But intervention in the war was not one of those ordinary enterprises on which Italy might reasonably embark, after having carefully counted up the cost in men and money and allowed a reasonable margin for unforeseen demands on both. In this venture the liabilities were unlimited, whereas the resources of the nation were bounded, the limits being much narrower than in the case of any other Great Power. And this was a truly hampering circumstance. Serious though it was, however, it would hardly avail to deter a nation from accepting the risks and offering up the sacrifices requisite, if the motive were at once adequate, peremptory and pressing.

But Italy, unlike the Allies, had had no strong provocation to draw the sword. Grievances she undoubtedly possessed in plenty. She had been badly dealt with by her allies, but forbearance was her rule of living. For nearly a generation she had been a partner of the two militarist States, yet she shrank from severing her connection with them, even when they deliberately broke their part of the compact. This breach of covenant not only dispensed her from taking arms on their side, but would also, owing to the consequences it involved, have sufficed to warrant her adhesion to the Entente Powers. But for conclusive reasons—lack of preparedness among others—she condoned all affronts and drew the line at neutrality.

The country was absolutely unequipped for the contest. The Lybian campaign had disorganized Italy’s national defences and depleted her treasury. Arms, ammunition, uniforms, primary necessaries—in a word, the means of equipping an army—were lacking. The expenditure of £80,000,000 sterling during the conflict with Turkey rendered the strictest economy imperative, and so intent was the Cabinet on observing it that the first candidate for the post of War Minister declined the honour, because of the disproportion between the sum offered to him for reorganization and the pressing needs of the national defences.

The outbreak of the present conflict, therefore, took Italy unawares and found her in a condition of military unpreparedness which, if her participation in the war had been a necessity, might have had mischievous consequences for the nation. Availing herself of this condition of affairs and of the pacific temper of the Italian people, Germany reinforced those motives by the prospect of Corsica, Nice, Savoy, Tunis and Morocco in return for active co-operation. But the active co-operation of Italy with Austria and Germany was wholly excluded. The people would have vetoed it as suicidal. The utmost that could be attempted was the preservation of her neutrality, and that this object would be attained seemed a foregone conclusion.

And it is fair to state that this belief was well grounded. When war was declared and Italy was summoned to march with her allies against France, Britain and Russia, she repudiated her obligation on the ground that the clause in their treaty provided for common action in defence only, not for co-operation in a war of aggression, such as was then about to be waged. And that plea could not be rebutted. This preliminary dissonance to which the Central empires resigned themselves was followed by disputes which turned upon the interpretation of the compensation clause of the Treaty, upon Italy’s territorial demands and Austria’s demurrers. Thus from first to last the issues raised were of a diplomatic order, and if German statesmen had received carte blanche to settle them, it is not improbable that a compromise would have been effected which would have left the Italian Government no choice but to persevere in its neutrality.

And German statesmen strove hard to wrest the matter from their ally and take it into their own hands, but were only partially successful. Both they and the Austrians selected their most supple and wily diplomatists to conduct the difficult negotiations. Prince BÜlow was appointed German Ambassador to King Victor’s Government, Baron Macchio supplanted Merey in Rome, but the most sensational change effected was the substitution of Baron Burian for Count Berchtold in the Austrian Ministry of Foreign Affairs.[90] This latter event was construed by the European public as the foretoken of a new and far-resonant departure in Austria’s treatment of international relations. In reality it was hardly more than the withdrawal from public business of a tired statesman malgrÉ lui who had persistently sought to be relieved of his charge ever since his first appointment. Count Berchtold’s name is inseparably associated with events of the first magnitude for his country and for Europe, but on the creation or moulding of which he had little appreciable part. It is hardly too much to say that if, during the period while he held office, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had been without a head, the mechanism would have worked with no serious hitch, and with pretty much the same results which we now behold. For he was but the intermediary between the mechanism and the real minister, who invariably appeared as a deus ex machina in all the great crises of recent years, and who was none other than the Emperor Francis Joseph himself.

