In June 1876, at the age of thirty-three, Baroness Bertha von Suttner-Kinsky, together with her twenty-six-year-old newlywed, Baron Arthur Gundaccar von Suttner, traveled from Vienna to the Russian Caucasus. They took a ship along the Danube to Galaţi, journeyed by horse carriage to Odessa, and caught another ship that brought them to Poti, the main port of Mingrelia.^[1] They then remained in this principality and neighboring Imereti and Georgia for full nine years, spending time in Zugdidi, the former residence of Mingrelia (with approximately 500 inhabitants^[2]), Gordi, Kutais (Kutaissi), and Tiflis (Tbilisi). In her autobiography, written some thirty years later, Bertha von Suttner minimized reflection on this daring phase of her life: “The fairy tales of A Thousand and One Nights belong just as much to my impressions of the Orient as my actual stay in the Caucasus.”^[3] Was this a wish to emphasize her romantic memories of a nine-year honeymoon? Or the desire to keep buried the disappointments and hardships she encountered there? More importantly, what does this indirect description of the “Caucasian period” of her and Arthur’s life suggest about their practical ability, or better inability, to integrate their Habsburg upbringing and Transcaucasian society?
The von Suttners’ undertakings during these years have remained enigmatic, and few of Bertha von Suttner’s biographers have even tackled the question. In part, this is due to the difficulty of finding archival sources from this period; additionally, the main printed source, von Suttner’s memoirs, fails to provide a full account.^[4] Nonetheless it is a biographical period worth probing more deeply for two basic reasons. First, it sheds light on social interactions and connectedness – also disconnectedness – between the Russian-Mingrelian and Austrian-Hungarian aristocracy; and as a case study, it offers a means of comparing universally assumed aristocratic practices and real-life situations. Significantly, this Austro-Hungarian couple’s experiences on the periphery of Russia’s multi-ethnic empire occurred in a period of transition, as the roughly 1000-year European aristocratic way of life or the cultural code of the ancien régime became seriously challenged by the emerging Industrial Age, as well as by the growing powers and expectations of a rising professional and entrepreneurial class, especially as a result of the 1848 revolutions in Austria and Germany, but also of the 1861 land reforms in Russia. Second, this period in the von Suttners’ biography offers a specific and more profound understanding of the person Bertha von Suttner in the years that follow. That is, their stay in the Caucasus appears not only to have sealed for Bertha and her husband-colleague Arthur a break with parental and traditional Austrian aristocratic authority – and thus a personal means of realizing the challenge of the Enlightenment, or “man’s release from his self-incurred tutelage”^[5] – and along with it a new type of social mobility, but also to have established a more tolerant (if also somewhat naпve) view toward imperial Russia than that of her politically minded European peers. This view would continue to be influential after her return to Austria-Hungary and after her discovery of another “exotic” terrain: the fledgling international peace movement, whose Austrian branch she would found and charismatically head in 1891, leading among other things to her being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1905.^[6]

* * *

That Countess Bertha von Kinsky (according to her birth certificate Bertha Sophia Felicita Gräfin Kinsky von Chinic und Tettau) considered exile at the age of 33 indicates at least superficially her unease in Austrian aristocratic circles. Taking into consideration her unique circumstances – her 75-year-old highly aristocratic father had died five months before her birth, leaving her to grow up with her young mother, Sophia Korner, of a lower aristocratic rank - this inclination appears also reasonable, thus less startling. Indeed, one might argue that the young Bertha already experienced a type of exile within the Habsburg Empire itself: rather than remaining at the Kinsky estate in Prague, where she was born, Bertha grew up in the smaller Moravian capital, Brno. There she surely had a privileged upbringing (e.g., private English and French nannies, piano and singing lessons); nonetheless, she was outcast from the higher Austrian aristocratic circles which, had her father lived, would have been her due. Furthermore, her mother never remarried and gradually gambled away their entire inheritance at European spas.
Back in 1871, Bertha had already considered abandoning Europe to work in the United States with her then third fiancé, another aristocratic “outcast,” Prince Adolf Sayn-Wittgenstein-Hohenstein. This scheme ended abruptly, however, after Adolf tragically died onboard a ship bound for New York (their agreement had been that Bertha would initially wait until he established his singing career and then came back to fetch her).^[7] The wish to leave Europe persisted, however, as evidenced in Bertha’s recollections in the context of her new – and first – job in 1873, as governess to the teenage daughters of the lower aristocratic Austrian noble Baron Karl von Suttner: “I had explained [to Arthur] from the very beginning that I would leave Europe after three years and that we would have to go our separate ways.”^[8]
Why she moved to the Caucasus was likely a consequence of her long acquaintanceship, beginning at Bad Homburg in 1864, with the widowed Mingrelian Princess Ekaterina Dadiani (1816–1882) and her children Nikolas (Niko), André, and Salomé. Bertha was twenty-one years old at that time and unattached, visiting the spa as her mother’s companion. Soon after her introduction to Ekaterina, she became enchanted by this wealthy and sophisticated woman, wearing the latest Parisian styles and speaking fluent French (notwithstanding her Russian accent, Bertha noted). Ekaterina’s husband had died nine years earlier, and shortly thereafter she had handed over her sovereign rights to Alexander II; Niko’s abdication in January 1867, as he turned twenty, would officially mark Mingrelia’s full annexation.^[9]
As Bertha recalled, “Ekaterina Dadiani was roughly 46 or 47 years old – yet still stately. She must have been a real Georgian beauty in her youth. Now she lived between St. Petersburg and Paris, raising her children.”^[10] Indeed, Ekaterina’s attractiveness was legendary. According to Mr. Russell, a London Times reporter who met the princess in 1857, Dadiani displayed “the remains of a great beauty of the oriental style – large dark eyes, straight nose, and fine mouth and teeth; [she] is here [in Moscow] with her son, one of the prettiest, brightest-eyed little boys in the world… To judge from the good lady’s style of dress, and the young gentleman’s appointments, the Mingrelian royal family must… be very well off.”^[11]
The attraction soon turned into attachment. Ekaterina Dadiani, two years older than Bertha’s own mother, left Bertha spellbound:

