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France is aware of these dangers. But there are other causes of distress in France, more immediate and more serious. The French people, indeed, are not happy with themselves, I find, whatever their political beliefs or to whatever special class they may belong.

French logic, so irresistible up to a point, has failed. Their logic was perfect, perhaps, when after a victory which cost them two millions of their best young manhood, and a deep gash of ruin across their landscape, and years of heroic valour and desperate endurance and immeasurable sacrifice, they said: “We must bind that enemy in chains. We must surround him by walls of steel. We must keep him devitalised with his nose in the mud. By this Treaty of Versailles, which is our sacred covenant, we put those chains upon him, lest one day he should escape and attack us again.”

Now, twenty years after, the Treaty of Versailles is undone. The walls of steel have fallen down, or at least are very shaky because many of the allies of France, who made a network round Germany and pledged their perpetual loyalty to France in return for her support as the dominant power in Europe, are now camouflaging their infidelities or their lack of confidence in French leadership.

There is another leader in Europe. His name is Adolf Hitler—a very strong-willed man. Germany has become powerful again, and her power has been obtained by a new system of government and by a political and social philosophy which appeal very strongly to certain types of mind in Central Europe, where there are many would-be Hitlers, and where youth, or sections of it, is attracted by some form of Fascism as a short cut to the Brave New World.

In December of 1937, M. Delbos, Foreign Minister of France, set out on a tour to these countries which had been armed, financed, and flattered by France as bulwarks of defence against Germany after the war. His mission was to patch up the cracks, which lately had been visible, with the French conception of European security; or, in any case, to feel the political pulse of their governments and peoples. He knew, did this little man, that the situation had changed since the great days when France had felt very strong behind the Treaty of Versailles with many political alliances among the neighbours of a defeated Germany. Then the Rhineland had been demilitarised. At any time the French army could have advanced into that open corridor. Now there were German guns on the Rhine again, and behind them a strong Germany, mightily rearmed.

M. Delbos, a thoughtful man, had had a recent conversation with certain British Ministers of State. Among them was a tall, thin mystical-eyed man named Lord Halifax. He had just been over to Germany to talk with Herr Hitler, and desired to give an account of that conversation to the representatives of the French Government. The British Cabinet had been very cordial. M. Delbos had been impressed by their new Prime Minister, Mr. Chamberlain, a true English type like a business man in the City of London, quiet, downright, unemotional, revealing a plain common sense.

It was very clear that these politicians of Great Britain recognised the need for a complete revision of policy. They had no faith in Russia, now that Stalin had executed his generals and was killing many other leaders with homicidal mania. They recognised the setback—no longer to be disguised, to the policy of Collective Security now that the League had been grievously weakened by the failure of Sanctions against Italy. Belgium’s declaration of neutrality in case of another war had inspired other countries to go the same way. German strength, getting formidable, was a centripetal force attracting smaller powers. The Berlin-Rome axis had to be reckoned with. It weakened the independence of Austria. It increased the dangers in the Mediterranean. What was France going to do about all that?

Lord Halifax had a very interesting conversation with Herr Hitler. He had been very much impressed by the Führer’s earnestly expressed desire for European peace, and especially for good relations with England and France. Would it not be wise to believe in the sincerity of Herr Hitler, and to take advantage of it as far as possible? Had it not been rather a mistake for England and France to be so deeply sceptical of his previous peace offers? There was really no evidence to believe (as did some of these English politicians) that he intended to cross other people’s frontiers with fire and sword. Germany’s demand for a return of the colonies raised, of course, a very difficult problem, but it might be advisable to discuss even that question without rigid refusal in advance. Some colonial readjustment might be necessary as the price of a general settlement in Europe for the avoidance of war.

M. Delbos, Foreign Minister of France in the Government of M. Chautemps, had time to think over all this in his wagon-lit on the way to Poland, Roumania, Jugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. That English conversation had not surprised him. If it had happened two years previously—perhaps even a year—French public opinion would have regarded it as an outrageous betrayal. The cry of “Perfide Albion!” would have been raised again. But now these English politicians, who had been very friendly to him, were only expressing ideas which had been raised in French minds. It was necessary to recognise a new situation. The Treaty of Versailles had been cut to ribbons. The Locarno Pact was gone. The League was no longer functioning effectively. Collective Security had failed, owing to the humiliation of the Sanctions policy in the Abyssinian affair. Little Laval—that slippery customer!—had played a double game over that. France had made many mistakes no doubt, owing to fear—not unjustified—and her sacred right to security. Many mistakes! Yes! He had to admit it. If he could only re-write past history! But what, thought M. Delbos, of the unknown future? Russia was an enigma and a haunting doubt. There were many French minds deeply sceptical of any further value in the Franco-Soviet pact. The Right had always been hostile to it. Now the Left were very quiet about it. That nation of homicidal maniacs—what force had it as an ally? How could French democracy be enthusiastic for that blood-soaked tyranny? Would any French soldiers go willingly to war if Russia was in trouble with Japan or Germany? The Franco-Soviet pact had been answered by the German reoccupation of the Rhineland and by Germany’s anti-Communist pact with Japan—a formidable danger perhaps to French and British interests in the Far East. Everything was slipping. The world was in flux again. French policy had been weakened all along the line....

Such were the thoughts which wandered through the mind of M. Delbos in the corner of a wagon-lit on his way to Poland. At least these were the thoughts expressed on his behalf by journalists—those imaginative men!—who are great thought-readers and give the world a full account of what has happened at any Cabinet meeting where every member is pledged to secrecy. M. Delbos may have been thinking of the French Exhibition, or the last play he saw at the Comédie Française, or whether he would have time to get his hair cut in Warsaw, or any of a thousand other things of personal and trivial interest. Anyhow they were the thoughts agitating many French minds towards the end of 1937.

