By Bertha von Suttner
"¡Abajo las armas!" es los angeles biografía de ficción de una mujer a quien l. a. guerra le ha arrebatado dos maridos. Un relato naturalista de las campañas bélicas de 1859, 1864, 1866 y 1870/1871. Una implacable descripción de los horrores y odios, cuando no injusticias, que provocan los conflictos armados. Bertha von Suttner pone de relieve l. a. angustia de las mujeres cuyos maridos e hijos perdían l. a. vida o quedaban mutilados en el campo de batalla. Pero también cuestiona a una sociedad que considera virtudes positivas el coraje combativo y el orgullo de ser soldado; también a los Estados que periódicamente lanzan a l. a. Humanidad a un baño de sangre bajo pretextos como los angeles dignidad, el patriotismo o l. a. propia defensa.
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Additional resources for ¡Abajo las armas!
Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master, Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, 61 Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday; Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey.
But with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people! Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible, 33 Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent entreaty! Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pilgrims of Plymouth, Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea-shore, Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the Mayflower, Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here in the desert. Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had lain without slumber, Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his fever.
Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors, Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the fir-tree, Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Esheol. Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and Isaac, 62 Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers.