FOR eleven years Europe has not heard the clash of arms: nor, except in the Balkan Peninsula, for eighteen. Yet her soldiers are counted by millions, and her charge for military and naval establishments by hundreds of millions. These establishments, which are huge, require to be contemplated in various lights; but, whatever point of the compass we select for our inspection, the view is a dismal one. In the United Kingdom alone of the great States do the enormous burdens, which these establishments require, fail to constitute an apology for so-called protective laws, which fetter industry, diminish wealth, and aggravate distress. In some, at least, of the six greater countries, the pressure upon the national finance in this time of peace is very heavy. In Germany, it is said to be so severely felt as to endanger the policy of peace. In Italy, it represents what might more properly accompany the extremities of an exhausting war. The growth of the huge mass of national debts is rapid and continuous. The existence of enormous armies stimulates the martial spirit, and creates in each country a military class thoroughly centralized and of increasing power. In this state of facts a “league of peace” is, indeed, a sweet-smelling savour, if it answers to its name. But that is the very question which it is needful to examine. For assuredly the military condition of Europe as a whole is not the outward sign of a settled tranquillity, but is rather the announcement of the strong and rather early likelihood of an agonizing war.

The European public may be said to know that the members of this league are Germany, Austria, and Italy; that its purposes are declared to be defensive; and that it expires, unless renewed, with the year 1890. Does this league altogether correspond with the character announced by its name? is its strength adequate to its purpose? is that purpose rational and just? and can the league itself be expected to endure?

The Holy Alliance, after the Treaty of Vienna, purported to be a league of peace. It was in friendship, though in an expiring friendship, with England. The power of France was then reduced, and her self-confidence abashed. There was no possibility of a counter-combination able to look the Alliance in the face. It was not a league of peace, for no one wanted, or indeed was able, to break the peace. It was not a league of defence, for there was no assailant. It was a league of offence, constructed in order to put down liberty by force, and to secure immunity for Sovereigns who had given promises to their subjects that they did not mean to fulfil. Still there was nothing in the subsisting features of Europe which confuted its pretensions in regard to peace; for it fulfilled this essential condition, that it could hold the field, with its three at length victorious armies, against all comers.

There was another league of peace in the year 1853, and with a different history. The Emperor Nicholas, lifted to a pinnacle of overweening self-confidence by his subjugation of Hungary, determined to anticipate the course of Nature, and break up the Turkish Empire by that powerful instrument of internal interference, which the Treaty of Kainardji was supposed to afford him. From whatever motives, the other four great Powers of Europe entered into a league of peace against him. This, too, was a combination of overwhelming force, against which it was impossible that Russia should make head. But, before the day of action came, the King of Prussia, relicta non bепе parmula, was frightened or cajoled into turning his back upon his allies; so that Austria did not venture to expose her ill-covered capital to the risks of a Russian invasion. Thus the combination, which had not unjustly claimed to represent the whole moral force, and in vast preponderance also the material force, of united Europe, dwindled in dimension. The difficult though successful war of the Crimea was a war between parties, and not the punishment awarded by a superior and competent authority to a rebellious Power. But England and France made manifest from the first their military superiority. In population they jointly equalled Russia, in determination they were not inferior, in wealth and resource they enormously surpassed her.

But, there being now six great Powers of Europe, of whom three only are in the “league of peace,” it does not at first sight appear that this league altogether answers to its name, if we are right in assuming that a body which advertises itself as intending to keep the peace ought to be able, as well as desirous, so to do. It does not appear clear, as it did in 1815 and in 1853, either that it has a commanding weight of moral authority, or that no counter-alliance can be formed against it with a possibility of success.

Still there might be an amount of available strength adequate to overcoming resistance, though not sufficient to prevent its being attempted. Is that quite certain in the present instance? The combined power of Germany, Austria, and Italy is doubtless very great. But from this combination France and Russia (to say nothing of England) are excluded. And this, not on grounds merely arbitrary, but for serious cause. Even apart from the state of sentiment as between Russians and Germans, Austria and Russia have constituted themselves rivals in the Balkan Peninsula, and neither seems disposed to what some simple persons might take to be a probable method of escape from the difficulty—namely, leaving that Peninsula to the free use and disposal of its own inhabitants. France and Germany have between them the quarrel of Alsace-Lorraine, latent indeed, but, as it may be feared, profound. As between France and Italy, there are causes of difference which may be factitious or inadequate, but which nevertheless appear to have been sufficiently operative in producing a state of mind from which war may readily arise. But these reasons for the exclusion of two Powers from the league, if strong, seem to be hardly less strong for bringing about the union of those two Powers between themselves. Were that union to take effect, it does not seem that the match would be a very unequal one.

Granting that the German army is at this moment the first army in Europe, it seems not an unreasonable opinion that the Russian and the French, or the French and the Russian, armies are the second and the third, and that Austria and, in the fifth place, Italy, have to take rank behind them. Suppose we attempt roughly to measure relative strength by the threefold test of (1) numerical amount of army “with the colours” and navy, (2) population, and (3) revenue, we obtain, on resort to popular sources of information, something like the following results:—

 

	Germany with Austria and Italy.	France and Russia.
Army and Navy	1,652,000	1,578,000
Population (Europe only)	113,000,000	125,000,000
Revenue	£279,000,000	£237,000,000

 

There is nothing in these figures demonstrative of gross disparity, or of an incapacity on either side to wage, if so minded, a deliberate and determined struggle. Especially does this seem clear, when it is borne in mind that the proportion of her population which Italy keeps under arms is enormous, so much so that to this total of forces kept on foot she contributes rather more than a moiety: while the wealth of France is probably equal to that of any two among the other Powers. It is a remarkable fact that during the war of 1870, while German porcelain, discharged from private houses, was to be had at prices denoting what we term forced sale, France did not send her endless works of art and articles of virtù across the Channel, but indeed continued to import at high prices precious stones from the East Indies. It seems then, thus far, that the league of peace is not so much an aggregation of overmastering forces able to command obedience to its will, as (at first sight) a skilful consolidation of the material and moral strength of three of the great Continental Powers against the other two, who might not impossibly be a match for them. There are further indications that the astute and masculine brain, which has formed and which directs this league of peace, is well aware that it is in truth not more nor less than a powerful league of preparation for the possibilities of a deadly struggle. We hear of no league between France and Russia; nor, according to the ably written paper of M. Flourens,¹ have these States been uniformly careful, since the war of 1870, to avoid incidents of at least diplomatic disturbance in their mutual relations. They seem content to allow these relations to be moulded by the course of events, and neither the one nor the other has gone out of its way to seek the formation of special alliances. But on the other side the case is far otherwise. Although the three Powers are manifestly beforehand with the two in their arrangements for the array of their gigantic armaments, yet they seem to feel that something more is wanted. In August of the present year the public journals have presented to us rumours that Spain was to join the league of peace. It may be questioned whether the fact would be one of cardinal or determining importance; but the inquiry may be spared, on the ground of the unlikelihood, not to say the absurdity, of the rumour. Spain has no interests as a principal; as a mercenary, even were she willing to be bought, there is no one able to buy her. Nor could her entrance, crowned by success, ensure her admission to the charmed circle of the Great Powers. Much more importance attaches to the notion, which finds currency from time to time, that there is a secret understanding between England and the league of peace. It is said that the vast maritime power of this country is to be employed for the purpose of preventing France from forcing Italy, by the use of her navy on the Italian coasts, to keep her army at home, instead of placing, as we are told she has bound herself to place, 300,000 men on the Alpine frontier of France at the opening of a war. It seems that in this manner, without moving so much as a corporal’s guard, England might be worth 300,000 Italian soldiers to the Triple Alliance. Rumours, perhaps due to these apparent likelihoods, have attracted notice in Parliament. Questions have been put on more than one occasion in order to learn whether there was any treaty or any understanding between Great Britain and the Triple Alliance which was to secure our co-operation by sea in the eventuality of war. The answers have been in the negative. The last, given by the representative of the Foreign Office in the House of Commons, and it is both recent and perfectly unequivocal. It is couched in the following terms, as reported in the Times of August 20, 1889. For the sake of clearness, we prefix the question put by Mr. Labouchere on the 19th ult.

“ENGLAND AND THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE.

“Mr. LABOUCHERE asked the Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs whether he had seen in the Times of that morning an extract from the National Zeitung, stating:—‘It is believed in the best-informed circles that an understanding was arrived at at Osborne assuring an identity of policy between the Powers forming the Triple Alliance and England in European questions, and making provision for all the consequences of this policy.’ He would also ask the right hon. gentleman whether there was anything justifying ‘the best-informed circles’ in entertaining this view.

“Sir J. FERGUSSON.—The article in question is manifestly founded on pure conjecture. Its character is shown by the statement that the arrangements made with the Salisbury Government will be adhered to by their successors. (Laughter.) The reply that I gave to the hon. gentleman on the 19th ult. remains in force—namely, that the action of her Majesty’s Government in the event of war breaking out will be decided, like all other questions of policy, by the circumstances of that particular time and the interests of this country. Her Majesty’s Government have entered into no engagements fettering their liberty in that respect.”

The declaration was followed by an admission that on the late visit of the German Emperor to England, conversations on the future of Europe might or must have taken place. This addendum cannot be taken as qualifying the substance; to which we now refer only for a limited purpose. From the rumours which have been afloat we deem it to be evident that the Triple Alliance is aware, on the one hand, of its ability to make war and to contend for the mastery, with high hopes of attaining it; but, on the other, of its inability to command the continuance of peace, should Russia and France join hands together for the determination of European problems as yet unsolved. The league of peace is, then, a solemn announcement, first, of the danger in which Europe stands; secondly, of the amount of force which will be arrayed on one of the two sides, in the event of war, should that war break out before the end of 1891; thirdly, of the anxiety of its heads to obtain additional strength, which is only to be had in a degree really available by the adhesion of England.

The general question is of such vast importance that no apology can be required for an attempt to arrive at a true and full appreciation of the positions of the several States; above all to ascertain whether the causes of danger are superficial and conventional, or substantial and even profound. And, in order to clear this question, it will be well first to draw the lines which appear to mark out the position of England, not according to the sense of this or that individual or group or party, but according to the dictates of her duty, honour, and interest, to which a great European war can never be wholly foreign.

It will hardly be contended that the British Empire has any such interest in continental war as to warrant its engaging itself by anticipation to take a part in it simply as continental war. It offers no immediate or probable prospect of danger to our shores, or to the Queen’s possessions. Should it entail injury to our commerce, that would not furnish us with a legitimate cause of war. Should it be likely to threaten the balance of power in Europe, we have to inquire a little what is the nature and extent of our concern with the balance of power. It is easy to understand that if any Continental State were now to acquire the amount and kind of predominance which Napoleon had attained before his expedition to Moscow, such a state of things might drag England into war. But such a state of things may be taken as impossible. It was one thing to conquer or annex continental countries when many of the respective nations had little sense of interest in their institutions or their independence, and when, consequently, war was an affair between government and government; and quite another to carry forward a similar enterprise when a spirit of nationality has been widely developed, and when, over a large part of Europe, the people are conscious that they themselves have largely to do with the making of the laws and institutions under which they live. Nor is it at all self-evident in whose interest or to whose detriment the balance of power would be injured by a proximate war, if at all. Those among us who speak most and loudest for maintaining the balance of power, commonly mean not its impartial maintenance, but its maintenance against France. Yet it seems as likely that the change would be to the prejudice of France as of Germany. There is not in truth the remotest shadow of an argument which, as matters now stand, would be likely to induce the British nation to enter into any engagement beforehand, however guarded by conditions, to take part at the outset of the apprehended European war, lest the balance of power should suffer harm.

There is indeed another source of danger, which is perhaps less remote, and which makes a more legitimate appeal to British feeling than the possible tyranny of some one of the Great Powers over the rest. It is something more than possible to conceive a corrupt arrangement between two or more of them to accommodate their differences by the spoliation or absorption of smaller Powers. Without inquiring what might happen in the Balkan Peninsula, it is very difficult to forget the famous Benedetti memorandum, which was distinctly aimed at the national existence of Belgium. There were indeed disputes as to the origin of that memorandum. It is, however, beyond dispute that it drew forth no repudiation, but slumbered quietly in its proper drawer until the moment arrived for using it as a telling weapon against Napoleon III. The best and purest part of the foreign policy of this country is that which has been directed to upholding the independence of the secondary Powers. It is among the virtues of England to cherish a ready indignation against the oppression of the weak; and a just cause for the intervention of England in the next great European struggle is perhaps as likely to proceed from this quarter as from any other. But this is a case to be considered only when it makes its approach.

It seems, then, to be imperative upon this country to preserve intact and entire its liberty of action, its power and right to adapt its conduct to events. And the question arises whether, in this regard, we may now lay our heads upon our pillows with a sense of perfect security? The answer may possibly be found to lie between Yes and No. Let us explain.

In making his declaration on the 19th of August, in the name of Lord Salisbury and the present Administration, Sir James Fergusson used language which presents to us more than a single aspect. He stated that in the event of a war the action of the Government would be directed “by the circumstances of the particular time and the interests of this country.” Nothing had been done to fetter their liberty in that respect. But he also sought to discredit the value of an article in a German newspaper, by pointing out that the article could have no authority, as it stated or implied “that the arrangements made with the Salisbury Government will be adhered to by their successors.” Now the article was effectually extinguished by the affirmative statement that the Under-Secretary was empowered and was about to make. Why, then, this surplusage of confutation? And why a confutation imprudently referring to a possible difference between the Salisbury Government and its unknown successors? Through this little rift in the Ministerial reply we seem to obtain a glimpse of what may be the true state of the case, and to be in a condition at once to account for the reassuring statement, and for the repeated resuscitations of the disquieting rumours that covenants existed which secured the intervention of England.

Notwithstanding the nauseating recollections associated with the Salisbury-Schouvaloff agreement (which, strange as it may seem, has never been laid before Parliament), we hold ourselves bound to accept, and we do accept without qualification, the declaration recently made, that there is no treaty, compact, or understanding between England on one side, and the Triple Alliance, or any of its members, on the other, which will bind a British Government as such to depart from neutrality in the event of a continental war. But how, then, to account for the tenacious vitality of the disturbing rumours, which could hardly have obtained so much of currency without a foundation of some kind? Well: let us suppose that the very brilliant statesman, who for the first time unites the functions of Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister, should have held to the Triple Alliance, or some of its representatives, language to this effect: That the Government cannot foresee the circumstances, under which war may arise; that they cannot predetermine the action of Great Britain in circumstances not yet foreseen; that they must, therefore, leave it entirely free; but that a treaty or understanding between States is one thing, while the opinion of a Minister—or even a Cabinet—may be another. That in the opinion of Lord Salisbury and, as he believes, of his colleagues, if France were to make a war of revenge, or any war for the recovery of Alsace-Lorraine, it would be an unjust war, and a war so dangerous (possibly with some reference to our free use of the Mediterranean) that it would be the duty of this country to keep Italy safe by sea against any French attack threatening her in consequence of her having become a party to the Alliance. We cannot but conceive it possible that in some such strain of conversation as this may lie the reconciliation between the official statements, and the unaccredited but yet persistent and obtrusive rumours. And this is no far-fetched supposition. For the announcement of the Government that there is no covenant is confined to a dry announcement of a fact. There has been no repudiation, no disavowal of the principle of committing this country, without the assent or knowledge of Parliament or of the people, to direct participation in a continental war of the nature which is so widely apprehended.