Count Berchtold was a continuator. He endeavoured under adverse circumstances to carry out the feasible schemes of his predecessor, but the obstacles in his way proved insurmountable. He is a straightforward, truthful man, and in the best sense of the word a gentleman. The greatest achievement to which he can point during his tenure of power is the disruption of the Balkan League. Having had an opportunity of seeing the working of the scheme at close quarters, I may say that it was ingenious. Pacific by temperament and conviction, he co-operated successfully with the Emperor to ward off a European conflict more than once. But from the day when Count Tisza won over Franz Josef to the ideas of Kaiser Wilhelm, Count Berchtold’s occupation was gone.

His successor, Baron Burian, entered upon his office with an established reputation and a political programme. But so immersed were the Allies in the absurd illusions which ascribed disorganization to Germany and discord to the two imperial Governments, that Burian’s appointment was read by many as an omen that Austria-Hungary was already scheming for a separate peace. Events soon showed that the disorganization was not in Germany nor the discord on the side of the Central Empires.

Meanwhile the Italian Minister of Foreign Affairs, Di San Giuliano, had succumbed to a painful illness, which, however, did not prevent him from writing and reading dispatches down to the very eve of his death.[91] His successor was Sydney Sonnino, perhaps the most upright, rigid and taciturn man who has ever had to receive foreign diplomatists and discourse sweet nothings in their ears. Devoid of eloquence, of personal magnetism and of most of the arts deemed essential to the professional diplomatist, he is a man of culture, eminent talents, fervid zeal for the public welfare, steady moral courage, and rare personal integrity. Pitted against the supple and versatile BÜlow, his influence might be likened to that of the austere philosopher gazing at the incarnate Lamia.

Between these two statesmen conversations began[92] under favourable auspices. One of the conditions to which each of them subscribed was the maintenance of rigorous secrecy until the end of their labours. And it was observed religiously until Germany’s “necessity” seemed to call for the violation of the pledge, whereupon it was profitably violated. Baron Sonnino told the German plenipotentiary that “the majority of the population was in favour of perpetuating neutrality, and gave its support to the Government for this purpose, provided always that by means of neutrality certain national aspirations could be realized.”[93] BÜlow at once scored an important point by taking sides with Italy against Austria on the disputed question whether Clause VII of the Triple Alliance entitled the former country to demand compensation for the upsetting of the Balkan equilibrium caused by Austria’s war on Serbia. That view and its practical corollaries set the machinery going. The Austrian Government abandoned its non possumus, and discussed the nature and extent of the compensation alleged to be due. But it never traversed the distances between words and acts.

One of the many wily devices by which the German Ambassador sought to inveigle the Consulta into forgoing its right to resort to war was employed within three weeks of the beginning of negotiations. BÜlow confidentially informed Sonnino that Germany was sending Count von Wedel to Vienna to persuade the Cabinet there to cede the Trentino to Italy, and asked him whether, if Austria acquiesced, it would not be possible to announce to the Chamber that the Italian Government had already in hand enough to warrant it in assuming that the main aspirations of the nation would be realized.[94] “Absolutely impossible,” was Sonnino’s reply. But the Dictator Giolitti, whom Prince BÜlow took into partnership, was more confident and pliable. This parliamentary leader, whose will was law in his own country and whose life-work consisted in eliminating ethical principles from politics, made known his belief—nay, his positive knowledge—that by diplomatic negotiations the nation could obtain concessions which would dispense it from embarking on the war. This pronouncement had a widespread effect on public opinion, confirming the prevalent belief that Austria would satisfy Italy’s claims.

There was no means of verifying those announcements, for the Rome Government scrupulously observed its part of the compact, and allowed no news of the progress of the conversations to leak out. In fact, it went much farther and deprived the Italian people systematically of all information on the subject of the crisis. Consequently the poisoners of the wells of truth had a facile task.

