The pen-and-ink joust is suspended for a fortnight, whilst the figures of British unemployment are leaping upwards. When the exhausted British knights have been reinvigorated by French waters they will once more charge full tilt at the French champion—at least, they will have made up their minds by then whether they will shiver another fountain-pen against his blotting-pad.

This is the advice ponderously and pompously tendered them in inspired articles. So far, the French nation is jubilant that M. PoincarÉ has scored heavily on points. He is a defter penman, and, moreover, he does not delegate his draughtsmanship to a Committee of Ministers, all holding irreconcilable views as to how to proceed, when to proceed, and whither to proceed, and amongst whom there is no agreement except on one point—that no one quite knows what action to propose.

Up to this last reply they cherished the vain delusion that the French could be shelled out of the Ruhr by reproaches which were both querulous and apologetic. That is not the way to shift continental statesmanship from its purpose. The French Foreign Office is better informed as to Cabinet divisions in this country than are the British public. It knows that the Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary dare not take measures which will hamper French action in the Ruhr.

When the Tory Diehards placed co-operation with France in the forefront of their programme they honestly meant it. For them it was not a mere manoeuvre to unhorse the Coalition. They cannot, therefore, support an attitude of resistance to French pressure on Germany. A refusal to join France in squeezing Germany is to them a continuation of the evil of the Coalition they overthrew with the help of Mr. Stanley Baldwin and Lord Curzon. They will not tolerate it.

That explains the impotence of British diplomacy in a situation which is so critical to our existence as a great commercial people. The Cabinet can agree on wordy notes; they are hopelessly divided as to action. They have, therefore, dispersed far and wide to search for fortuitous guidance hither and thither—some in the tranquillity of their English country houses; some in the healing springs of France; some in the mists of Scottish moorlands. Mayhap one of them will bring home a policy acceptable to his colleagues. It is all very humiliating to the Empire that raised ten millions of men and spent £10,000,000,000 of its treasure to win the War. The net result of the voluminous correspondence on which our rulers have concentrated months of anxious wisdom and unwearying hesitancy is that the Allies whom we saved from destruction refuse to move one inch out of their road to secure our friendly companionship. They are marching resolutely in one direction, whilst we are shambling along in another.

We have travelled long distances from each other since January last, and we are now altogether out of sight of the position we held in common when we met the Germans at Cannes early last year.[9] The Entente has never been more cordial than it was then—it has never shown more promise of hopeful partnership for the peace of the world. We were on the point of securing an amicable and businesslike arrangement with Germany for the payment of reparations and of concluding an agreement for protecting the frontiers of France and Belgium against the possibility of future invasion.

From these starting-points it was proposed that Britain, France, Italy, and Belgium should advance together to a general settlement of European problems in East and West—political, financial, economic and transport. This we had agreed to do and, with the unity and goodwill which then prevailed, could have accomplished.

But M. PoincarÉ had no use for the dove of peace. He wanted to fly his falcon. He had trained and bred it in the French farmyard, and there it had brought down many a domestic bird successfully. When his chance came he flew it at the wounded German eagle. It is poor sport, and somewhat cruel, but it evidently gives great joy to Frenchmen of a sort. The best are ashamed of it, but their voices are drowned in the clamour of the unthinking. If the helpless bird is torn to pieces, there is nothing in that for French or Belgian larders.

Quite unintentionally the hawk has brought down the Entente also. It may not be dead, but it has made its last flight. Henceforth international arrangements will be on a less exclusive basis. France is irrevocably committed to the exploitation of the Ruhr by force. That is what "pay or stay" means. To that policy the majority in this country are definitely opposed. If the Diehards in the Cabinet were by any chance to win, and either Mr. Baldwin surrendered or resigned in favour of a Poincarist administration in this country, neither he nor any possible successors could carry the country along into the Ruhr venture.

Some of them around the Prime Minister who have so suddenly assumed pro-French sentiments as the shortest cut to higher altitudes than those to which they have yet succeeded in climbing, know full well that, although they may use the Diehards for their own ends, if they succeeded in their somewhat sinister purpose they could not carry out the Diehard policy.

