THE CHRONICLE CHAPTER 1 BALKAN EUROPE
OBSERVE now your own epoch of history as it appears to the Last Men.
Long before the human spirit awoke to clear cognizance of the world and itself, it
sometimes stirred in its sleep, opened bewildered eyes, and slept again. One of these
moments of precocious experience embraces the whole struggle of the First Men from
savagery toward civilization. Within that moment, you stand almost in the very instant
when the species attains its zenith. Scarcely at all beyond your own day is this early
culture to be seen progressing, and already in your time the mentality of the race
shows signs of decline.
The first, and some would say the greatest, achievement of your own "Western"
culture was the conceiving of two ideals of conduct, both essential to the spirit's wellbeing.
Socrates, delighting in the truth for its own sake and not merely for practical
ends, glorified unbiased thinking, honesty of mind and speech. Jesus, delighting in the
actual human persons around him, and in that flavour of divinity which, for him,
pervaded the world, stood for unselfish love of neighbours and of God. Socrates woke
to the ideal of dispassionate intelligence, Jesus to the ideal of passionate yet selfoblivious
worship. Socrates urged intellectual integrity, Jesus integrity of will. Each,
of course, though starting with a different emphasis, involved the other.
Unfortunately both these ideals demanded of the human brain a degree of vitality and
coherence of which the nervous system of the First Men was never really capable. For
many centuries these twin stars enticed the more precociously human of human
animals, in vain. And the failure to put these ideals in practice helped to engender in
the race a cynical lassitude which was one cause of its decay. There were other causes. The peoples from whom sprang Socrates and Jesus were
also among the first to conceive admiration for Fate. In Greek tragic art and Hebrew
worship of divine law, as also in the Indian resignation, man experienced, at first very
obscurely, that vision of an alien and supernal beauty, which was to exalt and perplex
him again and again throughout his whole career. The conflict between this worship
and the intransigent loyalty to Life, embattled against Death, proved insoluble. And
though few individuals were ever clearly conscious of the issue, the first human
species was again and again unwittingly hampered in its spiritual development by this
supreme perplexity.
While man was being whipped and enticed by these precocious experiences, the
actual social constitution of his world kept changing so rapidly through increased
mastery over physical energy, that his primitive nature could no longer cope with the
complexity of his environment. Animals that were fashioned for hunting and fighting
in the wild were suddenly called upon to be citizens, and moreover citizens of a
world-community. At the same time they found themselves possessed of certain very
dangerous powers which their petty minds were not fit to use. Man struggled; but, as
you shall hear, he broke under the strain.
The European War, called at the time the War to End War, was the first and least
destructive of those world conflicts which display so tragically the incompetence of
the First Men to control their own nature. At the outset a tangle of motives, some
honourable and some disreputable, ignited a conflict for which both antagonists were
all too well prepared, though neither seriously intended it. A real difference of
temperament between Latin France and Nordic Germany combined with a superficial
rivalry between Germany and England, and a number of stupidly brutal gestures on
the part of the German Government and military command, to divide the world into
two camps; yet in such a manner that it is impossible to find any difference of
principle between them. During the struggle each party was convinced that it alone
stood for civilization. But in fact both succumbed now and again to impulses of sheer
brutality, and both achieved acts not merely of heroism, but of generosity unusual
among the First Men. For conduct which to clearer minds seems merely sane, was in
those days to be performed only by rare vision and self-masteryAs the months of agony advanced, there was bred in the warring peoples a genuine
and even passionate will for peace and a united world. Out of the conflict of the tribes
arose, at least for a while, a spirit loftier than tribalism. But this fervour lacked as yet
clear guidance, lacked even the courage of conviction. The peace which followed the
European War is one of the most significant moments of ancient history; for it
epitomizes both the dawning vision and the incurable blindness, both the impulse
toward a higher loyalty and the compulsive tribalism of a race which was, after all,
but superficially human. One brief but tragic incident, which occurred within a century after the European
War, may be said to have sealed the fate of the First Men. During this century the will
for peace and sanity was already becoming a serious factor in history. Save for a
number of most untoward accidents, to be recorded in due course, the party of peace
might have dominated Europe during its most dangerous period; and, through Europe,
the world. With either a little less bad luck or a fraction more of vision and selfcontrol
at this critical time, there might never have occurred that aeon of darkness, in
which the First Men were presently to be submerged. For had victory been gained
before the general level of mentality had seriously begun to decline, the attainment of
the world state might have been regarded, not as an end, but as the first step toward
true civilization. But this was not to be.