“The oriental and exotic, mixed with the worlds of Russia and Paris, spiced with Romanticism, and framed with rich splendor, had a magical power over me; I was really quite happy about this relationship. For me [Ekaterina Dadiani] seemed the realization of some vague yet long-cherished dreams… Beginning with the scent that filled her rooms – a mixture of orange-leaf perfume, Russian cigarettes, and leather – I experienced something pleasing.”^[12]

The appeal was mutual, according to Bertha: “She became fond of me, and I soon became almost one of the family.”^[13]
In other words, this relationship with the aristocratic Ekaterina Dadiani – whose Mingrelian title was Dedopali (Queen, or the Mother of all Mothers) – had to some extent transformed Bertha Kinsky (“la Contessina” as her new family called her) into a Mingrelian noble. Likewise, Bertha seemed to accept her Mingrelian aristocratic friends on an equal basis, expressing it would appear no Eurocentric feeling of superiority toward them.^[14] This personal bond suggests that particular imperial spaces could provide a point in time and place where the openness of certain aristocratic cultural codes surpassed those of national ones. In visiting German spas and speaking the common language of French, both an Austrian countess and a Mingrelian princess could find more in common than at least Bertha found with other Austrian nobles, who, because of her widowed mother’s slightly lesser origins, barred her from joining their in-group. Consequently, this relationship indicates that an international aristocratic community could at times provide the intimacy of “home” to those who lived more on the margins of their (national) classes.
Bertha and her adopted Dadiani family met again in 1867; a year later, Bertha participated in Salomé’s wedding in Paris to the French prince Achille Murat, a grandson of Caroline Bonaparte and Joachim Murat, king of Naples, 1808-1815. In 1874 Bertha made inquiries to Ekaterina, now living in Zugdidi, about possible employment in St. Petersburg – enquiries for a stay on her own – which Ekaterina, however, cautioned her against:

“And now to return to a conversation with the Countess,^[15] let me tell you that she responded candidly… that it is very difficult at this time to find a well-paid position as a female companion in a family which you would find suitable… I’m trying hard to help you succeed with your undertaking, and no one is better able to contribute to this endeavor than the Countess, who is in touch with the finest ladies of St. Petersburg.”^[16]

One and a half years later, in spring 1876, Bertha’s plan had evolved to include Baron Arthur von Suttner, as she wrote in her memoirs: “To the Caucasus! That is where we should go on our honeymoon!”^[17] Still, she knew that it would not be a typical honeymoon, because the wedding took place secretly, against the elder von Suttners’ wishes, and Arthur and Bertha were no longer welcome in the von Suttner home. Moreover, both of them now lacked financial resources.^[18] Based on Ekaterina Dadiani’s acquaintance with Alexander II, as well as Niko’s wife’s connections, however, they expected Arthur to find employment at the Russian court: “We both thought it likely that Niko, my old friend, would find ‘dem Meinen’ [Arthur] a post as Tsar’s adjutant or something comparable.”^[19] Yet as it turned out, neither Arthur nor Bertha found the type of job in Russia that they had expected.
In preparation for the trip, Bertha wrote that she started learning Russian.^[20] And, indeed, there are indications that over time she succeeded, at least in part, though clearly her main language of communication in the Caucasus was French (apart from speaking German with Arthur). For instance, she wrote an article on the Russian language in 1880.^[21] She also used Russian words or expressions occasionally in her correspondence.^[22] And Nikolas Astafiev, a former Russian general living in Tiflis, confirmed in his correspondence her knowledge to an extent, for example, when he integrated in his French prose an occasional Cyrillic word, or even a Russian poem, which he claimed the Baroness could read (though which he then also translated into French).^[23]
Arthur, for his part – although Bertha wrote that even shortly before their departure he had known virtually nothing of Mingrelia’s existence, nature, and history^[24] – seemed to have found then or soon thereafter relevant literature, including a brand-new travel guide by Max Freiherr von Thielmann.^[25] During his stay, he also seemed to have learned some colloquial Georgian.^[26] Von Thielmann’s book, as the author claimed in his introduction, was hardly a 1001 Nights or another Alexandre Dumas romance about Russia or the Caucasus. His guide was “realistic,” and he included extensive and useful recommendations.^[27] In Bertha’s recollection, however, the aristocratic newlyweds – true perhaps to their cultural code – were hardly practical-minded at this point. Rather, they fantasized about the Golden Fleece and ancient Colchis, the destination of Jason and the Argonauts, as Bertha wrote, “I believe we both were filled with a sense of Jason at that time: a mixture of passion for adventure and the confidence of conquest, and euphoric hope… We knew people were waiting for us and that we would be welcomed with open arms.” And, she added, “One day we would return [to Austria] in triumph.”^[28]

“QUE FAIRE” (CHTO DELAT’)

Already at her landing in Poti, in July 1876, as Bertha recalled, she had her first characteristically “Russian” experience: namely, she heard – and through the course of her stay figured out – the expression chto delat’ (what is to be done), which aroused her curiosity. This expression was also, of course, the title of an enormously popular and revolutionary Russian work by Nikolai Chernyshevskii (Chto delat’? Iz rasskazov o novykh liudiach, 1863).^[29] Arguably, Chernyshevskii’s Chto delat’? was as much a call to social change – socialism and along with it the emancipation of women – as Bertha von Suttner’s own 1889 autobiographical novel Die Waffen nieder! (Lay Down Your Arms!) would be a call to worldwide disarmament. Had Bertha von Suttner heard about Chto delat’? in 1876 or during her nine-year stay in the Caucasus? Could she have been thinking about it decades later, as she wrote her memoirs?^[30] Or if not Chernyshevskii, then might she have had in the back of her mind Vladimir Lenin, who published his own significant work under the same title in February 1902?^[31] Bertha makes no mention of any of these works. Her exact wording regarding this first taste of Russia, of the Caucasus, however, is as follows: “There was only a very simple hotel here [in Poti]; but ‘que faire.’ We would often hear this expression, translated from the Russian; it consisted of all types of resignation, spoken with a shrug, which did not so much express what is to be done to fight against something, but rather, simply, nothing was to be done.”^[32]
It is indeed curious that von Suttner in all of her writings on Russia never referred to Chernyshevskii. Certainly friends of the Dadiani family in St. Petersburg, if not the Dadianis themselves, would have been familiar with him, if possibly also disapprovingly. And she had encountered the works of other Russian contemporary authors, such as Pushkin, Lermontov, Griboedov, and Gogol. She had also closely read Turgenev’s seminal Ottsy i deti (Fathers and Sons), which had appeared in 1862, one year prior to Chernyshevskii’s novel. Thus how could she, herself a writer, not have heard of the “most popular and beloved author of the epoch,” as a Russian contemporary recalled in her memoirs, continuing:

“The colossal influence of Chto delat’? can be explained in that the person who wrote it… had stood as a champion of the strivings and hopes that filled the hearts and brains of the “new people,” and that he understood it sympathetically and empathetically… Every line stated that the possibility of happiness on earth… lies not in waiting passively for it, but rather in striving to realize it with all one’s might.”^[33]

Could this not describe key elements in Bertha von Suttner’s own oeuvre – e.g., Inventarium einer Seele (1883), Die Maschinenzeitalter (1889), Die Waffen nieder! (1889), Der Menschheit Hochgedanken (1911)? Indeed, a guiding force behind her political activism, her tireless strivings to end war, was that there was happiness to be found on earth (i.e., not only in the afterlife) and that every person should be provided the opportunity to experience such happiness. According to von Suttner, society traditionally – and barbarically – sacrificed young men on the battlefield in the name of state or imperial pursuits; “new people” (neue Menschen) should rather strive to have intra-national differences resolved in international courts of arbitration. Significantly, almost a decade after her “Caucasian” period, in the context of the crowning of Tsar Nicholas II, she wrote in her monthly pacifist journal Die Waffen nieder! – and quite in Chernyshevskii’s vein: “Based on the change of leadership in Russia and the first manifestations of the young autocrat, we are justified in having hope. Much speaks in favor of the fact that a ‘new man’ has arrived, one who also thinks about the new ideals.”^[34]
Upon her arrival in Poti, however, Bertha von Suttner had much more mundane thoughts, such as what could be done about the “horrendous heat.” Nothing, apparently. And later, about Arthur’s anticipated job at the St. Petersburg court not materializing, Bertha commented: “The illusion with the position at the Russian court turned out to be an illusion. Niko at the beginning took up the idea, but it soon turned out that when it should have been realized, it became unfeasible. Well, what could be done?”^[35]
To date no records have been found to explain how hard, or how little, the Dadianis tried to find Arthur a job. That the von Suttners never appear to have tried themselves, i.e., taken a trip to this Russian capital, particularly given their sense of adventure and their fondness for cosmopolitan cities (e.g., Vienna, Rome, and Paris), is indeed perplexing. Was it fear of travel (though they traveled of course from Vienna to Mingrelia)? Of political unrest in the capital? Was it the expense of the city, at least as long as the aristocratic couple failed to procure sufficient funds or earnings?^[36] Or personal health reasons?^[37] Unless more documents surface, we may simply never know.
According to Bertha, the couple “resigned” themselves to looking for work at the southern imperial periphery.^[38] After their first very fine summer in Gordi as guests of the Dadiani family, they moved to Kutais, where they met a number of colonialist Russians and exiled Europeans, including Comte de Rosmorduc, an old friend and counselor of Ekaterina Dadiani.^[39] To earn money (while waiting for news from St. Petersburg), Bertha taught singing and piano lessons; Arthur taught German. How long the von Suttners actually stayed in Kutais, however, is unclear. Bertha admits to losing track of the order and timing of their moves in and around Mingrelia in general; Arthur writes of spending the first winter in Tiflis.^[40]

THE RUSSO-TURKISH WAR

On 24 April 1877, the Russian government – influenced by outspoken Pan-Slavists, by revolts in Herzegovina, Bosnia, and Bulgaria, and by Realpolitik calculations – declared war on Turkey and sent its army across the Prut river. The von Suttners received letters from Austria telling them to flee, though Bertha suggests that these appeals were never considered.^[41] However, even if the von Suttners had wanted to, it was not at all clear how they could have succeeded: with the outbreak of war, the Russian ports on the Black Sea were closed (Bertha fails to mention this circumstance). As she recalled, the couple wished to stay and assist “the patriotic cause”: “Our sympathies… were on the Russian side. ‘The Slavic brothers had to be liberated’; and the Caucasus proved Russified and loyal.”^[42]
Seeking to participate, according to Bertha, she and Arthur wrote a letter to the appropriate authority, Governor-General Prince Dmitrii Sviatopolk-Mirskii, requesting official permission to work with the Russian Red Cross. Once they were told that they could not work together, however, they withdrew their offer.^[43] An indication for how important it might have been to remain together is provided by Bertha von Suttner in her one of her writings, wherein she describes first waiting at home in Tiflis for Arthur to return one night and then slowly panicking as the hours went by, imagining that he had been murdered and flung into the Kura river. When he did return, she passed out: “The happiness of having you again was so strong that I fainted.”^[44] And yet, it would seem more plausible that Sviatopolk-Mirskii rejected the von Suttners as volunteers because they were foreigners (their corresponding lack of relevant language skills and medical expertise may also have been a factor). The fact that Bertha von Suttner neglects in her Memoirs to indicate knowledge of the local Russian Red Cross branch in Tiflis, whose members surely included some of her acquaintances, if not friends in the Caucasus^[45] (nor does she mention having ever heard of the Red Cross’ influential newspaper Bulletin of the Russian Society of the Red Cross, printed in St. Petersburg^[46]) suggests, among other things, that despite her private welcome into the Dadiani royal family, she and Arthur were not as quickly embraced by the ranking Russian aristocracy. Indeed, the Russian Red Cross, like the Austrian Red Cross of the time (which the von Suttners also appeared never to have joined) restricted membership to the higher ranks of the upper class. Furthermore, it also underlines the significant fact that the von Suttners were de facto Austrian-Hungarians, and in wartime, despite Bertha’s sympathy “for her Slavic brothers,” citizenship was bound to contain the mobility of a supra-nationalistic culture.
As it turned out, Bertha did become involved in the Russo-Turkish war on a local level, which likewise set her apart from many of her aristocratic peers. Moreover, at least as reported in Bertha’s memoirs, these wartime activities also connected the couple to the local population in ways that they had not experienced earlier and would not repeat after the war: activities that also may have provided her with the practical organizational skills that would become so important in fulfilling the tasks of heading the Austrian Peace Society. Describing their situation, Bertha wrote: “Naturally, all those left behind were caught up in the Red Cross fever: assembling bandages for the wounded, replenishing stocks of tea and tobacco, offering food and beverages to regiments marching through, collecting money, and planning and carrying out social activities.” Yet, with hindsight, she also criticized these actions: “Today it seems to me that we could have done something better than that – we should not have sent the soldiers out in the first place!”^[47]
Bertha concluded her war memories by describing the new local hardships: “Suddenly there was the rumor that the plague had broken out nearby. We were extremely worried… But it didn’t reach us… although we were not doing so well during this time either… We even became accustomed to the specter of starvation.” Yet the war was also enhancing, as she continued: “Whatever our experiences, whether they were filled with happiness or distress, they brought us closer, and later we considered ourselves lucky, for such experiences had enriched us.”^[48]
Arthur actually left behind a more detailed sketch of his thoughts and actions in wartime: two long articles printed under a pseudonym in the Austrian daily Neue Freie Presse.^[49] Thus, in July 1877, as the Russian advance stopped at Plevna, Arthur reported on-site from the Transcaucasus, where “the enemy is not so far and could be in Kutais within twenty-four hours. People are arming here; in part, in preparation for flight.” He continued: “In my opinion, however, it would be better to wait here patiently for the Turks, because the good locals are much more dangerous, and they will delightfully slice the necks off the poor refugees fleeing along the paths and streets, in order then to propagate the news, with a lamenting shriek, that the Turks have again massacred more unlucky refugees.”^[50] According to Bertha, Arthur was no longer invited to write for the Neue Freie Presse because his articles were too pro-Russian.^[51]