But though we may thus present conditionally the desired reconciliation, there are other difficulties from which we do not escape. Such an assurance as has been sketched is in the nature of a favour to Germany, an injury to France. Political favours are readily forgotten, but the memory of injuries is tenaciously retained. Further, may it not be said that to administer comfort of this kind to the Triple Alliance, and then to assure Parliament that the discretion of this country remains absolutely free, would be, in the homely phrase, sailing rather near the wind? For supposing the case to occur while the present Cabinet is in office, it is at least evident that its members would not be absolutely free. And as we know, from the mouth of the Prime Minister, that they will not resign office unless compelled by a vote of want of confidence from the House of Commons, does it not appear that on the outbreak of the war they might at once, to maintain their honour, be caught within its vortex, and fastened down to their task, like slaves chained to the oar? In such a case, what value would attach to the assurance that no treaty or understanding subsists between Great Britain and the members of the Triple Alliance?

There are other objections to the course supposed to have been taken, of which two may here be named. In the first place, if any such declarations have been made, they ought not to remain a secret. We have a right to know what our Government, which is padlocked upon us by peculiar circumstances, would do in such an emergency. Germany, Austria, and Italy have combined in the face of day to act in a certain manner. If the gentlemen who now form the British Cabinet are personally bound, should they be in office, to share that action, they ought to be thus bound in the face of day, and ought not to skulk in the rear of the Alliance, carrying a dark lantern for their guidance. Publicity is in most continental States something of an exotic. But here, it is not only the growth of our soil, it is the breath of our nostrils.

Again: nothing in our view can be more preposterous than to suppose that England, having gone thus far, could plant her foot and refuse to go farther. Apart from all other questions, who can doubt that before such a war as is supposed had lasted for a couple of years, perhaps before the expiration of a twelvemonth, two at the very least of the threefold, or rather fourfold, Alliance would thunder at our doors as applicants for pecuniary subsidies? And we should then have only the choice between the total breakdown of our policy, and, on the other hand, becoming again entangled in the least effectual, the least honourable, and the most odious of all the modes of carrying on war.

The prospect we have presented is not a cheering one. Participation in this league of peace means, be it observed, war with half Europe, including our nearest neighbour: that nearest neighbour being the Power with which, during the last sixty years, we have had much more of close alliance than with any other continental State. It would be well if some extension could be given to the bland explanations of Sir James Fergusson. Failing, however, such comfort, we place some reliance on the evident desire of the continental Powers to postpone the settlement of the terrible account, We rely more largely on the evident march of opinion on domestic questions in this country which may, before the outbreak of a war, have secured to the nation a broader and deeper interpretation of the assurance vouchsafed by Lord Salisbury than Lord Salisbury himself may ever have dreamt of. But further: once or more than once, during the sway of Lord Beaconsfield, we have seen war averted by the vigorous action of opinion outside and against the Cabinet, and we deem it highly probable that the preventive process might, on a future occasion, be not less prompt, not less efficacious.

So much for the attitude and duty of England. Now let us make the round of the Five Powers; let us assume the two to be in mutual understanding, while the three are in formal alliance. And let us put to each of them in succession, with due deference and respect, the time-honoured question, que fais tu dans cette galère?

Some among them will undoubtedly have a ready answer, supported by so much at least of reasoning as even parties in a controversy require each on his own side; not demonstration that he is right, but indications that he may be right, and may not unnaturally assume the right to be on his side. Such is the case certainly with Germany, perhaps also with France, in the face of the problem presented to them by the territory, now called a Reichsland, of Alsace-Lorraine.

An irreconcilable politician is commonly a personage easy enough to deal with. But an irreconcilable people is not: and smaller masses as well as greater are apt to have an opinion on the great question with whom they shall unite. It is indeed impossible to fix by definitions the action of centripetal and centrifugal forces in political societies. Their balances are determined by experience, which, stronger than decrees or speculations, has aggregated Germany, France, and Italy into wholes, but has severed Belgium from Holland, Holstein from Denmark, in accordance, as it would seem, with natural laws. In an intermediate class of cases, the secret of harmony is found to lie in local self-rule, combined with some form of imperial control or influence, practically found sufficient to secure common action in common matters. Such are the cases of Austria with Hungary, Russia with Finland, Denmark with Iceland, Sweden with Norway. There remain the instances where the problem has not yet been solved. Poles and Irishmen await its solution, and a painful friction marks the interval of their suspense. Into which of these classes is Alsace-Lorraine ultimately to fall? Before 1870 it was more French than the average of France. Since 1870 it has been subjected to the full power of the German Empire, exercised for its transformation. Will Germany succeed, as France succeeded after her conquest of these territories, in establishing an union of affection with them? If she does, she will have complete moral as well as legal right on her side against the reorganized army of France, against her unforgotten traditions, and against her sorely wounded pride. But what if she should fail in this great and capital purpose, and should ultimately find herself to be holding them only by the hand of force?

It would be much to expect of Germany that she should regard this failure, when proved, as at once cancelling her moral title. She may urge that she did not assail them, or the France of which they were a part: that in a just war, which she was compelled to prosecute to extremities, she fairly conquered them: that her conquest was ratified by treaty: that it has not disturbed the European equilibrium. She may go farther, and may question whether they have a voice in the matter. She may say, a people may exercise an authoritative choice, but they are not a people. They are not even an unity. Alsace is not Lorraine, nor Lorraine, Alsace. Neither the two jointly, nor each of them singly, have a strong historical tradition of their own, or have suffered a solution of any continuity except that of an union with France, which, though harmonious, had not acquired anything like a venerable antiquity. Can these fractional assemblages of human beings claim the supreme right of self-disposal? Is not such a right limited by Nature and usage to communities having a certain magnitude, and having such marked features of their own, as to stamp them with the character of political units entitled to independent action?

