of panic. The sailors 
 brought more and more deck chairs, more and 
 more luggage was piled on, and still the stream of 
 people continued. There was almost no sound, 
 the silence was micanny, I could see the smooth 
 Ostende beach stretching out dimly in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 I witnessed many partings that night — one 
 struck me especially. A group of young men — 
 whether English or Belgians, I could not de- 
 termine — stood in a large circle, very solemnly, 
 while one after the other of them appeared to 
 make a kind of speech, then half of the number 
 came on board the boat, while the other half re- 
 mained on shore in gloomy resignation. 
 
 The passage across to England was weird be- 
 yond words — between snatches of sleep, we would 
 start up to find our cabin flooded with light. Our 
 boat, which went out in complete blackness, was 
 almost constantly the target of powerful search- 
 lights from other vessels. Once I caught sight 
 of a splendid ship, brilliantly illuminated from 
 bow to stern— a phantom ship, it seemed to me, 
 for I was dazed with sleep. Fear of mines haunt- 
 
 55 
 
ed us whenever we awoke, when we slept, we 
 dreamed of huge armoured cruisers bearing down 
 on us. It was a night never to be forgotten, like 
 the preceding one on the Ehine. 
 
 We entered Dover harbour at four a. m. We 
 could distinguish the familiar landmarks — the 
 white cliffs, the castle, the Admiralty Pier — 
 Dover had always been a favourite stopping-place 
 of ours, and therefore it looked homelike even at 
 this unearthly hour and under these abnormal 
 conditions. We hastily swallowed a cup of coffee, 
 and then took one of the waiting trains for 
 London together with our seven hundred com- 
 panions, who by daylight looked still more hunted 
 than they had by night. ' As for ourselves, we felt 
 a hundred years old. 
 
 As we rushed through the lovely English 
 country, in spite of our great fatigue, we were, 
 somehow, a little comforted. Here were no 
 military patrols, the line was not guarded, every- 
 thing looked serene and undisturbed. When we 
 reached our small London hotel, this sense of 
 tranquility was still further strengthened. We 
 were conducted to the apartment that had been 
 reserved for us — a charming third-floor facing 
 dear old Cork street — and in this retreat we re- 
 mained for more than two weeks, scarcely ventur- 
 ing out except to do necessary shopping, since — 
 almost before we could get our breath after our 
 
 56 
 
terrible journey — England had declared war upon 
 Germany ! 
 
 From that moment our misery was increased 
 fourfold. That England and Germany should be 
 at each other's throats, was positive agony to us, 
 we could rejoice at no victory which would lay 
 either nation low, it was a brothers' fight — a 
 hideous, horrible mistake ! England and Germany 
 belonged together by every tradition, by every 
 dictate of expediency as well as of good feeling. 
 That the two foremost civilizing countries should 
 be striving against each other — England fighting 
 for Servia and Russia, and Germany waging a 
 desperate war against a hundred enemies — that 
 England, I say (for I will not believe that Ger- 
 many would ever have attacked her), should have 
 allowed herself to be involved in such a struggle — 
 with such allies — was almost more than we — as 
 friends of both — had the strength to endure. 
 
 I know that England was in a serious condition, 
 that civil war threatened, that there was trouble 
 in many quarters — I know also that it was hoped 
 a war would unite the nation — as it did — ^but at 
 what a cost ! 
 
 Hatred had to be stirred up against Germany — 
 a hatred that already existed to a certain extent 
 and that was chiefly caused by envy of German 
 enterprise, of German commercial success which 
 
 57 
 
interfered with British sea trade, that had hither- 
 to reigned supreme. 
 
 As careful observers of both countries during 
 many years, we have come to the conclusion that 
 the chief difference between their methods of busi- 
 ness and the chief advantage on Germany's side, 
 is her infinite capacity for taking pains. Germany 
 almost never loses a customer because of careless- 
 ness or lack of effort; England frequently loses 
 one, owing to her indifference — her certainty of 
 superiority. In the long run, this counts heavily 
 against her, in spite of the fact that she has 
 always possessed the immense advantage of at- 
 tracting people irresistibly to her. Americans 
 and Germans particularly, have clung to her with 
 almost pathetic devotion, the Kaiser, himself, has 
 hankered after her, as have his sons. We, our- 
 selves, saw two of them last summer paying an 
 incognito visit to Edinburgh, and their delight — 
 their real enthusiasm was most striking. English 
 literature, English history, English cathedrals — 
 where can these be matched and who loves them 
 better than the intelligent foreigner? But let him 
 beware of cherishing the idea that he is really at 
 home there, for in that case, he will inevitably be 
 made to feel the iron barrier which separates the 
 born Britisher from the alien, however sympa- 
 thetic, and this applies to the American as well as 
 to the German. 
 
 58 
 
The English, as a rule, have no real affection for 
 any other nation — not even for America, though 
 they treat Americans with great consideration — 
 herein lies their strength and their weakness. They 
 are deeply patriotic, they see but one side, they are 
 not tormented by divided allegiance in any sphere, 
 they know that they have had a great past, that 
 they have noble traditions to sustain, they are 
 convinced that no other traditions are half so 
 noble, and, on the whole, the world agrees with 
 them. But they will not bear a word of criticism, 
 they are intensely proud, intolerant and obstinate, 
 they like their ease, they are not hard workers, 
 moreover, their constitutional shyness makes it 
 very difficult for them to recover lost ground. 
 And yet, we go on loving them — we, of the alien 
 nations — or rather, we love their adorable coun- 
 try, which tugs at our very heartstrings ! Whore 
 else are there such churches, such private places, 
 such gardens, such entrancing walks between 
 hedges? What other country has produced a 
 Shakespeare, a Burke, a Walter Scott — oh, be- 
 loved England, may you live forever. 
 
