Vienna,
May 31, 1863.
Dear Lady william:
If I have not written of late, it is simply and purely because I am so very
stupid. I don't know whether you ever read a very favorite author of mine — Charles
Lamb. He says somewhere, “I have lived to find myself a disreputable character.”'
Now, I don't know (nor very much care) whether I am disreputable or not, but I
am conscious of being a bore, both to myself and others. It has been growing
steadily upon me. I always had a natural tendency that way, and the development
in the Vienna atmosphere has been rapid. As I know you hate bores worse than
anything else human (if they are human), I have been disposed to suppress
myself. What can I say to you about Vienna? I don't wish to say anything
against people who have civilly entreated me, who are kindly in manner, and are
certainly as well dressed, as well bred, as good-looking as could be desired. A
Vienna salon, with its Comtessen Zimmer adjoining, full of young
beauties, with their worshipers buzzing about them like great golden
humblebees, is as good a specimen of the human tropical-conservatory sort of
thing as exists. But I must look at it all objectively, not subjectively. The
society is very small in number. As you know, one soon gets to know every one —
gets a radiant smile from the fair women and a pressure of the hand from the
brave men; exchanges a heartfelt word or two about the Prater, or the last
piece at the Burg; groans aloud over the badness of the opera and the
prevalence of the dust, und damit Punktum.
Your friend Prince Paul is better of late. But he has been
shut up all the winter. A few nights ago we saw him at the Opera. You are at
the headquarters of intelligence, so you know better than I do whether you are
going to war about Poland. I take it for granted that no sharper instrument
than the pen will be used by the two “great powers,” and that they will shed
nothing more precious than ink this year, which can be manufactured very cheap
in all countries. At any rate, people talk very pacifically here, except in the
newspapers. The Duc de Gramont has gone to Karlsbad to drink the waters for six
weeks; the first secretary of his embassy is absent; Lord Bloomfield has gone
into the country; Count Rechberg has been ailing for some weeks; and meantime
we are informed this morning by telegraph that engineer officers in London and
Paris have arranged the plan of the campaign. Finland is at once to be
occupied, a great battle is to be fought, in which the Allies are to be
victorious, after which St. Petersburg is to be immediately captured — simple
comme bonjour. The newspapers give you this telegram, all of them exactly
as I state it. Ah, if campaigning in the field were only as easy and bloodless
as in the newspapers! But the poor Poles are shedding something warmer than
ink, and I can't say it seems very fair to encourage them to go on, if you are
going to help them with nothing harder than fine phrases, which have small
effect on Cossacks; for what is called in the jargon of the day “moral
influence” (whatever it may be) is no doubt a very valuable dispensation, but
gunpowder carries nearer to the mark.
There seems something very grand in this occult power,
called the Committee of Public Safety, at Warsaw, a new vehmgericht. I am told
that General Berg, on being asked the other day by Grand Duke Constantine if he
had made any discoveries yet as to the people who composed the Committee,
replied in the affirmative. “Who are they?” said the grand duke. “Let me first
tell you who don't belong to it,” said the general. “I don't, for one; your
Imperial Highness does not, I think, for another; but for all the rest of
Warsaw I can't say.” A comfortable situation for a grand duke! This invisible
Committee send as far as Vienna for recruits, and men start off without a
murmur, go and get themselves shot, or come back again, as the case may be, and
nobody knows who sent for them or how. I have heard of several instances of
this occurring in high and well-known families. I am just now much interested
in watching the set-to between crown and Parliament in Berlin. By the way,
Bismarck-Schonhausen is one of my oldest and most intimate friends.
We lived together almost in the same rooms for two years, — some
ages ago, when we were both juvenes imberbes, — and have renewed our
friendship since. He is a man of great talent and most undaunted courage. We
have got a little parliament here, which we call the Beichsrath, and are
as proud as Punch of it. It has worked two years admirably well, only the
opposition members, who make up two thirds of it, never come, which makes it
easier for the administration. My wife and daughters join me in warmest regards
and most fervent wishes for your happiness and restoration to health, and I
remain
Most sincerely and
devotedly yours,
Varius Variorum.
SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The
Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition,
Volume 2, p. 332-5