Germany has a full right to assert that she did not either covet, or prosecute with levity or precipitancy, the conquest of Alsace-Lorraine. There is or was published in London a little known German newspaper, which on the eve of the war in July 1870, exhibited one of the usual placards of its contents, among which there were set forth in conspicuous characters the words Sollen wir Elsass, oder sollen wir rucksicht nehmen? Shall we take Alsace, or shall we take counsel? Nor was it the fault of Germany that this sagacious warning remained without effect. The war forced upon her by France, and upon France by infatuation in high places, took its course. It is believed that to the last Prince Bismarck was averse to exacting the cession of Lorraine, and that he was overborne by military influences. It is a fact, known to have been stated on unimpeachable authority, that, at the period when he held his famous interview with Jules Favre, at Ferrières, he promised peace to France on the condition of ceding only Strasburg with its banlieue. Had that magnanimous offer been accepted, it is probable that we should have been spared all immediate occasion of conflict between Germany and France, for there would have been no European question depending on the fate of Alsace-Lorraine.

There is such a question at this moment. Those whom it concerns show a prudent and laudable desire to postpone the issue, but they constantly betray their consciousness of its existence. And it is a moderate assertion to say that according to the established codes of national action, Germany not only will defend, but has a strong presumptive title to defend, her possession of the annexed Reichsland of Alsace-Lorraine. Germany, then, has an easy answer as to the legitimacy of her place in the Triple Alliance. The question how far that moral title can be impaired in the course of time by the common sentiment of the provinces, is one hardly to be solved by the arguments of mere critics from a distance. But there is an aspect of the case which fairly comes within our cognizance. France, historically aware of the identity of feeling between the inhabitants of the conquered provinces and the rest of her population before 1870, cannot be expected to do otherwise than believe in its persistency. No one seems able to predict with adequate grounds the result, or no-result, of the process, which the Germans from their vantage ground of authority are resolutely pressing forward. The measure for the enforce men of passports, to which the young Emperor clings with such tenacity, does not look like success. We cannot exclude the supposition that they possibly may fail. If the process be ineffectual, if the population of Alsace and Lorraine stretch out the hand of persistent supplication, and implore the ejected mother again to take them to her bosom, can she or will she refuse? Or can she so frame her ideas and policy from this time onwards, as to shut out this contingency for all time from the eventualities which stand on the line of her political horizon? If she cannot, then she, too, has potentially a place in the galère, in any combination which may be formed to resist the Triple Alliance.

Nor is it difficult to see that strong, and, from their respective points of view, sufficient motives may tend to keep Austria in alliance with Germany, and to draw Russia into co-operation with France. Louis Napoleon projected alterations in the political map of Europe, which restricted Austria on her German and westward side, and gave her compensation in the East. And Lord Salisbury has hailed as good tidings for mankind the scheme which would bring Austrian power nearer to Constantinople, though he must know that many Austrians, perhaps the most and wisest, regard with aversion a policy which, by the reinforcement of the Slavonic element, would disturb the delicate and critical balance of races and nationalities in that curiously constructed Empire. The supposed or real necessities of 1878 gave her at Berlin an extension of responsibility and power in that direction, by investing her with the administration of Bosnia and Herzegovina. To this she seems gratuitously to have added a sort of sponsorship for the Government of Servia, which as has long been known to the instructed, and has now become palpable to the world through glaring facts, has been extremely unpalatable to the Servians. On the other hand, Russia, unless greatly belied, has exhibited with less disguise her policy of intervention in Bulgarian concerns. The splendid service which she rendered to that people in 1877 was calculated to ensure to her an immense moral influence, had she been content to rely on it. This is not the place to examine the particulars of her conduct. But it is the place to observe that both of these great Empires appear to regard the Balkan Peninsula as intended by Providence, not for independent enjoyment by its own inhabitants, but for the eventual aggrandisement of one of these Powers, and for a field of present rivalry between the two.

Whatever may be the merits of the contest between them, the overweight of Russia in the possession of advantages for waging it is immense. She has some sort and degree of hold upon the goodwill of the populations, through the remembrance of previous services. Austria has none. Russia would appear in the real or assumed character of a liberator. Austria could not. Of the two Empires hers is at once the more powerful and the more compact. The Southern Slavs are undoubted lovers of freedom, and have shown excellent capacity for using it. In this respect the institutions of Austria are, in a degree, nearer to their standard than the absolutism of Russia. But can these institutions be said to have made themselves at any juncture favourably felt in the foreign policy of Austria, and, if not, can this incidental trait form an appreciable weight in the scale? Another most serious drawback to Austrian influence with the Balkan populations is that marked hostility to everything Slavonic outside her own borders, which secured for Turkey the strong sympathies of the Magyars throughout the last great struggle. In the great particular of race, Austria has a very large Slavonic minority among her people, but nowhere and in nothing does their influence prevail against rival forces; while Russia is a genuinely and intensely Slavonic power. In the still greater particular of religion, though the spirit of the Southern Churches may not be identical with that which governs the Church and State system of the North, and the cultus carried down from Czar to Czar, yet the oneness of creed, of tradition, and substantially of rite, would of itself turn the scale against Austria, which is essentially a Roman or Romish power, and which seems unable to dissociate its political predominance in Bosnia and Herzegovina from the spirit and the processes of a veiled proselytism.