 But not that England which we saw on the sec- 
 ond of August and afterwards — that strange, 
 distorted England of Asquith-Kitchener creation. 
 
 A strict censorship had been placed upon 
 the press, which consequently printed noth- 
 ing but the most inflammatory articles against 
 
 59 
 
Germany. False reports were circulated by 
 the leading papers, we could hardly glance 
 out of our windows without catching sight 
 of sickening head-lines, such as these: 
 ''Forty-Five Thousand Germans Slaughtered 
 Before Liege;" ''Two Whole Battalions of 
 Austrians Completely Wiped Out!" 
 
 In short, the noble English press, hitherto our 
 pride and delight, had suddenly turned into a 
 monster of unfairness and bloodthirstiness. 
 
 All this was done, of course, in order to raise 
 recruits, and at first the public was deluded and 
 cocksure of speedy victory; by degrees, however, 
 their spirit changed and before we left, it was 
 painful to see their dejection. We were in touch 
 with many different classes — bankers, profes- 
 sional men, trades people, etc. — all old friends. 
 They did not seem until the very end to realize 
 their danger, they underrated their enemy owing 
 to the persistent misrepresentations of the news- 
 papers. I could not help feeling that it had been 
 particularly easy to deceive the English, because 
 as a people, they had been used to the truth. Lies 
 had always been obnoxious to them, fair play had 
 been one of their dearest traditions. Lord Kitch- 
 ener's tactics, therefore, which no doubt were 
 necessary in this emergency, were accepted at 
 first in good faith, but when subsequently, they 
 were found out, a serious reaction set in. There 
 
was no more elation over the immediate exterm- 
 ination of Germany, there was no more talk about 
 giving the Kaiser a lesson. People were intensely 
 anxious and depressed, it was felt that England 
 was in the face of a stupendous danger. And not 
 only that; it was felt — and the feeling was ex- 
 pressed repeatedly to us in words — that even if 
 Germany and Austria should be crushed, there 
 would be Russia to reckon with. It was realized 
 too late that Germany, with all her faults (to 
 English eyes), was yet a safer and more civilized 
 neighbour than the Empire of the Czar. For cen- 
 turies, Germany and Austria had been the bul- 
 wark against the Slavs, if that bulwark were re- 
 moved, France and England would have to as- 
 sume the burden that Germany and Austria had 
 borne for so long. 
 
 To distract our minds during these weeks of 
 waiting which seemed interminable to us, we tried 
 various expedients. Our first choice would have 
 been the National Gallery, for there we might have 
 found temporary solace with our beloved pictures, 
 but the National Gallery was closed in conse- 
 quence of Suffragette outrages. "We therefore 
 visited the Royal Academy, which, to our surprise, 
 was still open. We were anxious to see Sargent's 
 portrait of Mr. Henry James, about which we had 
 heard so many conflicting opinions. We had a 
 faint hope that the novelist's kindly smile — that 
 
 6i 
 
smile which we had known so well for so long — 
 might give us heart at this fearful crisis. The 
 portrait was said to be life-like, in which case, the 
 smile would be there. It was not there, however ; 
 instead, the expression was one of intense mental 
 and physical suffering. We turned away in keen 
 disappointment, this was not our old friend, this 
 was a stranger, whom we did not know even by 
 name. 
 
 Another day, we drove out to Cricklewood to 
 visit the Home of Rest for Horses to which my 
 mother had contributed. This proved, indeed, a 
 Home of Rest to us, since for the first time since 
 that dreadful 31st of July, we were able to get our 
 minds off the war. We fed the happy animals 
 with apples and sugar, and examined their com- 
 fortable retreat with real pleasure. My mother's 
 particular favourite was called Max, and his great 
 accomplishment was that of ringing the bell for 
 meals. I liked Lord Wolseley's old charger, a pen- 
 sioner for life, but they were all dears. As they 
 stretched their intelligent heads out of the win- 
 dows of their loose boxes — whole rows of heads — 
 we forgot everything in our delight. We were 
 not allowed to leave, however, without one sin- 
 ister reminder of the war, we heard from a groom, 
 namely, that three horses had been shot the night 
 before. 
 
 "To save them from being seized for the 
 
 62 
 
service, ' ' the man explained and we turned away, 
 shuddering. 
 
 At length the unhappy London days came to an 
 end through the kindness of our nearest male 
 relatives, who, by a piece of good fortune which 
 was almost incredible, chanced to be in England 
 for the first time in many years. They gave us 
 one of their cabins on the Olympic, which was 
 finally announced to sail on August 22d. "We did 
 not get off, however, until the morning of the 23d, 
 owing to the sudden departure of a large troop 
 ship, which had to have the right of way. It 
 made us actually ill to look at the smart British 
 soldiers and to think of what might be in store for 
 them! 
 
 This was our last sight of that England which 
 had been a second home to us for so many happy 
 years, and, like our farewells to Austria and Ger- 
 many, it cost us bitter pangs — pangs which the 
 non-traveller cannot in the least understand. 
 
 The voyage, although devoid of alarming inci- 
 dents, was, nevertheless, horribly uncanny. Every- 
 thing was closed soon after four, blinds were 
 drawn, iron shutters were pulled down, and even 
 behind these, the electric lamps on deck were care- 
 fully darkened. Not a ray of light escaped from 
 the great liner except what was absolutely neces- 
 sary for navigation. 
 
