Lay Down Your Arms 63

Lay Down Your Arms 63

He went on in this tone for a long time more--now with oily mildness,

with sunken head, in the softest tones speaking of love, humility,

“little children,” salvation, and “precious things”--now with military

voice of command, with a proud, erect attitude, talking of strict morals

and stern discipline--sharp and cutting--of sword and shield. The word

“joy” was never used otherwise than in composition with death, battle,

and dying. From the point of view of the army chaplain, to kill and to

be killed seemed to be the most exquisite delights in life. Everything

else is exhausting, sinful pleasure. Verses, too, were recited. First

this of Körner:--

 

Father, do Thou guide me!

Guide me to victory--guide me to death!

Lord, I confess Thy command.

Lord, as Thou willest, so guide me!

God, I confess Thee.

 

Then the old popular song of the Thirty Years’ War:--

 

No happier death on earth can be

Than one good stroke from mortal foe,

On fresh green turf, in breezes free--

No woman’s tears, no cries of woe:

No grim deathbed, whence, lone and slow,

From life’s gay scene your soul must go.

Like swathes of grass, in lusty row,

’Mid shouting friends, Death lays you low.

 

And then the song by Lenau of the war-loving armourer:--

 

Peace steals on, and, mining slowly,

Saps our vigour, dims our story.

While she boasts her “influence holy,”

Cobwebs gather o’er our glory.

Hark! then sounds War’s joyous rattle.

Wounds may yawn, blood flow, in battle!

_We_ need yawn in sloth no longer,

War’s pruning makes mankind the stronger.

 

And, to conclude, the saying of Luther:--

 

“When I look at war as a thing that protects wife, child, house, land,

goods, and honour--and in doing so gains peace and secures it--in that

view war is a right precious thing”.

 

“Oh, yes; if I look at the panther as a dove, in that case the panther

is a very gentle beast,” I remarked unheard.

 

The military chaplain did not allow himself to be disturbed in his flow

of eloquence; and, when he ended and took leave, I found myself with two

convictions: that war from the Christian point of view is a justifiable,

and in and by itself is a precious, thing. It was visibly a very

agreeable thing to him to have, by means of this rhetorical victory,

both fulfilled the duty of his profession, and in doing so rendered a

considerable service to the foreign colonel; for, as he rose to go, and

we expressed to him our thanks for the trouble he had been so good as to

undertake, he deprecatingly rejoined:--

 

“It is for me to thank you for having given me an opportunity of chasing

away your doubts through my feeble word (whose entire efficacy is to be

ascribed to the Word of God, which I have so often quoted), doubts which

are of such a nature as to bring nothing but pain to a person who is not

only a Christian but a soldier’s wife. Peace be with you.”

 

“Oh,” I groaned, when he was gone, “that was a torture!”

 

“Yes,” said Frederick; “it was. Our want of straightforwardness

especially was uncomfortable to me, and particularly the false premises

under which we got him to display his eloquence. At one moment I was on

the point of saying to him: ‘Stop, reverend sir, I myself entertain the

same views against war as my wife, and what you are saying only serves,

as far as I am concerned, to enable me to see more clearly the weakness

of your arguments’. But I held my tongue. Why interfere with an honest

man’s conviction--a conviction which is besides the foundation of his

profession in life?”

 

“Conviction? Are you certain of that? Does he really believe that he is

speaking the truth, or does he purposely deceive his common soldiers,

when he promises them an assured victory through the assistance of a God

of whom he nevertheless must know this--that He is invoked in exactly

the same way by the enemy? These appeals to ‘our people’ and to ‘our

cause’ as the only righteous one, and one which is God’s cause too, were

surely only possible at a time when one people shut out all other

peoples, and considered itself as the only one entitled to exist--the

only one beloved of God. And then all these promises of heaven, with the

view of more easily procuring the sacrifice of earthly life, all these

ceremonies, consecrations, oaths, hymns which are intended to awaken in

the breast of the man ordered into war that ‘joy in death’ (repulsive

words to me!) which they so admire; is it not----”

 

“Everything has two sides, Martha,” said Frederick interrupting me. “It

is because we deprecate war that everything which supports and excuses

it, everything which veils its horrors, appears hateful to us.”

 

“Yes, of course; because the hateful thing is upheld thereby.”

