“Do you think,” I said, “that Germany will be broken up by the war?”
“You mean Germany in what sense? Are you thinking of Preuszenthum? Are
you referring to Junkerismus?”
“No,” I said, quite truthfully, “neither of them.”
“Ah,” said the Authority, “I see; you mean Germany as a Souverantat
embodied in a Reichsland.”
“That’s it,” I said.
“Then it’s rather hard,” said the Eminent Authority, “to answer
your question in plain terms. But I’ll try. One thing, of course, is
_absolutely_ certain, Mittel-Europa goes overboard.”
“It does, eh?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely. This is the end of Mittel-Europa. I mean to
say--here we’ve had Mittel-Europa, that is, the Mittel-Europa _idea_, as
a sort of fantasmus in front of Teutonism ever since Koniggratz.”
The Authority looked all round us in that searching way he had. We all
tried to look like men seeing a fantasmus and disgusted at it.
“So you see,” he went on, “Mittel-Europa is done with.”
“I suppose it is,” I said. I didn’t know just whether to speak with
regret or not. I heard Rapley murmur, “I guess so.”
“And there is not a doubt,” continued the Authority, “that when
Mittel-Europa goes, Grossdeutschthum goes with it.”
“Oh, sure to,” we all murmured.
“Well, then, there you are--what is the result for Germany--why the
thing’s as plain as a pikestaff--in fact you’re driven to it by the
sheer logic of the situation--there is only _one_ outcome--”
The Authority was speaking very deliberately. He even paused at this
point and lighted a cigarette, while we all listened breathlessly. We
felt that we had got the thing to a focus at last.
“Only one outcome--a Staatenbund.”
“Great heavens,” I said, “not a Staatenbund!”
“Undoubtedly,” said the Authority, puffing quietly at his cigarette, as
if personally he wouldn’t lift a finger to stop the Staatenbund if he
could, “that’s the end of it, a Staatenbund. In other words, we are back
where we were before the Vienna Congress!”
At this he chuckled heartily to himself: so the rest of us laughed too:
the thing was _too_ absurd. But the Authority, who was a man of nice
distinctions and genuinely anxious to instruct us, was evidently afraid
that he had overstated things a little.
“Mind you,” he said, “there’ll be _something_ left--certainly the
Zollverein and either the Ausgleich or something very like it.”
All of the men gave a sort of sigh of relief. It was certainly something
to have at least a sort of resemblance or appearance of the Ausgleich
among us. We felt that we were getting on. One could see that a number
of the men were on the brink of asking questions.
“What about Rumania,” asked Nelles--he is a banker and interested in
government bonds--“is this the end of it?”
“No,” said the Authority, “it’s not the end of Rumania, but it _is_ the
end of Rumanian Irridentismus.”
That settled Nelles.
“What about the Turks?” asked Rapley.
“The Turks, or rather, I suppose it would be more proper to say, the
Osmanli, as that is no doubt what you mean?” Rapley nodded. “Well,
speaking personally, I should say that there’s no difficulty in a
permanent settlement in that quarter. If I were drawing up the terms
of a treaty of peace meant to be really lasting I should lay down three
absolute bases; the rest needn’t matter”--the Authority paused a moment
and then proceeded to count off the three conditions of peace on his
fingers--“These would be, first, the evacuation of the Sandjak; second,
an international guarantee for the Capitulations; and third, for
internal matters, an arrangement along the lines of the original firman
of Midhat Pasha.”
A murmur of complete satisfaction went round the group.
“I don’t say,” continued the Eminent Authority, “that there wouldn’t be
other minor matters to adjust; but they would be a mere detail. You
ask me, for instance, for a _milice_, or at least a gendarmerie, in the
Albanian hinterland; very good, I grant it you at once. You retain, if
you like, you abolish the Cypriotic suzerainty of the Porte--all right.
These are matters of indifference.”
We all assumed a look of utter indifference.
“But what about the Dardanelles? Would you have them fixed so that ships
could go through, or not?” asked Rapley.
He is a plain man, not easily put down and liking a plain answer. He got
it.
“The Dardanelles,” said the Authority, “could easily be denationalized
under a quadrilateral guarantee to be made a pars materia of the pactum
foederis.”
“That ought to hold them,” I murmured.
The Authority felt now that he had pretty well settled the map of
Europe. He rose and shook hands with us all around very cordially. We
did not try to detain him. We felt that time like his was too valuable
to be wasted on things like us.
“Well, I tell you,” said Rapley, as we settled back into our chairs when
the Great Authority had gone, “my own opinion, boys, is that the United
States and England can trim Germany and Austria any day in the week and
twice on Sunday.”
After which somebody else said:
“I wonder how many of these submarines Germany has, anyway?”
And then we drifted back into the humbler kind of war talk that we have
been carrying on for three years.
But later, as we walked home together, Rapley said to me:
“That fellow threw a lot of light on things in Europe, didn’t he?”
And I answered:
“Yes.”
What liars we all are!