 Meanwhile, behind the darkened portholes, most 
 
 63 
 
of the passengers indulged in their accustomed 
 pleasures; they played cards, danced and flirted 
 as if there had been no such thing as war either on 
 land or at sea. The women arrayed themselves in 
 costly dresses of the most extreme fashion, the 
 men encouraged them in this, and went on betting 
 on the run ; together, they danced the tango in the 
 saloons and even on deck; in short, they behaved, 
 in our opinion, with revolting flippancy consider- 
 ing the tragic circumstances. And not only that — 
 by persistently ignoring the agony of a whole 
 continent, as well as our own actual danger, and 
 by pursuing their petty pastimes in the face of 
 these things, they missed an experience that could 
 scarcely be duplicated. 
 
 The great ship, closely shrouded and muffled, 
 rushing along in the darkness like some blinded 
 creature, conscious of threatening danger and 
 straining every nerve to avoid it; the horrible 
 wireless messages telling of death and disaster 
 constantly intercepted, the feeling that however 
 swiftly we were travelling, we could not escape 
 from the immense misery that we had left behind 
 us — all this and much more that is inexpressible 
 was suggested by the voyage. 
 
 But the majority of the passengers failed to 
 see it — their motto seemed to be : 
 
 ''On with the dance! let joy be unconfined." 
 
 When we reached shore, our thankfulness was 
 
 64 
 
beyond all words, even the dock looked beautiful 
 to us, and the custom house officers, instead of 
 being enemies, became real friends. They treated 
 us with the most sympathetic courtesy. 
 
 As we drove across the city and finally passed 
 under the great Metropolitan tower, we drew a 
 long breath of relief; humanly speaking, we were 
 in safety at last after one whole month of con- 
 tinual anxiety, for unlike most Americans, we 
 had not felt secure in England. It had been one 
 long agony, and now we were home again, fai* 
 away from the terrible fighting, beyond the reach 
 of hostile cruisers or airships, though not beyond 
 the reach — alas ! — of sickening heartache for all 
 the suffering multitudes in stricken Europe ! 
 
 In the course of the last month we had been 
 forced to leap many difficult hurdles ; the first was 
 the making up our minds to leave Bayreuth, the 
 second, our decision to abandon our luggage, the 
 third, our reluctant, final departure from Ger- 
 many, which involved breaking off all communi- 
 cation with many beloved friends. Hurdle after 
 hurdle in rapid succession confronted us in Lon- 
 don — difficulties about money, serious problems 
 in regard to necessary medicine from Paris, in- 
 numerable desperate complications in connection 
 with our lost luggage — and over and above all 
 these, there was the dreadful hurdle of the Eng- 
 lish hatred against Germany. We surmounted 
 
 65 
 
these obstacles with what courage and skill we 
 could muster; then came the voyage, which was 
 one huge hurdle in itself. 
 
 Having leapt it, we drew, as I said a long 
 breath — no more hurdles now, only rest and what- 
 ever peace we could hope for. But we were mis- 
 taken ; in the midst of inspiring tokens of faithful 
 love with which our friends literally enveloped us 
 the instant we touched American soil, we beheld, 
 looming up ominously in front of us, a cruel 
 hurdle — the last, but perhaps the worst of all. The 
 American press had taken the English point of 
 view, it vied with England, indeed, in vilifying 
 Germany and the Germans. Receiving no direct 
 news at first, except through English channels, it 
 had, as a body, accepted the English version un- 
 conditionally. Germany and Germanj^ only was 
 blamed, all other belligerants were praised and 
 believed in to the fullest extent. Belgians, Rus- 
 sians, French and Servians were brave and dis- 
 interested; Germans, on the other hand, were 
 treacherous and brutal. Atrocities were reported 
 as having been committed solely by the Ger- 
 mans, whereas the Allies were given a clean sheet 
 in every respect. The Kaiser was responsible for 
 all the bloodshed, the other European rulers were 
 noble, peace-loving individuals. 
 
 Utterly exhausted and sick at heart, we gazed 
 at this last hurdle — had we the strength to at- 
 
 66 
 
tempt it? A great wave of homesickness swept 
 over us ; for the first time, we seriously questioned 
 our decision, had we remained in Germany we 
 could at least have avoided this conflict, a con- 
 flict with friends, most of whom would inevitably 
 follow the lead of the press. What could we do 
 against so many, what would our voice avail in 
 this roar of hostility! We decided to retreat to 
 our beloved Pomeroy Place, it would shelter us, 
 it would comfort us, under its old roof we could 
 rest. 
 
 But no, we could not rest there either, for even 
 in the peaceful village we were surrounded by the 
 same determined hostility, the same preconceived 
 opinion was held almost universally, the same 
 ignorance existed of anything but the one side. 
 
 In desperation, I seized my pen, one feeble pro- 
 test I would make on Germany's behalf. 
 
 Americans are proverbially fair-minded, they do 
 not follow the lead of any land — not even that of 
 England — with blind confidence. Let them reflect 
 upon Germany's record, her intellectual eminence, 
 her splendid part in helping suffering himianity, 
 her music, which has inspired and comforted 
 thousands in all lands, her poetry, which for depth 
 and tenderness can scarcely be surpassed, her 
 science and philosophy, her enlightened system of 
 hygienics, her fine mercantile marine, which has 
 carried so many of us safely across the ocean, her 
 
 67 
 
gallant army, which is not daunted by a whole 
 world of enemies, her patient professors, who 
 have laboured so unselfishly for the good of all 
 mankind, her skilled and honest artisans, than 
 whom there is not a finer class of men anywhere, 
 her great artists in all lines, who have added so 
 much to the joy of nations, finally, her princes, 
 who from the Emperor to the obscurest ruler of 
 the tiniest principality, are distinguished among 
 European royalties for their culture, their devo- 
 tion to duty, their clean lives. 
 
 And now consider, are all these people 
 scoundrels — are they liars and brutes, are they 
 enemies of progress ? 
 
 Is it not conceivable that there may be another 
 side? 
 
 Claee Benedict, 
 Pomeroy Place, Cooperstown, New York. 
 