 

“But not thereby only. All institutions stand on roots of a thousand

fibres, and as long as they exist it must be a good thing that those

feelings and methods of thought should persist by which they are

excused, by which they are rendered not only tolerable, but even

beloved. How many a poor fellow is helped through his death-agony by

that same ‘joy in death’ into which he has been educated! how many a

pious soul relies in all confidence on the help of God of which he has

been assured by the preacher! how much innocent vanity and proud feeling

of honour are awakened and satisfied by those ceremonies! how many

hearts beat higher at the sound of those hymns! From the total of the

pain which war has brought on men, we must at least deduct that pain

which war poets and war preachers have contrived to sing away and lie

away.”

 

* * * * *

 

We were summoned away from Berlin very hurriedly. A telegram announced

to me that Aunt Mary was very ill and wished to see me.

 

I found the old lady given up by her physicians.

 

“It is my turn now,” she said. “For my own part I am right willing to

go. Since my poor brother and the three children were snatched away,

this world has had no more joy for me. Apart from anything else, I shall

never more have the strength to bear up after such a blow. I shall find

the others there above. Conrad and Lilly are also united there; it was

not ordained that they should be united here on earth.”

 

“If they had finished their arrangements in proper time....” I was

disposed to say in opposition, but I stopped myself. I could not surely

raise any discussion with this dying person, and still less try to

unsettle her about her favourite theory of “pre-ordination”.

 

“I have one comfort,” she went on, “that you at least, dear Martha,

remain behind happy; the cholera has spared you, and that proves clearly

that it is ordained for you to grow old in company. Only try to make of

your little Rudolf a good Christian and a good soldier, so that his

grandfather up in heaven may still find his joy in him.”

 

Even on this point I preferred to keep silence, for I was firmly

resolved to make no soldier of my son.

 

“I will pray for you incessantly, so that you may live long and

happily.”

 

Of course I did not dwell on the inconsistency that an “inevitable

destiny” could be influenced in one’s favour by incessant prayer; but I

interrupted the poor creature by begging her not to exhaust herself with

talking, and, in order to distract her attention, told her about our

doings in Switzerland and Berlin. I also related how we met Prince

Henry, and that he had caused to be erected in the park of his castle a

marble monument in memory of the bride whom he had lost as soon as won.

 

Three days afterwards poor Aunt Mary fell asleep, resigned and calm,

fortified with the sacrament for the dying, which she had herself begged

for and which she received with devotion; and thus were all my relations

gone from the earth, all those in whose midst I had been brought up.

 

In her will the entire inheritance of her little fortune was left to my

son Rudolf, and as his trustee Minister “To-be-sure” was nominated.

 

This circumstance brought me now into frequent contact with this old

friend of my father. He was also pretty nearly the only visitor at our

house. The deep mourning into which the unhappy week at Grumitz had

plunged me caused me as a matter of course to live in perfect

retirement. Our plan of settling in Paris could not be carried out till

all my affairs were put in order, and in any case several months more

would be necessary for that.

 

Our friend the Minister, who, as I have said, formed almost the whole of

our society, had in these latter days either received or obtained his

discharge--I never quite fathomed the matter--but in short he had

withdrawn into private life, but he was still as fond as ever of busying

himself about politics. He continually contrived to turn the

conversation on to this his favourite theme, and we also willingly took

our share in it. As Frederick was now occupying himself so busily with

the study of international law, any discussion was welcome to him which

touched on this province. After dinner (Mr. “To-be-sure”--for we always

between ourselves made use of this nickname for him--was always asked to

dine at our house twice a week) the two gentlemen would plunge into a

long political conversation; but in doing this my husband took care not

to let this conversation turn into the political gossip which he so

hated, but was careful to lead it to views of more general interest. In

this, to be sure, Mr. “To-be-sure” could not always follow him, for in

his character as an inveterate diplomatist and official he had

accustomed himself to follow what is called “practical politics”--a

thing which is directed merely to the private interests which lie

nearest to hand and knows nothing about the theoretical questions of

social science.

 

I sat by, busy over some needlework, and took no share in the

conversation--a thing which seemed quite natural to the Minister; for

politics is, as is well known, far “too high a thing” for ladies; he was

sure that I was thinking all the time of other things, whilst I, on the

contrary, was listening very attentively, since it was my business to

impress the tenor of this dialogue on my memory, in order to transfer it

afterwards into the red book. Frederick made no secret of his opinions,

though he knew what a thankless part it is to set oneself to oppose what

is generally received, and to defend ideas whilst they are in the stage

when--even if they are not condemned as subversive--still they are derided as fantastic.