The year nineteen hundred and twenty-two witnessed a genuine struggle on the part of the nations to re-establish peace conditions in the world.

During 1919-20 and 1921 "the tarantella was still in their blood." The mad war dance was still quivering in their limbs and they could not rest. The crackle of musketry was incessant and made needful repose impossible. There was not a country in Europe or Asia whose troops were not firing shots in anger at some external or internal foe.

America rang down the fire curtain until this hysterical frenzy had burnt itself out. Was she right? It is too early yet to give the answer. The case is but yet "part heard"—many witnessing years whose evidence is relevant have not yet entered the box: it will, therefore, be some time before the verdict of history as to her attitude can be delivered.

But 1922 testifies to many striking symptoms of recovering sanity on the part of the tortured continents. Before 1922 you had everywhere the querulity of the overstrained nerve. The slightest offence or misunderstanding, however unintentional, provoked a quarrel, and almost every quarrel was followed by a blow. It was a mad world to live in. The shrieks of clawing nations rent the European night and made it hideous. A distinguished general declared that at one period—I think it was the year of grace 1920—there were thirty wars, great and small, proceeding simultaneously. Who was to blame? Everybody and nobody. Mankind had just passed through the most nerve-shattering experience in all its racking history, and it was not responsible for its actions. Millions of young men had for years marched through such a pitiless rain of terror as had not been conceived except in Milton's description of the battle scenes when the fallen angels were driven headlong to the deep. And when the Angel of Peace led the nations out from the gates of hell, no wonder it took them years to recover sight and sanity. Nineteen twenty-two was a year of restored composure.

The outward visible sign was seen in the changed character of the international conferences held during the year. The ultimatum kind of conference gave way to the genuine peace conference. The old method insisted upon by French statesmen was to hammer out demands on the conference anvil and send them in the form of an ultimatum to nations who, in spite of peace treaties, were still treated as enemies; the new method was to discuss on equal terms the conditions of appeasement.

Germany, having no fleet in the Pacific, was not invited to the Washington conference, and Russia was excluded for other reasons. But at Cannes Germany was represented, and at Genoa both Germany and Russia had their delegates.

The Washington conference was, in some respects, the most remarkable international conference ever held. It was the first time great nations commanding powerful armaments had ever sat down deliberately to discuss a voluntary limitation of their offensive and defensive forces. Restrictions and reductions have often been imposed in peace treaties by triumphant nations upon their beaten foes. The Versailles treaty is an example of that operation. But at Washington the victors negotiated a mutual cutting-down of navies built for national safety and strengthened by national pride. The friends of peace therefore have solid ground for their rejoicing in a contemplation of substantial reductions already effected in the naval programmes of the most powerful maritime countries in the world—Britain, the United States of America, and Japan—as a direct result of the Washington negotiations.

American statesmanship has given a lead of which it is entitled to boast, and 1922 is entitled to claim that this triumph of good understanding has brought a measure of glory which will give it a peculiar splendour amongst the years of earth's history.

The gatherings at Cannes and Genoa can also claim outstanding merit in the large and growing family of international conferences. At Washington the Allies alone foregathered. At Cannes and Genoa nations came together which had only recently emerged out of deadly conflict with each other. At each conference I met on both sides men who had but just recovered from severe wounds sustained in this struggle. At Cannes French, Belgian, Italian, Japanese, as well as British ministers and experts, sat down in council with German ministers and experts to discuss the vexed question of reparations without taunt or recrimination. There was a calm recognition not only of the needs of the injured countries, but also of the difficulties of the offending state. Outside and beyond the German problem there was a resolve to eliminate all the various elements of disturbance, political and economic, that kept Europe in a ferment and made its restoration impossible.

Here it was decided to summon all the late belligerent nations to a great conference at Genoa to discuss reconstruction. To these were added the neutral nations of Europe. It was a great decision. There were three obstacles in the way of realising the programme. The first was the stipulation of France that the specific problems raised by the treaty of Versailles should be excluded altogether from the purview of the conference. This was a grave limitation of its functions and chances. Still, if the Cannes sittings had continued, an arrangement might have been arrived at with the Germans which would have helped the deliberations of Genoa. The second obstacle was the refusal of America to participate in the discussions. Why did the American government refuse? There were probably good reasons for that refusal, but the recording angel alone knows them all fully and accurately. The third obstacle was the fall of the Briand ministry, and the substitution of a less sympathetic administration. In spite of all these serious drawbacks Genoa accomplished great things. It brought together into the same rooms enemies who had not met for years except on the battlefield. They conferred and conversed around the same table for weeks—at conferences, committees, and sub-committees. They broke bread and drank wine together at the same festive boards. Before the conference came to an end there was an atmosphere of friendliness which was in itself a guarantee of peaceable relations, for the delegates who represented the nations at Genoa were all men of real influence in their respective countries.

But however important the intangible result, there was much more achieved. The thirty nations represented in the assembly entered into a solemn pact not to commit any act of aggression against their neighbours. When they entered the conference there were few of them who were not oppressed with suspicions that these neighbours meditated violence against their frontiers. When they arrived at Genoa they were all anxious for peace, but apprehensive of impending war. Genoa dispelled those anxieties.

One of the most promising results of the pact and the improved atmospheric conditions out of which it arose is the substantial reduction in the Bolshevik army. It has already been reduced to the dimensions of the French army, and we are now promised a further reduction. That removes a real menace to European peace. If the reduction of armies in the East of Europe is followed by a corresponding reduction in the West the reign of peace is not far distant.

This is not the time to dwell upon the important agreements effected at Genoa on questions of exchange, credit, and transport. All the recommendations made depend for their successful carrying out on the establishment of a real peace and a friendly understanding between nations. Peace and goodwill on earth is still the only healing evangel for idealists to preach and statesmen to practise. Without it plans and protocols must inevitably fail.

Where does peace stand? The weary angel is still on the wing, for the waters have not yet subsided. She may perhaps find a foothold in the Great West, and Britain is fairly safe—not yet Ireland.

But the continent of Europe is still swampy and insecure. The debate in the French Chamber on reparations is not encouraging. The only difference of opinion in the discussion was that displayed between those who advocated an advance into the Ruhr, and the seizure of pledges further into German territory, and those who preferred "developing" the left bank of the Rhine. Occupying, controlling, developing, annexing—they all mean the same thing; that the province to the left bank of the Rhine is to be torn from Germany and grafted into France.

There is no peace in this talk. It is a sinister note on which to end the pacific music of 1922. You must interpret it in connection with another event of 1922—the Russo-German agreement. Since then Chicherin—a spirit of mischief incarnate—has almost made Berlin his abode. The men who are devoting their ingenuity to devising new torments for Germany are preparing new terrors for their own and their neighbours' children.

The year ends with rumours of great American projects for advancing large sums of money to all and sundry in the hope of settling the vexed question of German reparation. The loan, it is surmised, will be accompanied by guarantees on the part of France not to invade further German territory. Some go so far as to conjecture that it is to be an essential condition of participation in this Christmas bounty of Madame Rumour that France is to reduce her armies and to undertake not to exceed Washington limits for her navies.

Nobody seems to know, and I am only repeating the gossip of the press. But if the £350,000,000 loan is likely to materialise, its projectors are wise in imposing conditions that would afford them some chance of receiving payment of a moderate interest in the lifetime of this generation.

No prudent banker would lend money on the security of a flaming volcano.

London, December 20th, 1922.