They are, therefore, endeavouring to provide for contingencies by negotiating on their own a fresh understanding with France. But British Premiers are not appointed at Rambouillet nor do they draw their authority from the Quai d'Orsay. Whatever may be thought of Mr. Bonar Law or of Mr. Stanley Baldwin by political partisans, no one suggests that they derived their promotion from other than purely British sources.

But for a fortnight nothing is to happen—except the spread of unemployment in Britain and of despair in Germany. At the end of the fortnight will there be a surrejoinder to M. PoincarÉ's rejoinder? Or will there be another conference?

Both M. PoincarÉ and the present Parliamentary rÉgime in Britain came into power on the cry of "Enough of these eternal conferences; let us return to the good old diplomatic methods that prevailed before the War"—and, they might add, "which helped to make it possible." Nevertheless, Mr. Bonar Law's administration during its short tenure of six months participated in four European conferences, and M. PoincarÉ, during his eighteen months' official career, has found it necessary to take part, directly, in five conferences, and directly and indirectly in eight. The French Press are urging him on to add another to a record which already beats that of M. Briand in the matter of "joy-riding"—to quote the contemptuous Diehard name for international conferences during Coalition days.

It is a suspicious circumstance that those who were once resentful and scornful of conferences should now be clamouring for one both here and in France. The reason is scarcely concealed by ardent advocates of the resumption of "picnic diplomacy." At the old conferences, so it is contended, France was invariably forced to give way. Now she can and will command the situation.

There is a new note of confidence ringing through French despatches and echoed in the French Press. France must get what she wants; Britain must take what she is given. The French share of reparations must first be assured—debts due to Britain can come out of what is left. It is rather greedy, but characteristic, of the British that they should expect to be paid what is owing to them! With their smug and hypocritical Puritan temperament and outlook they insist that contracts should be respected! France, for the sake of the Entente, will make a concession even to British cupidity and pharisaism. It will permit the British Empire to collect—not the whole of what is due to her, but a much-reduced claim out of Germany once the French demand for reparations is cashed or as good as cashed!

To me this is a new France. During my years of discussion with French statesmen I never heard this voice. I had three or four talks with M. PoincarÉ, and I never heard him speak in these supercilious tones. Impunity has developed them since to their present pitch of stridency.

Belgium is to suggest a meeting of the Premiers. When it comes the French minimum terms are to be rigid and unequivocal. Here they are:—

1. France must be paid her irreducible minimum of £1,300,000,000 in respect of reparations, whatever happens to any one else.

2. Belgium is also to have her priority of £100,000,000.

3. As Germany cannot raise these huge sums immediately, France and Belgium are to hold the Ruhr until they are paid. Hints have been thrown out by the more conciliatory French journals that the French Government might consider an early retirement from the Ruhr if the payment of reparations were made the subject of an international guarantee. That implies Britain and America becoming sureties for payment of the German indemnity!

4. As to the rest, France and Belgium have no objection, subject to the above conditions, to Great Britain collecting £700,000,000, i.e., about 23 per cent., of her international claims (debts and reparations) from Germany. But this munificent concession is to be made on the distinct understanding that she forgoes entirely the remaining 77 per cent. of her bonds. The Allies and Germany between them owe Great Britain £3,000,000,000. The French and Belgian governments are willing that Great Britain should collect £700,000,000 of that amount from Germany, provided the remaining £2,300,000,000 is for ever cancelled—and always provided that the £1,400,000,000 due to France and Belgium has been satisfactorily guaranteed.

5. These handsome terms can only be propounded if Germany first of all withdraws all passive resistance in the Ruhr. That is an essential preliminary.

The French government have stated these terms with such precision and such emphasis, and repeated them with such undeviating insistence, that any departure from them on the French side seems impossible. The hope of a conference rests entirely on the confidence in a British surrender. There is a dismal "joy-ride" in prospect for the British Prime Minister and his Foreign Secretary. Is it conceivable they can contemplate such a capitulation? I do not see how the present Government, after all it has said and written, can so far submit to French dictation as to make it likely that further discussions would lead to agreement.

What is the alternative? Herr Stresemann can alone answer that question. It is not yet clear what he means to do. Perhaps he is feeling his way to a decision.

London, August 27th, 1923.