M. Flandin, former Prime Minister of France, expressed some of them with candour in a newspaper article recognising a new situation in Europe and suggesting the necessity of re-adapting French policy. Rather late in the day, perhaps, said some of his critics. Was it too late, M. Flandin? they asked.

M. Delbos had a warm reception in Warsaw, but underneath the cordiality to a representative of France he perceived that Poland was ruled by a military dictatorship hostile to any idea of forming part of a democratic defence against Fascist States. Poland was anxious for the most friendly relations with Germany. Poland was not at all sympathetic with Soviet Russia. Of course they had the most profound admiration, gratitude and love for the French people.

In Bucharest M. Delbos had a cordial reception from the Roumanian people, but unfortunately arrived at a time when Roumania was in the throes of an election which aroused fierce passions and threatened the stability of the Government. King Carol was in hot water again. M. Titulescu, the friend of France, was in retreat. There was a strong Fascist movement. The Roumanians were glad to arrange for further purchases of French armaments, but they did not disguise from M. Delbos that the situation was difficult. They expressed their great admiration, gratitude, and love for the French people, but they were very busy with their own little troubles just then.

Those troubles were revealed to a startled world a few weeks later. At the call of King Carol a new Government, in place of the old Liberals, was formed under the premiership of M. Octavian Goga, the Poet Laureate of Roumania, and one of the leaders of the National Christian Party. They are nationalists of Fascist type and are united as Christians in their hatred of the Jews. The first action of the new Government was to suppress the three Jewish newspapers of Roumania. The National Christians are admirers of Hitler and the German Nazis, and have their own storm-troops, the “Blue Shirts,” who were first to wear the sign of the swastika. So Roumania has broken away from the Little Entente and political alliance with France, which promptly cancelled the exports of arms to this new régime.

The Goga Government lasted only forty days. It did just nothing at all to fulfil its promises of social reform and only succeeded in frightening the Jews who brought their trade to a standstill with bad effect on the peasant farmers and all Roumanian business. King Carol took affairs into his own hands, after appointing the Patriarch of the Greek Orthodox Church as Prime Minister and declaring a new Constitution. The King is endeavouring to appease France and former allies, offended by his sympathy with the Fascist form of rule. Political troubles in Bucharest are by no means at an end and the stage is set for a drama which will not end without violence.

In Jugoslavia the arrival of M. Delbos created riots in the streets. The democrats cheered him so loudly that the anti-democrats attacked them with sticks and stones. The friends of France came into collision with the friends of Italy. That was a new situation. For years since the war Jugoslavia had been on bad terms with Italy, but lately things had altered. Signor Mussolini had held out a friendly hand. It had been grasped with cordiality. Italian factories were selling tanks and guns and ammunition to the Jugoslavians. The Berlin-Rome axis had caused a lot of hard thinking in Belgrade. Alliance with France was no longer the best form of life insurance for a country with its coastline vulnerable to an Italian fleet and its northern frontier within reach of German troops.

In Belgrade they drank to the health of M. Delbos and expressed their admiration, gratitude and love for the French people.

In Czechoslovakia M. Delbos found anxiety and dark apprehension for the future. The Berlin-Rome axis seemed to them a new source of danger. Italy no longer guaranteed the independence of Austria against union with Germany. With Austria in a Germanic bloc Czechoslovakia would be encircled. She already had an increasing source of trouble within her own frontiers where there are three million German folk—the Sudeten Deutsch—restless, demanding autonomy, in close touch with German Nazis. The Czechs were no longer looking to Russia for military rescue in time of war. Strange things were happening in Russia. Stalin was looking eastwards rather than westwards, withdrawing from Europe and making ready for what may be an inevitable war with Japan. All things were changing.

Dr. Beneš, who had guided the policy of Czechoslovakia since its creation by the League, had been aware of its geographical weakness and political dangers for some time past. As far back as August 1936 he gave France a friendly warning that he could not form part of an anti-Germanic bloc.

“It is the lot of Czechoslovakia,” he said, “that she is powerless to isolate herself from the policy of Europe as a whole, that she cannot incline merely to this or to that country, but that she must seek with all in common an equilibrium in central and south-east Europe and with it satisfactory relations with all, and that she must contribute to a collaboration among all with a view to preventing rivalries that are calculated to lead to wars. Therein lies the sense of what we say about our policy—that it is European, that it cannot be otherwise.... In this connexion let me emphasize an outstanding fact, namely, that Czechoslovakia has a vital interest in seeing a German-French agreement achieved. Agreement between Paris and Berlin signifies an automatic solution of many difficulties, too, between Berlin and Prague, which arise as a consequence of the general European tension.”

Later, however, the Prime Minister of Czechoslovakia, Dr. Milan-Hodza, made a dramatic speech in the Czech Parliament at Prague.

“If history should call upon us to defend our country, we shall fight with all our force,” said Dr. Hodza. “Czechoslovakia and its inhabitants will never in any circumstances whatsoever tolerate anyone’s interference or meddling in domestic affairs.

“The question of minority rights is solely and exclusively a matter for internal consideration.

“If Herr Hitler wishes, as he says he does, to clear away misunderstanding and to bring about a pacification of relations with this country, he will find that Czechoslovakia is ready to talk and to co-operate, but only on the basis of absolute equality.”

There is a tragic irony now in those words. We know what happened.