“What is this Prussia up to now?” Such was the question, indicating mischief, which Austria, the central states, and the duchies kept always asking. Napoleon III advised Prussia to annex the duchies up to North Schleswig, where they speak Danish, but Prussia was not thinking of that for the moment. At last, on February 22, 1865, her claims were formulated to this effect: Prussian troops to remain in the countries; the latter to put their defensive forces under Prussian leadership, with the exception of a contingent of troops of the Bund. The harbour of Kiel to be occupied. Posts and telegraphs to be Prussian; and the duchies to be compelled to join the Zollverein.
Of these demands our Minister, Mensdorf-Pouilly, complained I do not know why. And still further (again, I have no idea why—presumably out of envy, that distinctive feature in the conduct of “external relations”), the central states complained also. They vehemently demanded that the Augustenburg should with all speed be at once inducted into the government of the duchies. Austria, however, had something to say also, and what she said was this. She treated the Augustenburg as nonexistent, was willing to consent to the possession by Prussia of the Kiel harbour, but stood out against the right of recruiting and pressing sailors.
And so the quarrel went on without cessation. Prussia declared that her demands were made only in the interests of Germany; that she did not wish for annexation; Augustenburg might enter on his inheritance if he accepted the demands laid down; but if these necessary and moderate claims were not granted, then (with voice raised to the pitch of threatening) perhaps she would be compelled to demand more. Against this menacing voice other voices were raised in scorn, in mockery, in provocation. In the central states and in Austria public opinion became daily more and more embittered against Prussia and especially against Bismarck. On June 27 the central states accepted a motion to request information from the Great Powers; but, as giving information is not the habit of diplomacy but keeping everything snug and secret, the Great Powers negotiated in private. King William travelled to Gastein, the Emperor Francis Joseph to Ischl, Count Blome flitted hither and thither between them, and an agreement was arrived at on certain points: the occupation was to be half Austrian and half Prussian. Lauenburg, according to her own wish, was to be united to Prussia. For this Austria was to receive as compensation two and a half millions of thalers. This last result was not calculated to inspire me with patriotic joy. What good could this insignificant sum do to the thirty-six millions of Austrians? even if it was to be divided among them, which was not the case. Would it replace the hundreds of thousands which, for example, I had lost with Schmidt & Sons? Or still more the losses of those who were mourning for their dear ones? What pleased me was a treaty which was signed at Gastein on August 14. “Treaty,” the word sounds so promising of peace. It was not till afterwards that I learned that international treaties very often only serve, by means of opportune violations of them, to introduce what is called a casus belli. Then it is only necessary for one party to charge the other with “a breach of treaty,” and immediately the swords spring out of their sheaths with all the appearance of a defence of violated rights.
Still the Gastein treaty brought me repose. The quarrel seemed to be laid aside. General Gablenz—handsome Gablenz—for whom all we ladies had a slight penchant, was Stadtholder in Holstein, Manteuffel in Schleswig. I had at last to give up my favourite security, enacted in the year 1460, that the countries should remain together forever “undivided.” As far as concerned my Augustenburg, for whose rights I had with so much trouble got up some warmth, it happened that this prince went on one occasion into his country and received the homage of his adherents, on which Manteuffel signified to him that if he ever ventured to come into those parts again without permission, he would unquestionably have him arrested. Whoever cannot see in that a good joke of Muse Clio’s can have no comprehension of the comicalities of history.
In spite of the Gastein treaty, the situation would not calm down, and as I now, being alarmed by Aunt Mary’s letter and the explanations of it which I received, resumed the regular perusal of the political leading articles and collected intelligence from all sides about the opinions which gained currency, I was in a position to follow once more with accuracy the phases of the varying strife. That the latter would lead to a war, I did not apprehend. Such legal questions would have to be brought to an issue in the legal way, i.e., by weighing the claim of right on the two sides, and by a sentence consequent on this. All these consultative meetings of ministers and assemblies, these negotiating statesmen and monarchs in friendly intercourse, would surely settle the debated points which were in themselves so trivial. It was with more curiosity than anxiety that I followed the course of this incident, the different stages of which I find noted in my red volumes.
October 1, 1865. In
