The shores of the Mediterranean have from time immemorial been the scene of eruptions and earthquakes. They generally break out without warning. Sometimes they are devastating in their effects, destroying life and property over wide areas and on a vast scale. Sometimes they provide a brilliant spectacular display, terrifying in appearance, but not causing much destruction. To which of these two categories does the last eruption of Mussolini belong? To drop hot cinders in the Balkans is a dangerous experiment. The soil is everywhere soaked with naphtha and it floats about in uncharted pools and runlets which easily catch fire. A cinder flung from Vienna started a conflagration which spread over continents. That was only nine years ago. The ground is still hot—the smoke blinds and stifles. You cannot see clearly or breathe freely. Now and again there is a suspicious ruddiness in the banks of smoke which proves that the fire is not yet out. And yet there are statesmen flinging burning faggots about with reckless swagger.

The temper of Europe may be gauged from the reception accorded to these heedless pyrotechnics on the part of national leaders by their own countrymen. Every time it occurs, whether in France, Italy or Turkey, and whether it be PoincarÉ, Mussolini, or Mustapha Kemal who directs the show, applause greets the exhibition. I remember the first days of the Great War. There was not a belligerent capital where great and enthusiastic crowds did not parade the streets to cheer for war. In those days men did not know what war meant. Their conception of it was formed from the pictures of heroic—and always victorious—feats, hung in national galleries and reproduced in the form of the cheap chromos, engravings, and prints, which adorn the walls in every cottage throughout most lands. The triumphant warriors on horseback with the gleaming eye and the flourishing sabre are their own countrymen; the poor vanquished under the crashing hoofs are the foe. Hurrah for more pictures! The Crown Prince denies that he ever used the phrase "This jolly war." His denial ought to be accepted in the absence of better proof than is yet forthcoming as to the statement ever having been made. But the phrase represented the temper of millions in those fateful days. It used to be said that in wars one lot cheered and the other fought. But the cheering mobs who filled the streets in August were filling the trenches in September, and multitudes were filling graves ere the year was out. But when they cheered they had no realisation of the actualities of war. They idealised it. They only saw it in pictures.

But the cheerers of to-day know what war means. France lost well over a million lives in the last fight. Italy lost 600,000, and there are men in every workshop in both countries who know something of the miseries as well as the horrors of war and can tell those who do not. What, then, accounts for the readiness, at the slightest provocation, to rush into all the same wretchedness over again? The infinite capacity of mankind for deluding itself. Last time, it is true, it was a ghastly affair. This time it will be an easy victory. Then you had to fight a perfectly armed Germany, or Austria; now it is a very small affair indeed—in one case a disarmed Germany which cannot fight, or, in the other case, a miserable little country like Greece with no Army or Navy to talk of. So hurrah for the guns! A bloodless victory, except, of course, to the vanquished. More pictures for the walls to show our children what terrible people we are when provoked!

This episode may end peaceably, but it was a risk to take, and quite an unnecessary risk under the circumstances of the case. Italy was indignant, and naturally indignant, at the murder of her emissaries in cold blood on Greek territory and, although it took place in a well-known murder area—on the Albanian border where comitadjis and other forms of banditti reign—still, Greece was responsible for giving adequate protection to all the Boundary Commissioners who were operating within her frontiers. Italy is, therefore, entitled to demand stern reparation for this outrage. This Greece promptly concedes. Not merely has Greece shown her readiness to pay a full indemnity, but she has offered to salute the Italian flag by way of making amends for the offence involved to the Italian nation in this failure to protect Italian officers transacting legitimate business on Greek soil. Mussolini's answer to the Greek acknowledgment of liability is to bombard a defenceless town, kill a few unarmed citizens, and enter into occupation of a Greek island. Does any one imagine, if the incident had occurred on French soil, and the French Government had displayed the same willingness to express regret and offer reparation, that, without further parley, he would have bombarded Ajaccio? Or, had it been Britain, would he have shelled Cowes and occupied the Isle of Wight? But Greece has no Navy. That, I suppose, alters the merits of the case! Force is still the supreme arbiter of right and wrong in international affairs in Europe. It is worth noting how a new code of international law is coming into existence since the War. The French armies invade a neighbour's territory, occupy it, establish martial law, seize and run the railways, regulate its Press, deport tens of thousands of its inhabitants, imprison or shoot down all who resist, and then proclaim that this is not an act of war. It is only a peaceful occupation to enforce rights under a peace treaty. Signor Mussolini shells a town belonging to a country with whom he is at peace, and forcibly occupies part of its territory, and then solemnly declares that it is not an act of war, but just a reasonable measure of diplomatic precaution. Once force decides the issue it also settles the rules. There was a time when English and Spaniards fought each other in the West Indies whilst their Governments at home were ostensibly at peace. And French and English fought in India without any diplomatic rupture between Versailles and St. James's. But in those days these lands were very remote and the control of the centre over events at these distances was intermittent and occasionally feeble. And sometimes it suited Governments to ignore what was taking place on the fringe of Empire. But even in those days an attack on the homeland meant war, and it would mean war to-day were the attacked countries not powerless. I have heard it said that there is one law for the rich and another for the poor. There is no doubt one international law for the strong and another for the weak.