 68 
 
APPENDIX 
 Well Treated in Germany 
 
 To THE Editor OF The Evening Post: 
 
 Sir: We wish to state in the most positive and public 
 way possible that during our entire journey from Bayreuth, 
 Bavaria, to Herbesthal, the German frontier, we met with 
 nothing but kindness and courtesy from the officials, the 
 people, and our German fellow-travellers. The only bad 
 treatment we met with occurred in Belgium. As we were 
 two ladies alone, without influence, and as we left Bayreuth 
 on the very day war was declared, this testimony may help 
 to convince all fair-minded Americans that the Germans 
 are not brutes and ruffians. 
 
 Clara Woolson Benedict. 
 Clare Benedict. 
 
 Cooperstown, N. Y., September 4. 
 
 From the New York Evening Post of September 12th, 
 1914. 
 
 A Human Note from Bavaria 
 
 To the Editor of The Evening Post: 
 
 Sir: The enclosed cards, which have just reached me, are 
 from a merchant in Bavaria with whom we have lodged 
 for a number of seasons, while attending the Bayreuth 
 festivals. On our departure from there this year, a few 
 hours before war was declared, we asked our landlord to 
 forward to our London address German newspapers con- 
 taining accounts of the subsequent musical performances, 
 which he promised to do. Needless to say, we received 
 none of them, owing to the immediate closing of the German 
 frontier. 
 
 It seems to me very touching the way in which this man — 
 even in the midst of his own great anxiety, has patiently 
 tried to do what I asked him — not once but twice — remem- 
 bering the American address when the English one failed. 
 It seems to me also to show what admirable order must 
 
 69 
 
prevail in Germany at the present crisis that newspapers 
 and cards of no value should have been returned to this 
 obscure merchant within a month of their having been 
 dispatched, and at a time when the postal service must 
 have been seriously crippled and short-handed. 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 Cooperstown, N. Y., September 24. 
 
 (TraTislation.) 
 
 Bayreuth, Aug. 3rd. 
 Ladies worthy of love: 
 
 In the hope that you have reached London safely, I have 
 to-day entrusted to the post the desired printed matter 
 (2 Berlin and 2 Bayreuth newspapers). It was almost 
 impossible to send them, but upon inquiry I find that the 
 post to England is still open. 
 
 Because of the supervening war conditions, the Wagner 
 festival had to cease entirely, which caused great loss. The 
 hour of fate has struck for Germany. God grant that we 
 may live through this heavy time and that we may reach 
 victory. 
 
 With the heartiest greetings, 
 Oscar, Anna, Walter, Hetzel, Godmother Lutz, 
 AND The Canary Bird, Hansel. 
 
 Bayreuth, Sept. 5, 1914. 
 Honored Ladies : 
 
 As you will see from the enclosed post card, everything 
 forwarded to London, as you requested (newspapers, etc.), 
 has come back here. [In reality nothing went beyond the 
 German frontier. The newspapers and card were returned 
 to Herr Hetzel from the German Post Office] and I now 
 inquire politely of you whether I shall still send them 
 there? In any case, we should be very glad to receive a 
 sign of life from you, so that we may know how you are and 
 how you reached home. 
 
 Unfortunately the gauntlet of challenge has been thrown 
 down before the German people. Without hesitation, we 
 picked it up and now we are fighting for our people, and 
 fatherland, for house and hearth, for wife and child. My 
 brother — as First Lieutenant — is leader of a company in 
 the enemy's land. With best greetings, 
 
 Oscar and Anna, Hetzel, Godmother and Walter. 
 
 From, the New York Evening Post of October 3rd, 1914. 
 
 70 
 
Bruno Urban, His Story 
 
 HE LOOKS AFTER TRUNKS EVEN IN WAR TIME 
 
 And this Is by Way of Acknowledgment, That the Old 
 German Porter at the Hotel du Nord, in Cologne, Ful- 
 filled His Word in the Unimportant Matter of Lost Bag- 
 gage. 
 
 [Special Correspondence of The Evening Post.] 
 
 CooPERSTOWN, N. Y., October 9. — Bruno Urban, who is a 
 hotel porter in Cologne, is one of those persons who sees 
 no difference in his job in peace or in war. Whether Bruno 
 Urban kept on looking after trunks after millions of men 
 had marched to battle, doesn't seem to matter much, rela- 
 tively, in the news from Europe. But Bruno's story is 
 worth the telling, just to keep the record straight. 
 
 Clare Benedict, now safe here, reached Cologne on the 
 morning of August 1. War had been declared. Bruno 
 Urban was looking after trunks at the Hotel du Nord, as 
 always. Briefly, Miss Benedict finally got safely to the 
 United States, without her trunks, and after two months 
 she has heard from Bruno. 
 
 "We reached Cologne at seven o'clock," Miss Benedict 
 said, "after a terrible night spent on the floor of the car, 
 together with hundreds of other refugees. We were advised 
 by the railway officials to proceed immediately on our jour- 
 ney to England, without waiting for our luggage, which 
 we knew had been detained at Frankfort, owing to the gen- 
 eral movement of the troops toward the frontiers. 
 
 "With only a few minutes in which to make up our minds, 
 we decided to entrust our precious luggage tickets to the 
 old hall porter of the Hotel du Nord, whom we had known 
 casually for a good many years. This porter, Bruno Urban 
 by name, promised to get our trunks from the station as 
 soon as they should arrive, and to keep them locked up at 
 the hotel until they could be sent to England. He also 
 promised to send us word the very moment that he secured 
 the luggage. 
 
 War is Declared. 
 