It was no secret, however, that the cession of the Trentino would not suffice to square accounts. Italy’s land and sea frontiers were strategically so exposed that it was sheer impossible to provide adequately for their defence. And this essential defect rendered the nation semi-dependent on its neighbour and adversary and powerless to pursue a policy of its own. For half a century this dangerous flaw in the national edifice and its pernicious effects on Italy’s international relations had been patiently borne with, but Baron Sonnino considered that the time for repairing it and strengthening the groundwork of peace had come. And as he had not the faintest doubt that technically as well as essentially he had right on his side, he pressed the matter vigorously. Austrian diplomacy, dense and dilatory as ever, argued, protested, temporized. In these tactics it was encouraged by the knowledge that Italy was unequipped for war, and by the delusion that the remedial measures of reorganization then going forward were only make-believe. The Italian Government, on the other hand, convinced that nothing worth having could be secured by diplomacy until diplomacy was backed by force, was labouring might and main to raise the army and navy to a position as worthy as possible of a Great Power and commensurate with the momentous issues at stake.

But the position of the Cabinet was seriously weakened by the domestic and insidious enemy. Giolitti’s pronouncement had provided the Austrians with a trump card. For if the Dictator accounted the proffered concession as a settlement in full, it was obvious that the Cabinet, which was composed of his own nominees whom he could remove at will, would not press successfully for more extensive compensation. Giolitti was the champion and spokesman of the nation, and his estimate of its aspirations alone carried weight. And now once more the Dictator, acting through his parliamentary lieutenants, organized another anti-governmental demonstration which humiliated the Cabinet and impaired its authority as a negotiator. Of this favourable diversion the Austrians availed themselves to the full. But gradually it dawned upon them that behind the Italian Foreign Minister a reorganized Italian army, well equipped and partially mobilized, was being arrayed for the eventuality of a failure of the negotiations. By way of recognizing this fact the Ballplatz increased its offer, but only very slightly, while it grew more and more lavish of arguments. But the “principal aspirations of the Italian people” had not yet been taken into serious consideration by Baron Burian. Down to April 21 this statesman had not braced himself up to offer anything more than the Trentino, which Prince BÜlow had virtually promised in January, and this despite the intimation given by the Italian Foreign Secretary, that after the long spell of word-weaving and hair-splitting he must insist on a serious and immediate effort being put forth to meet Italy’s demands.

Thus during five months of tedious negotiations Austria had contrived to exchange views and notes with the Consulta without offering any more solid basis for an agreement than the cession of a part of the Trentino. It is fair to add that even this appeared a generous gift to Franz Josef’s ministers, who failed to see why the Habsburg Monarchy should offer any compensation to an ally from whom help, not claims, had been expected. To a possible abandonment of territory on the Isonzo or elsewhere the Vienna Cabinet made no allusion. On April 8 Sonnino presented counter proposals, which he unfolded in nine clauses. They comprehended the cession of the Trentino, including the frontiers established for the kingdom of Italy by the Treaty of Paris of 1810; a rectification of Italy’s eastern boundaries, taking in the cities of Gradisca and Gorizia; the transformation of Trieste and its territory into an autonomous State, internationally independent; the transfer to the kingdom of Italy of the Curzolari group of islands; all these territories to be delivered up on the ratification of the Treaty. Further, Italy’s full sovereignty over Valona was to be recognized by Austria, who should forswear all further designs on Albania and concede a full pardon to all persons of those lands undergoing punishment for political or military offences. On her side Italy would consent to pay 200,000,000 francs as her share of the public debt and of other financial obligations of the provinces in question, to remain absolutely neutral during the present war, and to renounce all further claims to compensation arising out of Clause VII of the Treaty.[95]

Those terms were rejected by the Austrian Foreign Minister on grounds which have no longer any practical interest. Noteworthy is his remark that even in peace time the immediate consignment of such territory as Austria might be willing to abandon would be impossible, and during the prosecution of a tremendous war it was inconceivable.[96] From this position he had never once swerved during the five months’ conversations, and he was backed by Germany, who on March 19 had offered to guarantee the fulfilment of the promise after the war. But a fortnight later he suddenly changed his ground without really yielding the point, by suggesting the creation of a mixed commission which should make recommendations about the ways and means of transferring the strips of territory in question. But as the labours of this commission were not to be restricted in time, and as the amount to be ceded fell far short of what was demanded, Baron Sonnino negatived the suggestion.