Most of the information in Arthur’s articles hardly concerned the war, however. What he described were impressions of his now year-long, and clearly difficult, if not at times frightening, experiences in the Caucasus. Here he is, looking in from the outside, on the local situation, both as a “civilized” Austrian and as a member of the aristocracy. At times, this enlightened nobleman appears aghast at local culture and traditions. Whereas he wrote neutrally, for example, of the national food (shashlyk), he criticized a popular but dangerous ball game, which (one hears a sigh of relief) had recently been forbidden to Kutais locals, since it had led to some team members knifing each other, reportedly to satisfy private vendettas. He also wrote of corruption: how was it possible for certain persons, whose wages were low, to afford to pay 800 to 2000 rubles a year for extremely luxurious villas? Arthur then described the (for him, clearly primitive) national war-dance, referring his readership to James Fenimore Cooper and Friedrich Gerstäcker (a German writer whose stories about the American West likely influenced Karl May): “the only difference is that here the wild ones are dressed, whereas in America they wear their ‘Adam’ clothes.”^[52] In a second article he repeated his comparison of the local people with Native Americans: “The battle in Abkhazia has become bitter, and it recalls the battles of American pioneers and the Indians. There the solution was called ‘scalp for scalp.’ Here it is ‘head for head.’”^[53]
As for the local linguistic tradition, Arthur found it, too, perplexing, if not barbaric: “Instead of saying ‘I’m hot,’ one hears in the Caucasus: ‘I swear to you by the skin of my parents, and my heirs should wither to the tenth generation, if I’m not as hot as the devil.’” Even for a glass of water, according to Arthur, “one never says, ‘would you please give me a glass of water’ but rather: “Let your pest, pox, and cholera descend upon me – but give me a glass of water!” ^[54]
In the sense that it reflected something about himself and his own cultural norms and expectations, Arthur revealingly criticized the local culture in a specific passage in his article of 10 August 1877, again ostensibly about the Russo-Turkish war, wherein he described his “torture.” By way of introduction, he explained how he had ordered famous Dr. Hamm’s Weinbuch (Wine book) to be sent to Tiflis; here the reader understands the intended cultural code – a man from the West bringing the finer art of wine cultivation to a backward area. But Arthur’s book was then held up by the local customs office. The first “torture” consisted of waiting until the customs official arrived (an hour later than he should have). Then the official was uncertain whether the book contained forbidden political information; consequently, both had to make a trip to the censor’s office, clear across town, at Arthur’s expense (time and taxi fare, he complained). The “torture” ended as the book was eventually released; the (ignorant, one is meant to understand) censor, Arthur speculated, may have considered it a religious book, mistaking an image of Dr. Hamm for that of Archimandrites (an Orthodox abbey or priest). The lesson Arthur learned from this ordeal: Never ever order anything via the post (“Ich verschwor mich auf georgische Weise, nie mehr per Post etwas kommen zu lassen”).^[55]
In many ways Arthur’s and Bertha’s Russo-Turkish wartime autobiographical depictions focus on “otherness”: for example, Bertha’s recollection that “others” were infected by the plague, not the von Suttners, or Arthur’s narrative about the habits of Caucasian locals. Put in other words, one also finds therein a certain self-centeredness. Their writings reveal their exclusion from the highest Russian aristocratic circles (the Red Cross) as well as their distance from – at times distain of – the everyday world of their neighbors. They are, so to speak, in limbo. On the one hand, they are unable to relate well to their surroundings. On the other hand, however, as Bertha remarks, their “outsider” status brought them closer to each other, and this was an even more important personal life experience.
On 3 March 1878, an armistice was reached (the Peace of San Stefano), though peace was not declared until mid-July, with the conclusion of the Berlin Congress. Life in this part of the Caucasus began to return to normal. The Austrian Lloyd steamship returned to docking at Batumi within a year, and there was renewed talk in the Austrian Foreign Ministry of opening up an honorary consulate there (until then the Austrian Foreign Ministry depended on the French Vice-Consul) to aid the roughly 100 Austro-Hungarians living in the general area.^[56]