 "When, however, three days later, England's declaration 
 of war upon Germany made all communication with Cologne 
 impossible, we realized that our trust in Bruno Urban's 
 integrity would indeed be put to the test. Officials of the 
 
 71 
 
London forwarding agency filled our minds with horrible 
 doubts — no, not exactly doubts, for we clung to our faith 
 in Urban — but their suggestions gave us many wakeful 
 nights. They said, for instance, that, as we had not had 
 time to speak to the United States Consul or even to the 
 proprietor of the Hotel du Nord, Bruno Urban, being in 
 sole possession of the luggage ticket, might without danger 
 of detection sell or otherwise dispose of the valuable effects 
 in our trunks and then declare — should any one ever turn 
 up to claim the luggage — that he had never received it. 
 Another suggestion was that Urban might empty our trunks 
 of their contents and substitute worthless things of the 
 same weight. 
 
 "In short, the English prejudice against the Germans — 
 even in this unimportant matter — was so determined that 
 it took all our resolution to induce them to accept a small 
 reward for Urban to be given to him by the courier whom 
 they intended eventually to send out to collect the luggage. 
 
 "Then followed our voyage to America. We heard noth- 
 ing from Cologne in spite of repeated inquiries on our part, 
 
 "Our hearts began to sink, not so much because of the 
 probable loss of much that was absolutely irreplaceable, but 
 rather because of the dreadful blow to our confidence in 
 Bruno Urban. We had staked much on Germany's truth 
 and honor; we had stood up for her boldly in the face of 
 overwhelming hostility. In the great stress of our feeling, 
 it seemed to us that this man — Bruno Urban — stood for 
 Germany, that Germany which was being so bitterly assailed 
 by the sister nations, and especially by England. 
 
 "When, therefore, the follovdng communications finally 
 reached us, their very simplicity put us to shame. Urban 
 had kept his promise to us as a matter of course, and had 
 then done his best to relieve our anxiety. When his two 
 postcards were returned to him stamped 'Not transmitted 
 owing to state of war,' he had then waited until a chance 
 offered itself of sending us a letter by hand, nor is there 
 in his three simple epistles so much as a hint of any trouble 
 experienced by him in the carrying out of our instructions. 
 He makes no bid for reward, he takes no advantage of the 
 extraordinary circumstances. 'Bruno Urban, Porter, Hotel 
 du Nord,' — those words remain in my grateful memory." 
 
 The communications from Bruno Urban were as follows: 
 
 Postcard No. 1: 
 
 Aug. 2d, 1914. 
 I beg to inform you that I have taken in my possession 
 
 72 
 
four pieces of your luggage, and hope to get the other one 
 in shortest time as possible. 
 
 Yours very respectfully, 
 
 Bruno Urban. 
 
 Postcard No. 2 was: 
 
 Cologne, 
 5 August, 1914. 
 I am very glad to be able to inform you that I have been 
 able to take your five trunks into my keeping at the Hotel 
 du Nord. 
 
 As soon as any route is open, I will send you the same at 
 once. Should your address be changed, please let me know 
 of it is as soon as possible. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 Bruno Urban. 
 
 The letter was as follows: 
 
 Cologne, 10 Sept., 1914. 
 Very honored Lady! 
 
 I have an opportunity to send you this letter by Mr, T. K. 
 Wilmerding, from America, for, as you will see from the 
 enclosed postcards that they were not sent on. 
 
 I am very glad that I could get your trunks and take 
 them in my charge. I will await your decision, until there 
 may be a chance to send you the trunks in the quickest way. 
 
 Respectfully ! 
 Bruno Urban. 
 Porter, Hotel du Nord. 
 
 From the New York Evening Post of October 10th, 1914. 
 
 A Word for the German- Americans 
 
 To THE Editor of The Evening Post: 
 
 Sir: A veritable avalanche of sympathy, both practical 
 and sentimental, has been poured upon the Belgian suffer- 
 ers; almost as much has been showered upon the French; 
 the English have received their full share to overflowing; 
 even the Russians have not been forgotten. There is one 
 class of sufferers, however, who, as far as I know, have 
 
 73 
 
received nothing but cold looks and scarcely veiled hostility. 
 I mean that company of native-born Germans and those of 
 German parentage vv^ho have made this country their home, 
 in some instances for many years, and vv^ho, nevertheless, 
 cannot forget the land of their extraction. 
 
 These people, to be sure, have not been exposed to phy- 
 sical suffering, but they have suffered mentally in a way 
 that few Americans stop to realize. Their position, since 
 the outbreak of the war, has been indeed a very cruel one; 
 they have been forced to hear their country defamed on 
 every side; they have hardly been able to glance at a news- 
 paper without seeing insulting headlines; they have found 
 themselves, in short, through no fault of their own, out- 
 casts in a hitherto friendly country, suspected characters, 
 merely because they belonged to the great German nation. 
 
 It happens that during the past two months I have been 
 in rather close touch with many of the so-called German- 
 Americans — with university professors, men of science, 
 artists, lawyers, musicians, sea captains, teachers, mer- 
 chants, men of leisure — and their attitude has been uni- 
 formly dignified, though absolutely despairing. Some of 
 them have been made physically ill by the atmosphere of 
 bitter hostility; others have gone to work desperately to com- 
 bat a thousand slanders; others again have retreated within 
 themselves, cut to the heart by the unexpected and unac- 
 countable defection of old friends. This terrible war will 
 have on its conscience, besides the larger crimes, the very 
 real if smaller one of having broken up countless cherished 
 friendships, of having wiped out as it were vidth a great 
 black sponge all sense of gratitude, all memories of a united 
 past. 
 