What about the League of Nations? This is pre-eminently a case for action under the Covenant. Italy and Greece are both parties. How can they, consistently with the terms of the Treaty they so recently signed, refuse to leave this dispute to be dealt with by the League? Italy had a special part in drafting the Treaty and in imposing it upon Germany and Austria. She cannot now in decency repudiate its clauses. It is suggested in some quarters that, the dignity of Italy being involved in the dispute, she cannot possibly consent to leave it in the hands of the League. That surely is a fatal limitation on the activities of the League of Nations. Every dispute involving right implicates the national honour and as every nation is the judge of its own honour, ultimately all differences would be ruled out of the Covenant which it did not suit one country or the other to refer. The League is not allowed to touch Reparations. If this quarrel also is excluded from the consideration of the League, it is no exaggeration to say that this valuable part of the Treaty of Versailles becomes a dead letter. It is one of the gross ironies of the European situation that the Treaty of Versailles is being gradually torn to pieces by the countries which are not only the authors but have most to gain by its provisions. France has already repudiated the first and most important part of the Treaty by declaring that it will refer no question arising between herself and her neighbours under the Treaty itself to the League of Nations. She has further invaded and occupied her neighbour's territory in defiance of the provisions of the Treaty. If Italy also declines to respect the first part of that Treaty, then nothing is left of it except what it suits nations to enforce or obey. And if the framers do not owe allegiance to the Treaty they drafted, why should those who only accepted it under duress bow to its behests? The victors are busily engaged in discrediting their own charter. It would have been a more honourable course for the nations to pursue if they had followed the example of America by refusing to ratify the whole Treaty. To sign a contract and then to pick and choose for execution the parts of it that suit you is unworthy of the honour of great nations which profess to lead the world towards a higher civilisation.

There are ugly rumours of possible complications arising out of this unfortunate incident. It does not need a vivid imagination to foretell one or two possible results of a disastrous character. In this country they would be deplored, not only for their effect on European peace, but for the damage they must inevitably inflict on the best interests of Italy. She has had enough of victory. What she needs now—what we all need—is peace. There is no country which has more genuine goodwill for Italy's prosperity and greatness than Great Britain. It is an old and tried friendship. The two nations have many common interests: they have no rivalries. Hence, the deep anxiety of Britain that Italy should not commit a mistake which will mortgage her future even if it does not imperil her present.

There are no doubt strategic advantages for Italy in holding Corfu. It enables them to "bottle up" the Adriatic. But it is Greek and it menaces Slavonia, and this introduction of foreign elements into the body of a State for strategic reasons always provokes inflammatory symptoms injurious to the general health of a community. They tend to become malignant and sooner or later they bring disaster. Bosnia ultimately proved to be the death of the Austrian Empire. When the Bosnian cancer became active the evil of Italia Irredenta broke out once more, and between them they laid the Empire of the Hapsburgs in the dust. Italy has played a great part in the work of civilisation, and so has Greece. They have still greater tasks awaiting them—one on a great and the other necessarily on a smaller scale. It would be a misfortune to humanity if they spent their fine enthusiasm on hating and thwarting each other.

London, September 3rd, 1923.