Then and only then did the Italian Government withdraw their proposals, denounce the Triple Alliance, and proclaim Italy’s liberty of action.[97]

Of this sensational turn of affairs the European public had no inkling. For the Italian Government was bound to reticence by its plighted word and the Germans and Austrians by their interest, which was to foster the belief that the conversations were proceeding successfully and that Austria’s proposals were welcomed by the Consulta. But Italy, thus absolved from the ties that had so long linked her with Germany and Austria, entered into a conditional compact with the Powers of the Entente. In Paris the secret quickly leaked out and was at once communicated to Berlin, whose organized espionage continued to flourish in the French capital. Thereupon Herr Jagow urged BÜlow to bestir himself without delay. But the Prince was hard set. On the Italian Cabinet he had lost his hold. It had already crossed the Rubicon and passed over to the Entente. True, the Cabinet was not Italy, was not even the Government of Italy. It was hardly more than a group of mere place-warmers for Giolitti and his partisans. At any moment it could be upset and the damage inflicted by Austria’s stupidity made good. And to effect this was the task to which the German Ambassador now addressed himself.

He was admirably qualified to discharge it. All Italy, with the exception of a small band of nationalists and republicans, was his ally. The Pope was ex officio an apostle of peace. A large body of the clergy submissively followed the Pope. The Vatican and its hangers-on were sitting en permanence directing a movement which had for its object the prevention of war. The parliamentary majority was aggressively neutralist. The economic interests of the nation were ranged on the same side. Almost the entire aristocracy was enlisted under the flag of the German Ambassador, at whose hospitable board the scions of the men whose names had been honourably associated with the Risorgimento met and deliberated. As yet, therefore, nothing was lost to the Central Empires; only a difficulty had been created which would serve as a welcome foil to impart sharper relief to Prince BÜlow’s certain victory. The man whose co-operation would win this victory was the Dictator Giolitti, and him the Ambassador summoned to Rome.

Now Giolitti was acquainted with everything that had been done by the Cabinet, including his country’s covenant with the Allies, and he disapproved of it. He was also initiated by BÜlow into the scheme by which that covenant was to be set aside and Italy made to break her faith, and he signified his approbation of it. Nay, this patriot went further; he undertook to aid and abet BÜlow in his well-thought-out plot. It had been resolved by the German Ambassador, as soon as he learned that Italy had taken an irrevocable decision and denounced the Treaty of Alliance, that he would amend the proposals which he himself, in Austria’s name, had put forward as the utmost limit to which she was prepared to go; and he was anxious, before offering them officially, to ascertain whether Italy’s Dictator would accept them and guarantee their acceptance by his parliamentary majority.

That was the object for which Giolliti’s presence was needed in Rome. The amended proposals were typewritten and distributed by Erzberger, the leader of the German Catholic parliamentary party, who was an over-zealous agent of the Wilhelmstrasse and a persona grata at the Vatican. He, a German, had gone to Rome to bestir the neutralists and lead the movement against the Italian Government. His leaflets containing the belated concessions were given to Giolitti and his lieutenants. I received a copy myself, and sent it to the Daily Telegraph. The concessions were actually published in that journal and communicated to the British public before King Victor’s Government, to whom Prince BÜlow was accredited, had any cognizance of their existence. That this procedure involved a gross breach of the covenant between the Ambassador and Sonnino stipulating the maintenance of absolute secrecy was deemed an irrelevant consideration.