 As I am of the small company of Americans of English 
 descent who sympathize most heartily with Germany and 
 Austria in their gallant struggle, I can appreciate from 
 actual personal experience the real agony of spirit that our 
 German and Austrian citizens have been called upon to 
 endure, and in my opinion they have exhibited splendid 
 mettle. In spite of all risks as to their future standing in 
 the community, in spite of (in many cases) serious financial 
 difficulties, they have, almost without exception, supported 
 their fatherland manfully, using the only weapons at their 
 command, the pen and the pamphlet, and spending their 
 money with truly reckless liberality. They stand practically 
 alone, just as Germany stands alone, but like Germany they 
 maintain an undaunted front. Who of us would have liked 
 them better had they denied their fatherland; who of us 
 does not admire them for their courage? I for one wish to 
 
 74 
 
pay them my tribute of profound admiration. It seems to 
 me that we can ill afford to lose such citizens. 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 Cooperstown, N. Y., October 31. 
 
 From the New York Evening Post of November 1th, 1914. 
 
 The Kaiser 
 
 An American Woman's Tribute to a Great Personality. 
 
 To THE Editor of The Sun — Sir: The personality of the 
 German Emperor is so compelling, the one really great per- 
 sonality among the European combatants, that one can 
 easily imagine both the relief and consternation which even 
 his temporary withdrawal from the scene of action would 
 produce in the opposing camps. 
 
 And is not this the moment to speak a word of sympathy 
 and admiration for the man who, in spite of an indomitable 
 will and an inherited belief in his own mission, must have 
 his hours of intense dejection and sickness of heart? The 
 world, outside of the two German speaking countries, hates 
 him; looks upon him, indeed, as a tyrant, an evildoer, the 
 chief instigator of this cruel, unspeakable war. To a highly 
 intelligent, proud and sensitive man like the Emperor Wil- 
 liam, this hatred, so unexpected, and from the German point 
 of view, so undeserved, must have been extremely hard to 
 bear added to all else that he has had to endure, even if with 
 characteristic gallantry he refuses to admit that the wound 
 hurts. 
 
 And now another enemy attacks him, this time not one 
 of the seven nations, but an older enemy still, disease. Should 
 the Emperor die at this crisis there would inevitably be a 
 revulsion of feeling in his favor on the part of his enemies, 
 and he would receive, dead, that post-mortem praise which 
 so many people love to bestow on those whom in life they 
 have abused. 
 
 May I, as an American who has lived much in Germany 
 and who knows and loves the country and the people, pro- 
 nounce my small word of praise for the Emperor William 
 while he still lives? 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 
 New York, December 10. 
 
 From the New York Sun of December 11th, 1914. 
 
 75 
 
Christmas Gratitude to Germany 
 
 To THE Editor of The Sun — Sir: In the midst of this 
 persistent vilification of everything German, the Kaiser, the 
 Government, the army, the professors, the mode of thinking, 
 may I point out that there is one German practice which we 
 should be very loath to relinquish; I mean that of the Christ- 
 mas tree. This charming custom, so deeply rooted in the 
 poetic fancy of the Germanic people, was introduced into 
 England by the late Prince Consort, and having received 
 the seal of English approval, soon passed over to America, 
 where it has remained ever since to the pleasure of all con- 
 cerned. 
 
 This will be a tragic Christmas for the inhabitants of the 
 fatherland, but I doubt not that trees, large and small, will 
 be lighted as usual in every household, even if countless be- 
 loved faces are absent from the family circles. 
 
 Can we not, at least on Christmas Eve, give a grateful 
 thought to the nation which has added so much to the joys 
 of childhood by its fairy tales, its Santa Claus and its Christ- 
 mas trees? 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 
 New York, December 24. 
 
 From the New York Sun of December 25th, 1914. 
 
 On a Little Portrait of the Emperor 
 Francis Joseph 
 
 Purchased at the German Charity Bazaar. 
 
 We saw it at the German Charity Bazaar, and no sooner 
 had we seen it than a great longing seized us to possess it. 
 This longing drew us back irresistibly to the remote stall 
 where it was exhibited — a little gilt-framed aquarelle, 
 but touched with the unmistakable touch of life. 
 
 So lifelike was it, indeed, that when presently we put it 
 in the place of honour on our mantelpiece (for we trusted 
 no one except ourselves to carry home our newly acquired 
 treasure), the impression was overwhelming. Involun- 
 tarily, we lowered our voices — was the dear old Emperor 
 actually with us? Could he hear our smothered exclama- 
 tions? 
 
 76 
 
The picture, which represents him in profile, wearing his 
 military cap and well-known uniform, must have been done 
 at some fortunate moment when the monarch was either 
 looking at or listening to something that pleased him, for 
 the wrinkles about the kind old eyes denote that the smile 
 is not far off, the alert figure almost moves — in short, the 
 thing is a little masterpiece! 
 
 As we gaze at it by every light and from every possible 
 point of view, recollections throng upon us of those count- 
 less occasions when, in his brilliant Vienna and elsewhere, 
 we have seen those same wrinkles preceding a smile or the 
 same characteristic droop of the head — that head which has 
 held itself so gallantly for eighty-four difficult years! We 
 recall exhibitions of modern pictures where the Emperor 
 made the rounds patiently, inquiring about each artist with 
 courteous and never-failing interest; or concerts, where, al- 
 though not musical himself, he listened, nevertheless, with 
 painstaking attention. Or again how often have we seen 
 him at great military functions or driving to and from his 
 beloved Schonbruun — and always there was the same punc- 
 tilious and yet kindly response to the jubilant salutations of 
 his people. 
 
 Other memories steal upon us of the brave face set with 
 suffering, but these darker memories have no part in our 
 little portrait, which positively throws out radiance and 
 that serene wisdom which distinguishes the best kind of old 
 age. 
 
 Without doubt this picture belonged to some one who 
 loved it dearly, the frame is not new and there are indications 
 that it has hung on some wall for a long time. Probably it 
 is one of those obscure yet heroic sacrifices of which the 
 Austro-German Bazaar could show so many — where people 
 have presented their very best without a word — without a 
 thought of applause. 
 
 At least, dear giver, be assured that your little picture 
 has found in us devoted worshippers, we appreciate its real 
 artistic qualities, we know and love the gracious original, 
 above all, we admire the real self-abnegation, with which, 
 having once possessed such a treasure, you could — even for 
 the best of causes — have parted with it to a stranger! 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 
 From the New York Staats-Zeitung of January 11th, 1915. 
 
 77 
 
Francis Josepli to tlie Austrian Chil- 
 dren 
 
 The Aged Emperor's Letter Asking the Prayers of the 
 Innocent. 
 
 To THE Editor of the Sun — Sir: At a moment when all 
 Austrian hearts are beating with anxiety, when the gallant 
 and prolonged defence of Przemysl has, according to Petro- 
 grad, at last been beaten down and the fair Austrian coun- 
 try is perhaps exposed to the savage inroads of the Cossacks, 
 may I, as a sincere and deeply attached friend of Austria- 
 Hungary, offer to my country people a translation of the 
 beautiful and touching letter which the Emperor Francis 
 Joseph recently addressed to the children of his lands? 
 Perhaps, as the aged monarch seems to think, the prayers 
 of the innocent may preserve the country from all danger. 
 That this may indeed be so is the heartfelt wish of 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 
 Lakewood, N. J., March 23. 
 
 Translation of the Emperor Francis Joseph's Letter. 
 
 To the Dear Children of Our Empire: If, on the threshold 
 of the grave and in such a serious hour, I turn to you, 
 beloved children, it is for more than one reason. Once you 
 were the joy, the consolation — yes, often in the darkest 
 moments of my long life the only consolation and the only 
 joy — of j'our Emperor-King. When I saw you, a sunbeam 
 fell once again across the shadow of my existence. It is 
 you, children, who are nearest to the heart of your Emperor- 
 King, the flowers of my kingdom, the ornament of my 
 peoples, the blessing of the future. 
 
 But it is not only to your Emperor-King that you are 
 nearest, but to One before Whom the mightiest of this 
 world are helpless creatures, God our Lord. In your eyes 
 the light of the creation morn still shines, about you is still 
 Paradise — is still Heaven. God is all powerful, in His hand 
 lies the fate of all peoples. Everything bows to His will, 
 by Him the stars and mankind are directed. That this al- 
 mighty hand of God may guard and keep Austria-Hungary, 
 giving her the victory over her many enemies and strength- 
 ening her in victory to the honor and glory of God — this is 
 the only wish which remains to me after a life rich in 
 
 78 
 
calamity. It was my wish when I ascended the throne of 
 my fathers — so young and full of hope — it will be the wish 
 which perhaps will soon be on my dying lips as the last word 
 of love and care for my realm and for my people. 
 
 May God direct all things as He wills, we human beings 
 can do nothing without Him. As you, dear children, stand 
 nearest to God, your Emperor-King begs you to pray that 
 He may bless us and bestow His grace upon our cause. 
 God grants the prayers of innocence, because He loves it, 
 He recognizes in it His own image. Therefore cease not to 
 pray with clasped hands, you little ones and you smallest 
 ones of all. 
 
 If the children of the realm pray for their Fatherland, 
 I know that all will be well with our star. Then you will 
 have a part in the day of victory and honor of the Empire. 
 You have called down the blessing upon our colors, upon 
 our army. 
 
 Dear children, do not forget the empire to which — on 
 earth — you belong, or its old Emperor. 
 
 From the New York Sun of March 24, 1915. 
 
 Exploits of tlie German Sea Rovers 
 Recall the Tales of Cooper 
 
 HOW COOPER WOULD HAVE APPRECIATED 
 THE GERMAN SEA ROVERS 
 
 To THE Editor of The Evening Post — Sir: As a great- 
 grandniece of James Fenimore Cooper, I should like to pay 
 a tribute to the gallant and rapidly diminishing company 
 of German sea rovers — the brilliant Emden, the intrepid 
 little Dresden, the mysterious Karlsruhe, the ingenious Prinz 
 Eitel Friedrich, not to mention Admiral von Spec's heroic 
 and ill-fated cruisers. The daring and skill of their com- 
 manders would have appealed strongly to Cooper, for noth- 
 ing was so dear to his heart as a ship fighting against heavy 
 odds, and yet maintaining an undaunted front. These so- 
 called sea raiders have undubitably fulfilled both conditions, 
 and their exploits have awakened in all romantic — and may 
 I not say in all chivalrous? — minds feeling of sincere sym- 
 pathy and admiration. 
 
 As an American, who loves the sea and ships, and as a 
 great-grandniece of one who has described them with per- 
 
 79 
 
haps unequalled skill and spirit, it gives me great pleasure 
 to express, however inadequately, my personal appreciation 
 of what seems to me a very notable page in marine history. 
 I take the more pleasure in so doing because I know that 
 Germany has always been extremely fond of Cooper's 
 works, and by this I do not mean the well-known love of 
 German school-boys for the "Leatherstocking Tales," but I 
 refer more especially to the loving and discriminating study 
 of his works by German scholars of eminence. From two of 
 these gentlemen I have myself recently received striking 
 proof of the truth of my assertion. Allow me to quote from 
 their own words: 
 
 "The Travel Sketches which grew out of Cooper's Euro- 
 pean sojourn have always had for me the greatest possible 
 value as sources of history, for they present conditions which 
 have long since passed away, and the pictures of these con- 
 ditions possess not only actuality, but absolute authenticity. 
 What a contrast, for instance, when I visited the large 
 Lorraine quarter of the town of Berne and recalled that 
 Cooper had known it as one single country estate, while 
 the bridges across the Aare had not even been dreamed of. 
 Cooper made all his journeys by carriage, in the same luxuri- 
 ous fashion as Byron had done shortly before. The per- 
 sons whom the celebrated American learned to know repre- 
 sent likewise a bygone age, and for that very reason it is 
 the more instructive to read what he relates of Louis 
 Philippe and his family in France or of Grand Duke Leo- 
 pold II of Tuscany and Napoleon's mother and brothers and 
 sisters. In comparing Cooper's Travel Sketches with the 
 Travel Sketches of Washington Irving, one would, without 
 doubt, concede greater swing and deeper poetic intuition 
 to those of the latter author, but, on the other hand. Cooper 
 invariably gives us truthful and vivid descriptions, which 
 once read recur again and again to the mind, just as do 
 the world-famous novels." 
 
