A soul of fire ... but not wise and prudent: what moved him—sympathy with human misery, indignation against human enslavement—he spoke out too clamorously and in the wrong place, and he is now atoning for it in state prison, with two years and a quarter of solitary confinement.... Do you realize what that means for a youth with exuberant powers of vitality, with a soul full of poetic inspiration, with eager yearning for work, for love, for helping the world to betterment,—seven and twenty months of solitude!... I believe it will rejoice his heart if word is sent him that his verses, so deeply penetrated with emotion, have been heard in this circle, and that his fate has touched a few noble hearts here—it will be to him like a greeting from freedom, for freedom.... And if you now applaud this sentiment, may every handclap count as applause for our imprisoned colleague. The hearty applause that followed vindicated the defiant bard of peace in Plötzensee. Here is the letter from the professor at Graz: Graz, April 21, 1896 My dear Baroness: Your note caused me great embarrassment. I am asked to give my views on your article, “Two Kinds of Morals,” which would necessitate uttering my opinion concerning your whole philosophy of peace. I will make you a counter-proposal,—fling me, together with the horrid Sighele, into a pot, and leave these naughty professors entirely out of consideration. There is nothing to be done with them. They only spoil your temper, drive you out of your dreams, and spoil that noblest enjoyment of yours which you find in agitating the peace idea. I, at least, will not take it upon me to play such a rascally rôle in opposition to you. You desire to see the picture at Sais and I am to raise the curtain, am I? No, my dear Baroness, that I will not do. I have long made it my principle: “Where’er a heart for peace glows calm, Oh, let it be, disturb it not!” Must I on your account go back on these principles? Again the poet warns me: “Believe my word, that were a fault!” Not for a moment do I yield to the illusion that I could persuade you; the chasm is too wide for me to be able to throw a bridge across, and I am not convinced that by doing so I should do any good. It would be a better thing if _you_ could convert _me_; but hops and malt are lost on me,—I am even worse than Sighele.