From the clod of this almost thoughtless intuition, the sympathetic leaders of the masses may distil the stuff of a vision which will guide our course in the future. It will be a vision of the greatest, richest and most powerful nation in the history of the world, deliberately rejecting precedent, refusing to embark upon an imperial career with its oppression of weaker nations and its forcible acquisition of the natural wealth of foreign lands. Instead of securing its prosperity at the expense of others, it will choose to maintain none but friendly, helpful relations with all peoples, whether their civilization be backward or forward. In full realization of the interdependence of the whole world, it will accept its responsibility as leader and endeavour so to adjust its great affairs as to help, not hinder the lesser nations. Its own prosperity will be a contribution to the welfare of all. And its constructive ideal will be the demonstration, by example only, that certain social and economic principles applied in practice will solve many of the chronic problems which have beset the nations throughout history and will avert the normal process of decay. These principles are peace, work, thrift, and a temperate increase of population.

Such a career was forecast in the words of Washington, which seem so well to reflect the will and wisdom of the common people today and which, it is hoped, may in the course of time become the "shorter catechism" of the American national faith: "I believe it to be the sincere wish of United America to have nothing to do with the political intrigues or the squabbles of European nations; but, on the contrary, to exchange commodities and live in peace and amity with all the inhabitants of this earth; and this I am persuaded they will do if rightfully it can be done." The Republican party has done well to carry this policy into effect and to abstain from the tempting exercise of a new-found power. It will do well to continue. And at each crisis the voters can be depended on to endorse it as they did in 1920.

But what of our Economic Foreign Policy? In this field we have acquired, almost without calculation, the habit of extreme Economic Nationalism. We have recently erected an almost insuperable tariff barrier against international trade, and have declined to remove the shackles from our merchant marine, or

finance the utilization of an idle fleet which would facilitate the exchange of commodities. Moreover it has scarcely dawned upon us what responsibility is ours, through the force of circumstances, in connection with demoralized world currency and banking.

If the phrase "exchange of commodities" meant to George Washington a free and untrammeled trade between nations, to the mutual gain and advantage of each, would he have approved the artificial and inflated basis upon which by careful manipulation and restriction we are managing to support ourselves at a level out of all relation to the world at large? Surely, in this twentieth century, economic isolation and independence are incompatible with growth and prosperity within. To curtail natural trade relations is to inhibit our own development, to sacrifice our inherent advantages, and to keep our internal prosperity out of balance. Nor is it consonant with "peace and amity" without. The criteria of political and of economic policy are not analogous.

In the sphere of Economic Foreign Policy the doctrine of the Republican party is antiquated. The interests of the Conservative groups in the country demand that it be revised. Thus the major questions of economic policy, both foreign and domestic, resolve themselves into the same elements. Again the fundamentals appear to be Protection or Free Trade, and Sound Money or Inflation. And it is these subjects which will be dealt with in detail in the two following numbers of this REVIEW.

C. REINOLD NOYES.

MUSSOLINI AND THE LEAGUE

BY STEPHANE LAUZANNE

ONE of my most intimate friends happened to be with Signor Mussolini the very day-August 31-that the Italian fleet occupied Corfu, and later recounted the scene to me. The Dictator was seated behind a big table. From without, the feverish agitation that stirred Rome mounted through an open window. But Signor Mussolini remained calm-master of each of his words and movements. Suddenly, someone came in and handed him a document. He glanced through it rapidly, and murmured, "Bene! Molto bene!" (Good! Very good!) Then, turning to my friend, he said simply: "It is done. We have occupied Corfu. We shall occupy it until we have received complete satisfaction." And, quietly, he gave a detailed account of the case, as if speaking of something that had happened long ago.