 It may be of interest to add that the writer of these lines, 
 Prof. Friedrich Nippold, a renowned theologian and a 
 scholar of European fame, has founded the American part 
 of his "Handbook of Ecclesiastical History" on the religious 
 opinions of Cooper, which are to be found everywhere scat- 
 tered through his works. 
 
 Herr Rudolf Drescher, another Cooper student and dis- 
 ciple, writes me as follows: 
 
 "To Fenimore Cooper I owe so very much, innumerable 
 pleasant and delightful hours, reading and studying his 
 books, which I have done from my earliest youth until now, 
 the age of forty-five. His religious and moral point of view 
 
 80 
 
gave me a direction, having been a guide to me throughout 
 my life. His works are my best friends; again and again I 
 range in spirit with dear old Natty Bumppo, the unequalled 
 Leatherstocking (whose silent laugh I seem to hear), and 
 his red and white companions through the woods, or I am 
 ashore and afloat with Miles Wallingford, or I have the 
 sweetest female companion in the mental presence of charm- 
 ing Lucy Hardinge, one of the noblest, loveliest, and purest 
 female characters in the literature of the whole world." 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 Lakewood, N. J., March 22. 
 
 From the New York Evening Post of March 27, 1915. 
 
 Germany's Spirit of Sacrifice 
 
 England's declared intention of starving out Germany has 
 naturally caused grave anxiety — not to say distress of 
 mind — among the friends of Germany in this country. But 
 there is another side to the picture, in which the friends of 
 Germany, of whom I am one, can take the greatest pleasure 
 and comfort. I mean the spectacle of the heroic and labori- 
 ous efforts of the German people to avert national disaster 
 in the shape of actual or threatening starvation. I feel 
 sure that this will prove one of the most wonderful and 
 wholly admirable chapters in the history of the European 
 conflict. One thinks of the countless precious flower-gardens, 
 which will be turned, without a sigh, into vegetable patches; 
 of the wild and stony moorlands, which will be patiently 
 converted into tilled ground; of the ingenious and persever- 
 ing economics and contrivances by means of which the de- 
 voted housewives of the Fatherland will manage still farther 
 to reduce their consumption of war luxuries, already so 
 carefully regulated. 
 
 Everything will be done systematically and with due re- 
 gard for the needs of the weak and ailing; nothing will be 
 left to chance, every one will cheerfully acquiesce in the 
 sacrifices which must be made literally, by everyone. I do 
 not believe that there will be a single murmur, for amid the 
 contradictions and confusions of conflicting diplomatic con- 
 tentions, one thing stands out clearly, now and for all time, 
 namely the magnificent and absolutely undaunted spirit of 
 the entire German people. 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 
 From the Richmond Crucible of April 3rd, 1915. 
 
 8i 
 
Human Stories of Emperor Wilhelm 
 II of Germany 
 
 STORIES OF THE MAN WILHELM II 
 
 To THE Editor of The Evening Post — Sir: A very 
 human story about the German Emperor has just reached 
 me, the authenticity of which is vouched for by an American 
 friend of high standing, who is residing at present in Ger- 
 many. This friend heard the tale from the brother of the 
 officer who witnessed the incident. The story is as follows: 
 
 During a recent visit of the Emperor William to a mili- 
 tary hospital in Poland, he noticed that a screen had been 
 drawn round one of the beds. He inquired the reason. 
 "Your Majesty, a man is dying," was the reply. Whereupon 
 the Emperor went in at once and kneeling down said a 
 prayer, after which he rose and took the soldier in his arms 
 and held him there until he died. The expression on the 
 face of the private was very beautiful. His last words 
 were: "It is a joy to die in the arms of my beloved Kaiser!" 
 The Emperor then asked about the man's people, and wrote 
 everything down, in order to communicate with them. 
 
 The officer who accompanied the Kaiser told my informant 
 that the Emperor was wearing himself out by just this 
 sort of thing, and that he was looking very old and tired. 
 So much for this latest story, which seems to me very 
 characteristic and touching, the more so, perhaps, because 
 it vividly recalls to my mind another story about the Em- 
 peror William — so similar and yet so widely different! 
 
 This earlier story was told to me immediately after the 
 death of Queen Victoria by an English acquaintance, who 
 had special opportunities for observation. When the old 
 Queen lay dying at Osborne House, her last hours were 
 disturbed by distressing discomfort and hallucinations. No 
 one seemed to know what to do for her, until finally her 
 grandson, the Emperor William, taking the initiative from 
 which the Queen's children appeared to shrink, placed him- 
 self beside his grandmother on the bed, and held her in his 
 arms until she died. 
 
 The Queen of England and the common soldier — an inter- 
 esting parallel, as well as an eloquent testimony to the 
 wide range of the Kaiser's sympathies. 
 
 Clare Benedict. 
 
 Lakewood, N. J., April 7. 
 
 From the New York Evening Post of April 10th, 1915. 
 
 82 
 
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