There is another motive, more felt than spoken of, which deeply touches Russian action in the Levant. Two Powers may be said to share between them the coasts of the Euxine: Turkey and Russia. It is hardly conceivable that Russia, however destitute she may be of lawful title to the possession of Constantinople, should permanently acquiesce in that manufactured contrivance which, under the name of European law, imprisons her ships of war in the Black Sea, and absolutely denies them the only access which Nature has furnished for them through the Bosphorus and Dardanelles to the Mediterranean and the Atlantic.

If this rivalry in the Balkan Peninsula undeniably exist, it constitutes an ample account of the motives which lead Austria to seek to strengthen herself, by association with her more robust Northern sister, against a military superiority to which are added on the side of her competitor so many elements of advantage. So far we may regret, but we cannot wonder at the divisions of continental Europe in its greater States.

But when we turn to the remaining name of Italy the case is reversed. For the four other Powers we find abounding circumstances, which, as they may severally hold, throw them into certain combinations or antagonisms. But none of these have the smallest application to Italy. Every maxim of policy, every suggestion of common sense, and the dictates of a necessity nothing less than trumpet-tongued, forbid to Italy all intermixture in Cisalpine antipathies or conflicts. It is best to be plain on these occasions. We will therefore not scruple to say that the appearance of Italy in the Triple Alliance is no better than a gigantic piece of political tomfoolery, which is so strange as to be grotesque, and which would even be comic if it were not ruinous. But there she is, and the fact of her presence is perhaps the most signal illustration ever yet afforded, in the political sphere, of the proverbial remark that fact is stranger than fiction.

When, by the greatest master-stroke of the last half-century, the illustrious Cavour sent 15,000 men to the Crimea, and thus secured for his country, at almost no cost or risk, a contingent place among the Great Powers of Europe, a result was achieved which was nothing less than stupendous with reference to the means employed. Never was there such a case of good brickmaking without straw. Then, if ever, approached and arrived the time when Italian statesmen, in all politics beyond their own borders, should have taken for their motto “Rest and be thankful.” Italy had to complete, through alliances astonishingly fortunate, the work of her own integration. Could she not rest content with successes which were of an astounding magnitude, and which were principally due not to herself, but to others? If she goes on to assume responsibilities that are not hers, and to court dangers that need never threaten her, for purposes which can only be those of selfish and thoughtless aggrandisement, her conduct is no wiser than that of some youngster at Monte Carlo, whose early winnings, by drawing him on to greater and yet greater risks, become the efficient cause of his final ruin.

By the provisions of Nature, Italy was marked out for a conservative force in Europe. As England is cut off by the Channel, so is Italy by the mountains, from the continental mass. There are even those who think that the Alps form the more effective demarcation of the two. If England, however, commits follies, they are the follies of a strong man who can afford to waste a portion of his resources without greatly affecting the sum total. She has paid off (a poor affair) two hundred millions of debt since the peace of 1815. Were she (which God forbid) again to raise her debt through war, say even from seven hundred millions to two thousand, she would still stand immeasurably better than she did at that epoch. She has a huge free margin, on which she might scrawl a long list of follies and even crimes, without damaging the letter-press. But where and what is the free margin in the case of Italy, a country which has contrived in less than a quarter of a century of peace, from the date of her restored independence, to treble (or something near it) the taxation of her people, to raise the charge of her debt to a point higher than that of England, and to arrive within one or two short paces of national bankruptcy?

The Italian people are as full of virtues as they are of charm. But Italian politics are not wholly without defects; and among these was noticeable, before Cavour put his strong hand to the helm, a tendency to the theatrical, which has reappeared of late years in enlarged dimensions. It is a fine thing, be it admitted, when politics are theatrically dealt with, to have upon paper an army of eight hundred thousand men; to see unsurpassed iron men-of-war afloat in the Italian harbours, at from eight hundred thousand to a million sterling each; to have Italy, which for so many ages knew nothing of Germany except from contact with her iron heel, lauded in the German press; to find the excellent King Humbert feted (but not for his excellence) and be praised; and when Signor Crispi, travelling in his suite, has an interview with Prince Bismarck, to hear of the minutes or the hours during which “the two statesmen” were closeted together. But these are the arms of copper, which Italy receives in exchange for her arms of gold; and it requires no closeting to learn that the inclusion of Italy in any Cisalpine alliance, for or against France, or Germany, or anybody else, is a one-sided bargain, the triumph of the stronger over the weaker mind, and the harbinger of downfall or of woe.

All this, however, undoubtedly implies that Italy has no enemy on this side the Alps. By joining the Alliance she has taken a step which implies, on the contrary, that, in the judgment of her recent Governments, she has one enemy, and that that enemy is France. Sad as the avowal may be, it must be confessed that two nations may conceivably go to war as dog and cat go to war, with no greater cause, and with rather less title to respect. Nor is it easy to deny that in the surface-opinion of one or both countries there is plenty of animosity afloat, the scum is thick upon the face of the cauldron. There is not the least reason to believe that the independent mind, or that the popular masses, of either nation, share these got-up or official enmities. Traditional hatred between them there is none: for if the historic record of France towards Italy be not absolutely clear, at least it will bear favourable comparison with that of Austria, and of Germany, through its relations with Austria, prior to 1866. Italy sins against policy, and sins also against justice, if she moulds her policy into hostile forms towards any European State on the ground of events which happened when her own Governments were the friends of the stranger, and used him for their evil purposes. Plainly she ought to recollect the great service rendered her in 1866 by Germany, and the yet greater service which she received from France in 1859; a service still greater than that of 1866, because he that breaks the first link of the captive’s chains makes the most effectual contribution towards his complete and final freedom.

