Monday, August 8:
Restless night; yesterday evening Richter drove once again into town, but the dispatches he brought back were incomprehensible; all we could make of them was that the Northern army appears to have advanced, too; I scarcely dare believe it all. The terrible losses lie heavy on our hearts; of 3,000 men only 180 have survived, on account of the mitrailleuse fire!
Regarding Bismarck we hear the following story: after the declaration of war he was summoned to the Queen, who said to him, “So once again we face terrible times—what will this war cost us?” “Your Majesty, a few Napoleons,” was Bismarck’s reply!
In the afternoon to Countess B.’s with my lint, bandages, linen, etc. The newspapers (the Swiss ones, all in favor of the French) report that the French troops are regrouping and are in excellent shape. It was not Bazaine but Frossard who was beaten when he tried to go to MacMahon’s aid; Napoleon, telegraphing the news, reported that the situation could be repaired. All the same, Paris is being placed in a state of siege. Countess B. tells me that the Viennese banker Todesco was with her when the news came of the victory at Wörth; he turned pale, spoke of the 30 millions which had been lost, and said the Austrians were now certain to commit the “folly” of joining in the war, etc. This makes the Countess suspect that Beust has accepted money under the table and that Austria will now join with France, for Herr Todesco is an intimate of Beust’s. Among other things he also said: “And this man Bray, what on earth is he doing? We all thought he was well disposed”!!! Well disposed—that means, French!
We drive to the shop where the news is posted; there are rumors of a German defeat at Metz. Though without foundation, the mention of it is nevertheless enough to make one apprehensive. Fortune is fickle—will it remain true to our army? In melancholy concern I go on with my work and collect my faculties to pray for a deep wish.