Seldom in modern times have such underhand methods been resorted to by the Government of a Great Power. Neither would it be easy to find an example of a responsible statesman behaving as Giolitti behaved and working in collusion with the Government of a State which at the time was virtually his country’s enemy. This statesman, however, duly played the part assigned to him in this intrigue against his Government and country, and the success of his scheme would have left the Italian nation covered with infamy and bereft of friends. For if he had been able to conclude the compact with Austria as he had undertaken to do, his country would have been left to the mercy of his Austro-German masters, who despise Italy, and probably, if victorious, would have refused to redeem their promises, while the Entente States would have boycotted her as faithless and false-hearted. As a dilemma for Italy the position in which she was placed must have delighted the wily BÜlow. How it can have satisfied an Italian statesman is a psychological riddle.

Meanwhile the German Ambassador presented officially Austria’s final proposals, as though the conversations on this subject had not been broken off. Baron Sonnino refused to discuss them. But the Dictator intended that his word should be heard and his will should be done. To the King and the Premier, Giolitti announced that, despite all that had been accomplished by the Government, he still clung to the belief that Austria’s new concessions offered a basis for further negotiations, which, if cleverly conducted, would lead to the acquisition of some other strips of territory, and would certainly culminate in a satisfactory settlement.

But, not satisfied with this confidential expression of opinion, Giolitti let it be known to the whole nation that he, the chief and spokesman of the parliamentary majority, was convinced of the feasibility of an accord with Austria on the basis of her last offer, which he deemed acceptable in principle; that he saw no motives for plunging Italy into a hideous war, which would involve the nation in disaster; and that he would adjust his acts to these convictions.

This deliberate pronouncement, coming from the most prominent man in the country, had a powerful effect upon his followers and also upon the public at large. No nation desires war for war’s sake, and the interpretation put upon Giolitti’s words by the extreme neutralists and, in particular, by the insincere organs of the Vatican, was that he had seen enough to convince him that the Cabinet had decided to wage war against Germany and Austria at all costs and irrespective of the nation’s interests. Giolitti’s parliamentary friends demonstratively called upon him at his private residence, leaving their cards, and announcing the conformity of their views to those of their leader; and as their number, which was carefully communicated to the Press, formed the majority of the Chamber, the Cabinet felt impelled to take the hint and act upon it. This was the only course open to it. For, as the ministers were obliged to meet Parliament on May 20—the day fixed for its reopening—they were sure to be out-voted on a division, whereupon a crisis, not merely ministerial but national and international, would be precipitated. The consequences of such a conflict might be disastrous. Rather than wait for this eventuality the Cabinet tendered its resignation. Thus BÜlow had seemingly triumphed. The Government was turned out by Giolitti, who had accepted in advance the Austro-German terms of a settlement, and Italy was seemingly won over to the Teutons.

So far as one could judge, the fate of the nation was now decided. Its course was marked out for it, and was henceforward unalterable. For, so far as one could see, by no section of the constitutional machinery was the strategy of BÜlow and Giolitti to be thwarted. In a parliamentary land the legislatures are paramount, and here both Chamber and Senate were arrayed against the Cabinet for Giolitti and Germany.

The ferment consequent upon this turn of affairs was tremendous. All Europe was astir with excitement. The Press of Berlin and Vienna was jubilant. Panegyrics of Giolitti and of BÜlow filled the columns of their daily Press.

But a deus ex machina suddenly descended upon the scene in the unwonted form of an indignant nation. The Italian people, which had at first been either indifferent or actively in favour of cultivating neighbourly relations with Germany, had of late been following the course of the struggle with the liveliest interest. Germany’s dealings with Belgium had impressed them deeply. Her methods of warfare had estranged their sympathies. Her doctrine of the supremacy of force and falsehood had given an adverse poise to their ideas and leanings. Deep into their hearts had sunk the tidings of the destruction of the Lusitania, awakening feelings of loathing and abomination for its authors, to which free expression was now being given everywhere. The spirit that actuated this revolting enormity was brand-marked as that of demoniacal fury loosed from moral control and from the ties that bind nations and individuals to all humanity.