It may have been, and probably it was, a paltry measure on the part of Napoleon III. to exact from Italy a payment towards the liquidation of the charges incurred in the short war, best known in connection with the names of Magenta and Solferino. Savoy, indeed, could under no circumstances have been moved in freedoms and harmony with a great Italian kingdom, but the exacted cession of Nice was a measure condemned by the liberal sentiment of Europe. These, however, are simply limited deductions from a debt of gratitude, which would otherwise have been immeasurable. They do not cancel the obligation itself, and they impart an evil taint to any course of action which proves that it has already been forgotten.

But the shining service of 1859, blazoned on the page of history, is not the only reason which makes the accession of Italy to the Triple Alliance a matter of mingled grief and marvel to those Englishmen, who felt strong and early sympathy with her upward and onward movement, and rejoiced in that happy spirit of co-operation between Italy and their own country, which is reasonably believed to have produced important and beneficial results at certain junctures of European policy. It is with an earnestness proportioned to the strength of their interest in Italy that they deprecate and denounce what seems to them, upon anxious consideration, a course of suicidal action. It is suicidal when it happens to be directed against France, but it would not have been a whit less irrational if it had Austria or Germany for its mark. Animosity, growing into hostility, without cause both just and of adequate magnitude, is a great sin. There is no such cause as between France and Italy. Sometimes we are told that France behaved ill to Italy in Tunis; but Italy never would have set up political pretensions there, were it not for the prevalence of that theatrical spirit which seems to have been the evil genius of some among her more recent statesmen. Sometimes it is complained that a section of French opinion is against her in the vital question of the temporal power. But that section is the very same which is in deadly hostility to the French Republic, and which ought to be counteracted by frankly cultivating the liberal sympathies of the French nation at large. Who can say that German or Austrian opinion will ultimately afford a firmer support to Italy in the Papal controversy, than the opinion of France?

It must not, however, be forgotten that the duty of Italy to avoid intermeddling in Cisalpine conflicts is dictated not more by political honour and consistency, than by the strictest and sternest laws of self-preservation. Italy is an united country, and she derives her title to national existence wholly and absolutely from the doctrines of popular will. She cannot honourably undertake engagements which might bind her to aid in suppressing anywhere popular will by military force. Should it happen that Alsace-Lorraine is found to remain incurably French in sentiment, that France, listening to her appeal, should at some future time enter into a struggle which, ex hypothesi, would be a war of liberation; and that Italy was found to act as a member of a military partnership for the purpose of stifling local freedom, even in an area so limited; then, whatever might be said of Germany and Austria, there would be recorded against Italy one of the gravest, one of the most shocking scandals in history. It is not, indeed, the object of these pages to incriminate the conduct of any Power, but equity seems to require the remark, since Italy is a liberal and popular State, that France has promoted the cause, or even fought the battle, of liberty on more than one occasion. She has promoted the emancipation of Greece, of Belgium, and of Spain, the self-government of the Lebanon, the Union of the Danubian Principalities; and some of us may now be sorry that she was prevented, in 1840, from advancing and elevating the status of Egypt. It would be difficult to draw up any similar record on behalf of the principal members of the Triple Alliance. If such is the state of the case on the side of honour, feeling, and consistency, what aspect does it present when we examine it on grounds of rational calculation? Has she reason to suppose that France cherishes the evil intention of making war upon her? Or rather is it not plain, and beyond dispute, that France is in a condition, wealthy indeed and strong, and perhaps well equipped, but one in which she cannot afford to waste one jot or tittle of her resources? Now there is no mark of waste so gross and fatuous as to turn gratuitously into enemies those who might be friends. To ascribe to France in her present position hostile designs against Italy is to impute to her the extreme of wickedness combined with the extreme of folly. No doubt there may be found cases where such extremes have been combined; but rational calculation takes for its materials the usual forms of human motive, and the average of conduct, and not those exceptional and prodigious cases which may occur, as frolics of Nature, once in a generation or a century.

And what are the internal conditions under which Italian statesmen are contemplating an enterprise, from which Don Quixote would have shrunk in dismay? They may be set forth intelligibly in very few words. First of all, it seems plain that a nation’s infancy is not suited to the efforts which demand full maturity of strength. Italy is old in the civilization of her people, but young in political experience. The gristle has not yet hardened into bone. The noblest charger must needs break down, if he have to begin his campaigning as a colt. But there is unhappily the yet more commanding consideration that financial excesses have already brought about a premature decrepitude. In peace Italy already totters under a taxation truly afflictive. She has to lament the prevalence among her people of grinding though not universal distress. The inexorable figures of her public accounts demonstrate that all the resources, commonly husbanded for the extreme contingencies of war, have been already dissipated amidst the serenity of perfect peace. The neglect and apathy of the older Governments, now happily displaced, left Italy under special and urgent necessities of internal development, which are in direct competition with the devouring demands of her military and naval establishments; that is to say, of her eccentric, and perhaps unexampled, foreign policy. And the Power that has calmly embraced this policy, which may be called one of dementation, is the very Power, and the only Power, that carries folded in her own bosom a foe sufficiently formidable to make even such lessons of prudence, as might be optional for others, imperative upon her. Every enemy of Italy will know that she has to reckon a part of her population, doubtless a minor, but possibly a considerable and somewhat powerful part, who are the Pope’s men first, and the King’s men afterwards; and that he can negotiate with a great personage seated in the Vatican, who has the disposal of the hearts, and at the critical time perhaps also of the hands, of what may prove to be a respectable fraction of Italians.

