The Story of Mankind [182]
as part of the Habsburg domains. It is true
that Austria made an excellent job of it. The neglected provinces
were as well managed as the best of the British colonies,
and that is saying a great deal. But they were inhabited by
many Serbians. In older days they had been part of the great
Serbian empire of Stephan Dushan, who early in the fourteenth
century had defended western Europe against the invasions
of the Turks and whose capital of Uskub had been a
centre of civilisation one hundred and fifty years before Columbus
discovered the new lands of the west. The Serbians remem-
bered their ancient glory as who would not? They resented
the presence of the Austrians in two provinces, which, so they
felt, were theirs by every right of tradition.
And it was in Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia, that the
archduke Ferdinand, heir to the Austrian throne, was murdered
on June 28 of the year 1914. The assassin was a Serbian
student who had acted from purely patriotic motives.
But the blame for this terrible catastrophe which was the
immediate, though not the only cause of the Great World War
did not lie with the half-crazy Serbian boy or his Austrian
victim. It must be traced back to the days of the famous
Berlin Conference when Europe was too busy building a material
civilisation to care about the aspirations and the dreams
of a forgotten race in a dreary corner of the old Balkan
peninsula.
A NEW WORLD
THE GREAT WAR WHICH WAS REALLY THE
STRUGGLE FOR A NEW AND
BETTER WORLD
THE Marquis de Condorcet was one of the noblest characters
among the small group of honest enthusiasts who were
responsible for the outbreak of the great French Revolution.
He had devoted his life to the cause of the poor and the unfortunate.
He had been one of the assistants of d'Alembert and
Diderot when they wrote their famous Encyclopedie. During
the first years of the Revolution he had been the leader of the
Moderate wing of the Convention.
His tolerance, his kindliness, his stout common sense, had
made him an object of suspicion when the treason of the king
and the court clique had given the extreme radicals their chance
to get hold of the government and kill their opponents.
Condorcet was declared ``hors de loi,'' or outlawed, an outcast
who was henceforth at the mercy of every true patriot. His
friends offered to hide him at their own peril. Condorcet
refused to accept their sacrifice. He escaped and tried to reach
his home, where he might be safe. After three nights in the
open, torn and bleeding, he entered an inn and asked for some
food. The suspicious yokels searched him and in his pockets
they found a copy of Horace, the Latin poet. This showed
that their prisoner was a man of gentle breeding and had no
business upon the highroads at a time when every educated
person was regarded as an enemy of the Revolutionary state.
They took Condorcet and they bound him and they gagged
him and they threw him into the village lock-up, but in the
morning when the soldiers came to drag him back to Paris and
cut his head off, behold! he was dead.
This man who had given all and had received nothing had
good reason to despair of the human race. But he has written
a few sentences which ring as true to-day as they did one
hundred and thirty years ago. I repeat them here for your
benefit.
``Nature has set no limits to our hopes,'' he wrote, ``and
the picture of the human race, now freed from its chains and
marching with a firm tread on the road of truth and virtue
and happiness, offers to the philosopher a spectacle which
consoles him for the errors, for the crimes and the injustices
which still pollute and afflict this earth.''
The world has just passed through an agony of pain compared
to which the French Revolution was a mere incident.
The shock has been so great that it has killed the last spark of
hope in the breasts
that Austria made an excellent job of it. The neglected provinces
were as well managed as the best of the British colonies,
and that is saying a great deal. But they were inhabited by
many Serbians. In older days they had been part of the great
Serbian empire of Stephan Dushan, who early in the fourteenth
century had defended western Europe against the invasions
of the Turks and whose capital of Uskub had been a
centre of civilisation one hundred and fifty years before Columbus
discovered the new lands of the west. The Serbians remem-
bered their ancient glory as who would not? They resented
the presence of the Austrians in two provinces, which, so they
felt, were theirs by every right of tradition.
And it was in Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia, that the
archduke Ferdinand, heir to the Austrian throne, was murdered
on June 28 of the year 1914. The assassin was a Serbian
student who had acted from purely patriotic motives.
But the blame for this terrible catastrophe which was the
immediate, though not the only cause of the Great World War
did not lie with the half-crazy Serbian boy or his Austrian
victim. It must be traced back to the days of the famous
Berlin Conference when Europe was too busy building a material
civilisation to care about the aspirations and the dreams
of a forgotten race in a dreary corner of the old Balkan
peninsula.
A NEW WORLD
THE GREAT WAR WHICH WAS REALLY THE
STRUGGLE FOR A NEW AND
BETTER WORLD
THE Marquis de Condorcet was one of the noblest characters
among the small group of honest enthusiasts who were
responsible for the outbreak of the great French Revolution.
He had devoted his life to the cause of the poor and the unfortunate.
He had been one of the assistants of d'Alembert and
Diderot when they wrote their famous Encyclopedie. During
the first years of the Revolution he had been the leader of the
Moderate wing of the Convention.
His tolerance, his kindliness, his stout common sense, had
made him an object of suspicion when the treason of the king
and the court clique had given the extreme radicals their chance
to get hold of the government and kill their opponents.
Condorcet was declared ``hors de loi,'' or outlawed, an outcast
who was henceforth at the mercy of every true patriot. His
friends offered to hide him at their own peril. Condorcet
refused to accept their sacrifice. He escaped and tried to reach
his home, where he might be safe. After three nights in the
open, torn and bleeding, he entered an inn and asked for some
food. The suspicious yokels searched him and in his pockets
they found a copy of Horace, the Latin poet. This showed
that their prisoner was a man of gentle breeding and had no
business upon the highroads at a time when every educated
person was regarded as an enemy of the Revolutionary state.
They took Condorcet and they bound him and they gagged
him and they threw him into the village lock-up, but in the
morning when the soldiers came to drag him back to Paris and
cut his head off, behold! he was dead.
This man who had given all and had received nothing had
good reason to despair of the human race. But he has written
a few sentences which ring as true to-day as they did one
hundred and thirty years ago. I repeat them here for your
benefit.
``Nature has set no limits to our hopes,'' he wrote, ``and
the picture of the human race, now freed from its chains and
marching with a firm tread on the road of truth and virtue
and happiness, offers to the philosopher a spectacle which
consoles him for the errors, for the crimes and the injustices
which still pollute and afflict this earth.''
The world has just passed through an agony of pain compared
to which the French Revolution was a mere incident.
The shock has been so great that it has killed the last spark of
hope in the breasts