The effect upon public sentiment and opinion in Italy, where emotions are tensely strung, and sympathy with suffering is more flexible and diffusive than it is even among the other Latin races, was instantaneous. One statesman, who was a partisan of neutrality, remarked to me that German “Kultur,” as revealed during the present war, is dissociated from every sense of duty, obligation, chivalry, honour, and is become a potent poison which the remainder of humanity must endeavour by all efficacious methods to banish from the international system.

“This,” he went on, “is no longer war; it is organized slaughter, perpetrated by a race suffering from dog-madness. I tremble at the thought that our own civilized and chivalrous people may at any moment be confronted with this lava flood of savagery and destructiveness. Now, if ever, the opportune moment has come for all civilized nations to join in protest, stiffened with a unanimous threat, against the continuance of such crimes against the human race. Europe ought surely to have the line drawn at the poisoning of wells, the persecution of prisoners, and the massacre of women and children. If a proposal to this effect were made, I myself would second it with ardour.”[98]

These pent-up feelings now found vent in a series of meetings and demonstrations against Germany as well as Austria and their Italian allies. Italy’s spiritual heritage from the old Romans asserted itself in impressive forms and unwonted ways, and the conscience of the nation loudly affirmed its claim to be the main directing force in a crisis where the honour and the future of the country were at stake. And within four days of this purgative process a marked change was noticeable. Giolitti’s partisans—hissed, jostled, mauled, frightened out of their lives—lay low. Many of them publicly recanted and proclaimed their conversion to intervention. The chief of the German Catholic party and friend of the Vatican, Erzberger, was driven from his hotel to the German Embassy as a foreign mischief-maker, contrabandist and spy. Some of the Press organs, subsidized or created by the Teutons, were obliged to disappear. The honest neutralist journals, yielding to the nation, veered round to the fallen Cabinet. In a word, the political atmosphere, theretofore foul and mephitic, became suddenly charged with purer, healthier elements—BÜlow’s plot was thwarted and Giolitti’s rÔle played out. The Salandra-Sonnino Cabinet was borne back to office on the crest of this national wave, and Italy declared war against Austria. But only against Austria. For the Cabinet, restored to power, became a cautious steward, and took to imitating him of the Gospel who hid his talents instead of augmenting them.

This restriction of military operations to the Habsburg Monarchy struck many observers as singular. In truth the motives that inspired the Government have never been authoritatively divulged. That every Italian Cabinet since Crispi’s days had made a marked distinction between Germany and Austria was notorious. That Di San Giuliano felt as strongly attracted towards Berlin as he was repelled by Vienna may be gathered from the official but still unpublished dispatches that exist on the subject. But that in a war not of two individual nations, but of groups of States, one—and only one—of these should be singled out as the object of aggression aroused something more than mere curiosity. And this feeling was intensified when it became known that on the eve of the diplomatic rupture BÜlow, ever on the alert for the interests of his country, had induced the Italian Government to conclude a convention with Germany for the protection of private property in case of active hostilities. For Germany possesses in Italy property valued at several milliards of francs, whereas Italy claims as her own almost nothing in the German empire. Who can read the riddle?

The adhesion of Italy to the Allies may be noted as perhaps the most important political event of the year, while the circumstances in which it was decided on dispel all doubt that the Italian people were actuated by lofty motives and rose to the highest ideas involved in the European conflict, and that the Cabinet’s ideals were nowise identical with those of the nation. It is alleged by certain personal friends of Baron Sonnino, who had exceptionally good opportunities for knowing what took place—and I have grounds for acquiescing in their view—that this statesman was for declaring war against Germany as well as Austria, but that Professor Salandra negatived this logical and straightforward move.