Surely the statesmen who, in a state of things whereof the aggregate is almost intolerable (and is worse each day than it was the day before), can employ themselves in creating dangers absolutely gratuitous, must be adepts such as the world has rarely seen in the art of shutting their eyes.

It may be said that, if this be a true picture of the case, then, in introducing the Italian people into the European concert, there has only been created a new obstacle to peace, instead of that fresh guarantee of stable equilibrium which impartial observers, forming their estimate from the great character and policy of Cavour, had desired and hoped from the erection of Italy into a great Power. But there is no warrant for saying that the policy of the more recent Governments had received its inspiration from the nation. The theory of self-government is a gain for mankind, but it is a long way, “a far cry,” from the theory to the perfect practice. Even in this country, what multitudes of people give their votes according to the pressure not of what is greatest, but of what is nearest; just as, if your child has the scarlet fever, you are more impressed than by the news that five hundred people have been drowned by a flood in China.

A sleepless vigilance, an incessant activity, a large command and free expenditure of time, constitute the conditions which alone could enable the mass of a people to restrain all sectional forces and all partial tendencies, and to determine from point to point the fashion in which its own public interests are to be handled. This aggregate of silent influences upon the State is usually lodged in persons who have wealth, or station, or culture. All of these imply command of leisure, and the power to make appropriations of time such as the multitude cannot from the pressure of their daily necessities afford. In contradistinction to the people, we may call these persons of influence the select. Having leisure, and, as a rule, not being pressed by daily toil or care for their subsistence, they have a free margin of time available for the constant supervision of political affairs, which, it must be observed, have in themselves great attractions for men of leisure and of easy circumstances. The nation, then, is divided into these two parts: the first, inferior in force when directly pitted against the other; the second superior in force, but requiring to be roused and drawn away from standing, and more or less imperative, avocations, in order to bring its force to bear. On the few occasions when the facts are palpable and salient, motive is proximate and urgent, and the atmosphere well warmed, the people, being awakened, will have their own way. But as to that large proportion of affairs which is either unimportant, or without salient and telling interest, or recondite, or with issues hidden from view, down to the present day all these affairs, which constitute the vast majority, have in all European countries been mainly in the hands and under the management of the leisured classes. And all this manifestly applies in a particular degree to what are regarded departmentally as foreign affairs, of which not one but all are of necessity remote from the eye, and which are for the most part only apprehended by a nation when remedies for error are too late, and procrastination is followed, and its evil results often aggravated, by precipitancy.

It is difficult, with the imperfect means we possess, to say positively that the Italian Government does not in this grave matter represent the people. Yet the signs, as far as they go, suggest that conclusion. Within no long period, unless we are mistaken, University students (who are the warmest of patriots) have made vigorous demonstrations in this sense. The voice of what may be termed the literary portion of the press has sounded in many quarters to the same effect. For example, in this very month, an emphatic denunciation of the policy has proceeded from the Marchese Alfieri di Sostegno.² No manifestation of individual opinion in that country could possibly carry greater weight than the Pensieri of Iacini,³ one of the few Italians still surviving who have received the lessons of experience in all the stages of the great revolution of the Peninsula, and who are qualified to point the moral that they teach.

How different might and should have been the prospects of Italy! Her people have imbibed the sentiments of nationality with a rapidity and a thoroughness beyond the highest expectations of their friends. Self-government at many points on the surface of the country vindicates itself, in despite of the enormous taxation, by material and by social developments. All the hazards of a tremendous transition have been faced, with a complete success. The King and the Queen reign in the hearts as well as over the bodies of their subjects. It would be very difficult for either the Pope or the clergy (many of whom are believed to be liberal) to make out a case of practical grievance under the existing system. The party of reaction never can be formidable to a country which has no enemies, and no serious ground of quarrel with any State or nation in the world, unless she herself chooses spontaneously to sow the dragon’s teeth from which the hostile army are to spring. Italy by Nature stands in alliance neither with anarchy nor with Caesarism, but with the cause and the advocates of rational liberty and progress throughout Europe. Never had a nation greater advantages from soil and climate, from the talents and dispositions of the people; never was there a more smiling prospect (if we may fall back upon the graceful fiction) from the Alpine tops, even down to the Sicilian promontories, than that which for the moment has been darkly blurred. It is the heart’s desire of those, who are not indeed her teachers but her friends, that she may rouse herself to dispel once and for ever the evil dream of what is not so much ambition as affectation, may acknowledge the true conditions under which she lives, and it perhaps may not be yet too late for her to disappoint the malevolent hopes of the foes of freedom, and to fulfil every bright and glowing prediction which its votaries have ever uttered on her behalf.

                                                                                                                        OUTIDANOS.

1.  New Review, No. 3, Art. I.
2. Nineteenth Century, Sept. 1889: “Italy Drifting.’’
3. “Pensieri sulla politica Italiana.” Firenze: Civelli. 1889.