PROJECTS

After the war, Bertha found a new vocation, one which would provide her with a steady income for the rest of her life – she became a writer, as she explained: “After being spurred by her spouse’s example… she too attempted to take up the feather… Since then – like the illustrious tiger that once licked blood – she could never stop writing.”^[57] Such a career move, and with such success, was achieved by few other contemporary aristocratic women in Austria-Hungary (Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach and Irma von Troll-Borostyáni being two other exceptions to the rule).
Arthur meanwhile continued attempting more traditional aristocratic strategies to earn money, such as starting up an agricultural colony in the area of Zugdidi. Might he have read other books by Dr. Hamm, such as his Landwirtschaft in Bildern [Agriculture through Pictures] [Wien 1873])?^[58] Three sources have survived that suggest that Arthur was very keen on this project. First, a letter from a certain Hans Graf Hallwyl, living in Vienna, who reported on their mutual effort to found an Austrian society dedicated to establishing such a settlement in Mingrelia.^[59] Hallwyl wrote optimistically and enthusiastically about the joint enterprise, assuming that it could begin within months.
The second source relates to the project’s failure: a letter from Prince André Dadiani. Comparable to the wartime situation, and in contrast to the personal support and equal footing Bertha found from (and for) Ekaterina Dadiani, this example demonstrates where class structures clashed with national interests. Although we do not have Arthur’s original letter, which inspired this response, it is clear that Arthur believed André had let him down (again). André’s letter, an attempt to answer Arthur line-by-line, was written in St. Petersburg on 21 January – 2 February 1879.^[60] It is a letter worth examining in detail, not least for this “inter-imperial dialogue” between a Mingrelian Prince and a Habsburg Baron, both about the same age, for it indicates the limits of, if not resistance to, certain imperial practices and cultural patterns on both sides of an increasingly nationalistic and, particularly German-speaking, colonial Europe.
Evidently, the subject of an Austrian agricultural colony had been discussed in the Dadiani family circles for some time: André writes that Arthur had approached him the previous May about it, and that André had also relayed to Arthur his position more than once (that the project was unfeasible). Since Arthur apparently had not yet understood it, however, this letter should set the record straight. According to André, Arthur’s last letter expressed his impatience, frustration, and offence towards André for not having received a quicker response. André defended himself by saying that he had asked his mother, Ekaterina, “who is so fond of Arthur and Madame la Baronne,” to intervene and explain the situation. He also deeply apologized to Arthur for having “injured him involuntarily.” To Arthur’s apparent accusation that André did not heed his interest, André responded: “I have always considered the issue clearly and seriously.” Arthur accused him of forgetting about the contract they made in Gordi, to which André replied that it was not a contract but a proposal for a contract, “which is something else altogether… and I repeatedly told you that without a contract the issue is meaningless.” André then explained the need for bureaucratic procedures, such as a notarized signature, which could only be realized in St. Petersburg. Moreover, André emphasized that without the contract there would be trickery and disagreements, and as he approached his conclusion, he mentioned his own indignation toward Arthur and his fellow colonists, who “ignore procedures.” He then outlined (once again, as he writes) his main objections: Arthur and his companions do not know the terrain; nor do they know the relevant languages (Russian, Georgian, and Mingrelian). Moreover, it is difficult to find a place suitable to their desires: “It could well be that people are willing to come to Zugdidi without having signed a contract. They are free to do as they please, but we who live here are also at liberty to negotiate according to our own interests.” The letter ends on a cordial, but also a firm and slightly patronizing, note. The von Suttners may be family, it seems to argue, but their Austrian compatriots were not welcome as colonizers.
About a month later, Arthur is sent a letter by Governor Sviatopolsk-Mirskii in Tiflis, in response to Arthur’s own recent letter, offering that he could find a team willing to undertake a 500 desiatiny land-survey on a piece of his property, but that there were many other details to consider, and it would take time.^[61] It would also probably require substantial funding. No other correspondence along these lines has been located, so it must be assumed that Arthur simply dropped the entire project.^[62]
Bertha, in the course of her article of 1880 on the Russian language, provides a few examples of possible miscommunications between Russian-educated aristocrats and their western European counterparts, and in this light lies perhaps her analysis of Arthur’s (or their) initial disappointment in not receiving the anticipated (class) support on this project (and others).^[63] Thus, she clarifies how some words in Russian have several meanings: nichego, for example, can mean “that doesn’t hurt,” “it’s the same to me,” “not bad,” or “nothing,” depending on the context. Of nepremenno (“absolument” or “definitely”), she writes:

“Every promise, every project is followed up by “definitely, definitely,” but since it is actually almost never realized, one must not take the Russian’s promise of “definitely” so literally, because they themselves don’t take it that way; they use it lightly. If one suggested to a Russian to travel to Jerusalem on the following day, or to climb a pyramid, the chances are 99 out of 100 that he will answer “absolument”, but 100 out of 100 that he will not think about it again.”^[64]

This example suggests too that Bertha von Suttner did not consider concepts of nationalism and class as relevant for her cultural analysis.

COSMOPOLITANS

With the agricultural project no longer viable, the von Suttners moved from Kutais to Tiflis to find better work opportunities. There Thamare de Georgie, the widow of a Russian general, invited them to her salons, along with “la créme of society,” according to Bertha.^[65] Bertha found herself again enchanted in the exotic aristocratic blend of Occidental and Oriental culture, as she wrote: “Tiflis is a half-Oriental, half-Western European city. In the European quarter, life is the same as in our big cities… French cooks, English governesses, conversation in Russian and French.”^[66]
Between odd jobs (mainly teaching piano), Bertha continued writing and contemplating how to explain Russian culture and society to her new Austrian and German readership. Russian sounded to her “melodic, powerful, and weak at the same.”^[67] Russian society was “improving,” she claimed, offering as proof the many foreign words now in Russian, especially in branches of knowledge and industry. Russian diplomats and aristocrats from St. Petersburg that one met in Europe, she pointed out, were cosmopolitans: worldly, modern, and civilized. For example, Bertha writes of Prince Nikolas Dadiani: “He is a competent speaker; his memory is amazing; and he is witty. He is also incredibly good-tempered – indeed, he has what the French call charme; he likes to read and reads a lot, and he has the habit of adding marginal notes to scholarly books.”^[68]
Bertha also found in aristocratic Russians, however, an inbuilt paternalism or moral and intellectual superiority, even toward other Western nobles: “‘How is that possible?’ ‘How not!’ Russian answers are entirely constructed as if they have arisen from the following reflection: ‘How can you ask such a dumb question!’” Providing a second example, Bertha explained: “They say, ‘Are you not ashamed?’ which means basically, ‘How could you possibly think such a thing?’”^[69] Clearly, this enlightened European aristocrat is uncomfortable at the idea of being in the position of appearing to have inferior thoughts. Yet she responds with astonishment – curiosity mixed with a readiness to adapt – rather than national resentment and defensiveness.
Bertha concluded her published Russian musings in a political vein: with thoughts on Turgenev^[70] and nihilism. She selected a passage from Ottsy i deti, the by-now famous one, where Arkadii, a student, brings Bazarov home for a visit to his estate and introduces him to his father and uncle: “What does Mr. Bazarov do?” “He is a nihilist… a person who does not bow to any authority, who does not accept even one principle based on belief…: some are good, some are bad…”^[71] Bertha herself would soon call into question a specific social principle, a “natural law” of her time: the so-called morality of waging war.