That the Salandra Cabinet damaged the cause of Italy by thus endeavouring to blow hot and cold, is a fact which its warmest supporters no longer call in question. They now merely plead for extenuating circumstances on the ground that the damage was done unwittingly. “It would be unjust,” the Nationalist Federzoni said in a speech delivered before the Chamber on March 16,[99] “to accuse the Italian Government of disloyalty or insincerity, but none the less the treaty it concluded with Germany has proved superlatively baleful to the country.” Like the other allied peoples, the Italian nation has been served by a Cabinet which defeated many of the objects it was striving after.

Studying Italian politics since the war broke out is like threading the Cretan Labyrinth in a dense fog. The fog, curiously enough, which now seldom lifts, would seem to form an integral part of the politics. For one of the maxims of the present chief of the Consulta, Baron Sonnino, is that secrecy is the soul of efficacy. And as thoroughness marks his action whenever it is quite free, the mystery that enwraps the schemes and designs of King Victor’s Government is become impenetrable. One may form a faint notion of the stringency with which this un-Italian occultism is observed by the eminent Jewish statesman, from the circumstance that during the crisis that preceded the war, only one of his colleagues was kept informed of the progress of the conversations with Austria, and that was his own chief, Professor Salandra. As for the nation at large, it was so out of touch with the Government, and so led astray concerning the trend of events, that for months it confidently anticipated an accord with the Central Empires. Again, down to the day on which Baron Sonnino read out his last declaration in the Chamber (Dec. 1), officials of the Ministry had rigorous instructions not to give any one even a hint as to whether Italy would or would not sign the London Convention, renouncing the right to conclude a separate peace.

For a long time previously Italy’s aloofness had preoccupied the Entente, and to the accord between the two there continued to be something lacking. The Italian Government, dissatisfied with the degree of help received from Great Britain, was not slow to indicate it in official conversations with our Ambassador. Happily, the silence of our Foreign Office and the secrecy of Baron Sonnino concealed the rifts of the lute until most of them were said to be repaired. In the meantime Italy persisted in concentrating on the Isonzo and the Carso all her efforts to help the Allies against the Turks and the Bulgars. The expeditions to the Dardanelles, Salonika and Serbia evoked her moral sympathy, but could not secure her military co-operation. The generosity of the Entente, and of Britain in particular, towards Greece was an additional stumbling-block, and the offer of Cyprus to King Constantine an abomination in her eyes.

That Italy’s impolitic aloofness could not last, without impairing the worth of her sacrifices, was obvious. And the extent to which co-operation could be stipulated and the compensations to which that would entitle her, formed the subjects of long and delicate conversations between the interested Governments. For, naturally enough, Baron Sonnino, whose domestic critics are many and ruthless, was desirous of getting all he could in the Eastern Mediterranean and Asia Minor, while measuring out with patriotic closeness the military and naval help to be given in return—Italy’s position, economic, financial and strategic, differing considerably from that of the other Great Powers. It was not until the end of November 1915 that these negotiations were worked out to an issue; and on the 30th King Victor’s Government signed the Convention of London, undertaking not to conclude a separate peace.

The gist of this supplementary accord, in so far as it imposes fresh obligations upon Italy, was communicated to the Chamber by Baron Sonnino. It provided for the organization of relief for the Serbian troops in Albania, and for other auxiliary expeditions to places on the Adriatic coast. But it leaves intact the essential and standing limitations to Italy’s military and naval co-operation which had to be reckoned with theretofore. And these may be summarized as follows: King Victor’s Government, while examining every proposal coming from the Allies on its political merits, must be guided by the military and naval experts of the nation whenever it is a question of despatching troops or warships to take part in a common enterprise. Italy’s first care is to hinder an invasion of her territory. The next object of her solicitude is to husband her naval and other resources and cultivate caution. Lastly, the extent of her contribution to an expedition must be adjusted to her resources, which are much more slender than those of any other Great Power, and are best known to her own rulers. And her financial means are to be reinforced by contributions from Great Britain.

Those, in brief, are some of the lines on which the latest agreement has been concluded.

[90] January 15, 1915.