"It was not for his personal pleasure that General Tellini covered the ground along the Albanian frontier, defining its boundaries, and placing frontier posts. Neither did he do this for Italy. He was there on the order of all the Allied Governments. He was there to accomplish an act that was essentially pacific-that of delimiting the frontier between Greece and Albania. He had already been threatened twice before. The Greeks, dissatisfied with the line traced by the Inter-Allied Commission, held him responsible. They had twice before registered a vehement protest against his decisions, and the very night that preceded his assassination they displaced the frontier posts that had been set up by the Inter-Allied Commissioners. Their moral participation in the perpetration of the crime is beyond doubt. Their legal responsibility for the crime is just as certain. Well, I hold that we must finish once and for all with such savage proceedings. We are continually speaking of first and second class Powers. No! There are neither first nor second class Powers. All countries are morally equal, and have the same

rights. But they also have the same duties. The rights of a small Power do not extend to the point where it may with impunity assassinate the representatives of a greater Power. If they ignore this, they must take the consequences.'

My friend pointed out that the Italian decision might be variously interpreted in the rest of Europe and America. "Your decision will no doubt be understood in Paris," he said, "but it will probably be blamed in London." Mussolini's face flushed. "Really?" he exclaimed

His eyes brightened, and his voice fell. sarcastically. "So this is the first time that one country having a complaint against another has acted energetically? Is this the first time that a country wishing to obtain satisfaction has seized its guarantees? Is it?

"Let me tell you a story taken from history. In 1850, a Portuguese Jew, protected by England, Don Pacifico, living in the Piræus, was pillaged in the course of a riot. He immediately asked for an indemnity of 800,000 drachmas. He received nothing. He then appealed to England, his protector. Lord Palmerston was Prime Minister. He replied immediately by sending a British fleet, under the command of Admiral Parker, which blockaded the Piræus, and captured two hundred Greek vessels. The House of Lords found that Lord Palmerston had gone a bit too far, and gave him a vote of censure. But Palmerston appealed to the House of Commons. A formidable debate opened on the subject, and lasted for three days. Palmerston spoke for four hours, and carried off one of the greatest victories of his political career. What did he say? He affirmed the right of England to substitute its action where a foreign court proved itself to be manifestly incompetent; and proclaimed the right of every British citizen to say to the entire world 'Civis Britannicus sum!' He was acclaimed by the House of Commons. Peel, his adversary, cried in admiration, 'He makes us all proud of him!' And, from that day, Palmerston was called 'the great Pam'. That is what we find in history. So, if for 800,000 drachmas not paid to a Portuguese protégé England could capture two hundred Greek vessels, how many islands has Italy the right to seize for 50,000,000 lire not paid in reparation for the massacre of an entire mission?"

"Why," asked my friend, "do not you permit the League of Nations, now sitting in Geneva, to arbitrate the matter?"

"Because there is nothing to be arbitrated," was the quick reply. "We have no intention of declaring war on Greece, nor has Greece, we believe, the intention of declaring war on us. We have no intention of annexing Corfu―we are merely going to occupy it until Greece has satisfied our demands. These demands are not open to discussion; they do not envisage any change in European status, either political or territorial; they merely ask for apologies, salutes, and the payment of an indemnity for people who were assassinated while accomplishing a pacific mission confided to them by an international organization. These demands we cannot submit to the judgment of Geneva, where the eventual judges have already manifested but too clearly how their judgment would run."

Signor Mussolini had recovered all his calm, and his voice once more became quiet. At this moment the telephone bell rang. The Dictator picked up the receiver and listened. And the same man, who had just shown remarkable sang froid in speaking of diplomatic problems dealing with the peace of the world, seemed to be terribly upset, exclaiming, "E terribile! E una giornata nera!" (It is terrible! It is indeed a black day!) Tears came to his eyes.

My friend was anxious. He believed some terrible international incident had occurred. But no, it was something else. Two aeronautical accidents had occurred, the one after the other; and four aviators had been killed. They were Italians, young, audacious, and active, who had risked their lives in the air, just as the Dictator himself daily risks his life in automobiles and aeroplanes. And, in the depths of his sorrow, the man who had just shown himself insensible now broke down like a child. All of Mussolini reflected itself in that scene.

But let us go to the bottom of this dispute, which after all was less a dispute between Italy and Greece than one between Italy and the League of Nations. "Geneva," the Italian Dictator had said, "is not qualified to pronounce itself between Rome and Athens. Geneva has not the spirit of an arbitrator." Is this so? If so, what must we think of it?