ANTI-SEMITISM

Political unrest in Russia climaxed with the assassination of Alexander II^[72] on 1 March 1881 which, among other things, provided the impetus in early April for the start of anti-Semitic pogroms, which would last over two years, reaching from Elizavetgrad into many towns and villages in southeast Russia and Ukraine. By the end of 1881, approximately 215 Jewish communities had been destroyed.^[73] Neighboring Austria-Hungary, for its part in assisting the panicked Jewish population, with the active encouragement and participation of Jewish organizations in Europe and the United States, opened its border at Brody, in Eastern Galicia, and over the course of a year, several thousand Russian Jews found legal refuge.
Bertha, who would publicly defend Alfred Dreyfus in the late 1890s, as well assist Theodore Herzl’s efforts to meet Nicholas II during the Kishinev pogroms in 1903, does indeed write in her Memoirs of her impressions of anti-Semitism in the 1880s. However, this is solely in the context of describing the motivations behind Arthur’s 1891 founding of the Viennese Society for the Defense against Anti-Semitism (Verein zur Abwehr des Antisemitismus)^[74]: “We were in the Caucasus when we heard about Prussian Court Counselor [Adolf] Stöcker’s dissemination of anti-Semitism. The appearance of this instilled us with – I hardly need say what – utter abhorrence.”^[75]
But why, one must ask, does Bertha mention exclusively Prussian anti-Semitism at this time, without a comment, even marginal, on Russian anti-Semitism? Were the von Suttners un aware of the anti-Semitic Kutais court cases in 1878, against ten Jews for having killed a local Georgian girl for a “blood ritual?” (All the men were shortly acquitted.^[76]) Could it be that neither of the von Suttners had heard of the ongoing 1881-82 pogroms in southern Russia? Or did their language deficiencies make them dependent on other sources for national news? And if so, which? My investigations lead me to the hypothesis that their concrete knowledge of anti-Semitism in Russia at this time was limited to perusal of the scholarly French bimonthly, La revue des deux mondes, which published, for example, Georges Valbert’s “Les juifs allemands et leurs ennemis” (“German Jews and Their Enemies”) in its issue of 1 March 1882 (pages 214-225), directly addressing the “Stöcker Affair.”^[77] Indeed this publication, which Bertha von Suttner often referred to in her later works, throughout 1881 and 1882 mentioned only marginally the enormous wave of Russian anti-Semitism at this time, such as this isolated comment in the summer of 1881: “Only recently – because of the disorders and the violence against the Jews – can one discern the kind of moral state existing in certain provinces. Conditions in Russia appear to be becoming thoroughly difficult.”^[78]
Instead, La revue’s main attention to Russia between the fall of 1880 and the summer 1882 focused on a six-part essay entitled “La Russie moderne” by a leading French historian of the time, Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu (this essay is part of what would become his three-volume Empire des tsars et les Russes). Although Leroy-Beaulieu was at times critical of the Russian regime, his work concentrated on the many positive aspects of Alexander II’s reforms for having “placed Russia more firmly within the European family of nations.”^[79] If indeed this is the main scholarly basis for Bertha von Suttner’s knowledge about Russia, then her long-lasting, positive, and somewhat naпve disposition toward the cosmopolitan Russians she met and read about in the Georgian provinces is hardly surprising. She knew and experienced “another” Russia. As anti-Semitic riots broke out in Kiev (causing, economically speaking, over a million rubles in damage), the news in April 1881 in the Tiflis region was that it was unusually cold, reaching two degrees Celsius at night, which was endangering the grape harvest.^[80] In mid-August 1881, there was an earthquake in Tiflis. How the von Suttners were affected and how they responded is unknown.^[81]

“YOU ARE BOTH TRUE CAUCASIANS… ”^[82]

Bertha recalled that Arthur found employment around mid-1881 at Eugéne Bernex’ construction company. Whether this was an “appropriate” job for an Austrian baron was of little importance: Arthur would earn a steady 150 rubles a month,^[83] which would assist the couple in overcoming their financial straits. Bertha continued writing,^[84] and in March 1882 she received a positive response from the editor of Die Gartenlaube; they wanted to publish her novella Ketten und Verkettungen. Die Gartenlaube is often considered the most successful German-language journal of its day: in 1875, it sold over 380,000 copies and reached some five million readers (its popular authors included Eugenie Marlitt, Friedrich Spielhagen, Karl Emil Franzos, and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch^[85]). Bertha was strongly encouraged to send Die Gartenlaube more of her writing,^[86] and this literary success probably invoked in her, or in both of them, a desire to return to Austria.^[87] Also at this time, Ekaterina Dadiani became terminally ill, and she passed away on 25 August 1882. Although Bertha hardly referred to this death in her Memoirs, others reported that Ekaterina’s three-day funeral was attended by some “80,000 people… assembled in the courts of the [Zugdidi] castle, and [that] the cries and howls could be heard for several miles around.”^[88]
By late 1882, western European friends such as Wilhelm Löwenthal strongly encouraged the von Suttners to leave the Caucasus, which lay “far away from all civilization.”^[89] Zugdidi, where they presently were, Löwenthal claimed, was a “spiritual emptiness,” and a move to Berlin would be much more appropriate. In other words, according to Löwenthal, the artistic circles in Berlin, not the high society of Vienna, could provide a better “European” home for this new literary couple. Around this time Balduin Groller^[90] began providing Bertha editing advice,^[91] and in March 1883 he wrote that her Inventarium einer Seele had been accepted for publication.^[92] As with their friendship to Löwenthal, the von Suttners’ relationship to Balduin Groller grew closer once they returned to Austria (he became a founding member of both the Austrian peace and Jewish defense societies). Soon, Alfred Nobel, another acquaintance who would become a friend and key benefactor of Bertha’s in the course of the next ten years, wrote encouragingly: “Madame, I am again under the charm of your delicious book [Inventarium]. What style and such philosophic thoughts animated by profound feeling! Thank you very much for allowing me the pleasure to read your work, and please accept with my respectful homage the profound devotion that is inspired by a memory and an undiminished and non-diminishable admiration.”^[93]
When precisely Bertha and Arthur decided to return is unknown, though there are indications that the planning began by August 1883, when Bernex informed Arthur that unexpectedly and unfortunately he could not afford to employ him anymore.^[94] As Salomé Dadiani-Murat wrote to her “dear Boua-Boua” (Arthur), concerning the “unfortunate news” about Bernex (who was also contracted to renovate the Dadiani palace in Zugdidi), “I, who perhaps still hold some illusions about humanity,” was saddened and embarrassed.^[95] Salomй concluded her letter by supporting Arthur’s new desire to become a novelist, and yet delicately asked if he had the required leisure to succeed. Bertha, too, for some reason was unhappy at this time, which can be gathered from an extremely warm-hearted letter written to her by André Dadiani:

“You are a person of superior spirit; even more, you have a golden heart. And it would be ridiculous to address you with consolatory phrases and words. Something depressing happened, voilа! This is the time to turn to your calm determination, your budding spirit, and the treasures of your life experiences. If you let yourself be beaten, I will cease to recognize you as “the extraordinary woman” I know. It is a new struggle that you must undertake, and you can do it. Means are not lacking for overcoming this obstacle.”^[96]

Could this mid-summer depression be related to Arthur losing his job? To a six-week illness she refers to in her Memoiren (and in her fictional Es Löwos)? To having recently turned forty? Or to hearing that her mother was ill? Sophie von Kinsky died on 26 March 1884, and Bertha writes that this death was “a heavy loss: I had hoped to see her again, since our return home was forthcoming.”^[97] In any case, having never really integrated into the local society, it would seem that the von Suttners left not out of any particular discord and enmity, but out of professional considerations – and perhaps a dose of “homesickness.”^[98]
The “nine-year honeymoon” ended in April 1885. By this time, Bertha, under her literary pseudonym B. Oulot, had published some sixteen pieces for Austrian and German publications, which had helped support their day-to-day existence in the Caucasus with abroad and had provided her with a literary reputation in German-speaking countries. In the course of the next decade, Arthur too would make a name for himself as a member of the “Jung-Wien” circle, producing a number of books and articles, mostly based on his experiences and observations in the “exotic” Caucasus.^[99]
The aristocratic von Suttners had survived their sojourn abroad by becoming writers, without much help from their social cohorts; moreover, the attempts by Arthur to fulfill the traditional aristocratic career ladder, e.g., diplomatic post, agricultural colonist, had failed miserably. Although they never returned to the Caucasus, both von Suttners retained an active interest in Russian-Georgian history and events. Once back in Austria, for instance, Arthur wrote a short description of Mingrelia, highlighting Niko Dadiani, who in 1886 was briefly put up as the Russian candidate to the Bulgarian throne.^[100] Yet as their friend Nikolas Astafiev predicted, their strong memories of the Caucasus would gradually fade: “The Caucasus clearly assumes a great place in your memories, of that I’m sure, but your recollections will resemble a painting, whose contour gradually but increasingly blurs.”^[101] A year later, Astafiev wrote again, reminding them however of their Caucasian “roots”: “You are both true Caucasians, since, as you well know, everyone who leaves the Caucasus for elsewhere becomes celebrated in all branches of science, administration, etc. Here is where the seeds for talent take root: for working and thinking.”^[102] Indeed, the interactions Arthur and Bertha von Suttner had while abroad had truly helped them break away from their upbringing and its mores, and they returned to Austria inspired by thoughts acquired or deepened “in exile”: particularly those about how to make the world a better place. What began as an aristocratic “exile” to the Caucasus, became a journalistic undertaking, which then evolved into political (non-governmental) engagement on the home front.^[103]
The von Suttners spent their nine years in the Caucasus independently (including economic independence). They successfully distanced themselves from their parents and their social milieu, but they were unable to integrate meaningfully into their new surroundings, despite having certainly found acceptance in the especially Dadiani-centered aristocratic circles. Their time abroad ultimately served as an agreeable location for intensive reading, thinking, and writing. This enabled Bertha and Arthur to better establish an inner confidence that they would later display at international political events, where aristocrats as well as journalists by the late 19th century, in a break with the past, began to form public policy. Although the fact of separation from the traditional Austrian aristocratic milieu, with its distinct socio-cultural pressures, was probably more important to the von Suttners than the place they went to (one can only speculate what would have happened had Bertha instead moved to the United States), their experiences and thoughts in the Russian Caucasus could not but inform their subsequent lives. Bertha would soon put the Austrian-Hungarian and German peace movements on the international map, inspiring as well other peace movements, such as those in Russia,^[104] turning her into one of the most prominent peace activists of her time.^[105]