After the European War the defeated nation, formerly no less militaristic than the
others, now became the most pacific, and a stronghold of enlightenment. Almost
everywhere, indeed, there had occurred a profound change of heart, but chiefly in
Germany. The victors on the other hand, in spite of their real craving to be human and
generous, and to found a new world, were led partly by their own timidity, partly by
their governors' blind diplomacy, into all the vices against which they believed
themselves to have been crusading. After a brief period in which they desperately
affected amity for one another they began to indulge once more in physical conflicts.
Of these conflicts, two must be observed. The first outbreak, and the less disastrous for Europe, was a short and grotesque
struggle between France and Italy. Since the fall of ancient Rome, the Italians had
excelled more in art and literature than in martial achievement. But the heroic
liberation of Italy in the nineteenth Christian century had made Italians peculiarly
sensitive to national prestige; and since among Western peoples national vigour was
measured in terms of military glory, the Italians were fired, by their success against a
rickety foreign domination, to vindicate themselves more thoroughly against the
charge of mediocrity in warfare. After the European War, however, Italy passed
through a phase of social disorder and self-distrust. Subsequently a flamboyant but
sincere national party gained control of the State, and afforded the Italians a new selfrespect,
based on reform of the social services, and on militaristic policy. Trains
became punctual, streets clean, morals puritanical. Aviation records were won for
Italy. The young, dressed up and taught to play at soldiers with real fire-arms, were
persuaded to regard themselves as saviours of the nation, encouraged to shed blood,
and used to enforce the will of the Government. The whole movement was engineered
chiefly by a man whose genius in action combined with his rhetoric and crudity of
thought to make him a very successful dictator. Almost miraculously he drilled the
Italian nation into efficiency. At the same time, with great emotional effect and
incredible lack of humour he trumpeted Italy's self-importance, and her will to
"expand." And since Italians were slow to learn the necessity of restricting their
population, "expansion" was a real need.
Thus it came about that Italy, hungry for French territory in Africa, jealous of French
leadership of the Latin races, indignant at the protection afforded to Italian "traitors"
in France, became increasingly prone to quarrel with the most assertive of her late
allies. It was a frontier incident, a fancied "insult to the Italian flag," which at last
caused an unauthorized raid upon French territory by a small party of Italian militia.
The raiders were captured, but French blood was shed. The consequent demand for
apology and reparation was calm, but subtly offensive to Italian dignity. Italian
patriots worked themselves into short-sighted fury. The Dictator, far from daring to
apologize, was forced to require the release of the captive militia-men, and finally to
declare war. After a single sharp engagement the relentless armies of France pressed
into North Italy. Resistance, at first heroic, soon became chaotic. In consternation the
Italians woke from their dream of military glory. The populace turned against the
Dictator whom they themselves had forced to declare war. In a theatrical but gallant
attempt to dominate the Roman mob, he failed, and was killed. The new government
made a hasty peace, ceding to France a frontier territory which she had already
annexed for "security."
Thenceforth Italians were less concerned to outshine the glory of Garibaldi than to
emulate the greater glory of Dante, Giotto and Galileo.
France had now complete mastery of the continent of Europe; but having much to
lose, she behaved arrogantly and nervously. It was not long before peace was once
more disturbed.
Scarcely had the last veterans of the European War ceased from wearying their
juniors with reminiscence, when the long rivalry between France and England
culminated in a dispute between their respective Governments over a case of s****l
outrage said to have been committed by a French African soldier upon an
Englishwoman. In this quarrel, the British Government happened to be definitely in
the wrong, and was probably confused by its own s****l repressions. The outrage had
never been committed. The facts which gave rise to the rumour were, that an idle and
neurotic Englishwoman in the south of France, craving the embraces of a "cave man,"
had seduced a Senegalese corporal in her own apartments. When, later, he had shown
signs of boredom, she took revenge by declaring that he had attacked her indecently
in the woods above the town. This rumour was such that the English were all too
prone to savour and believe. At the same time, the magnates of the English Press
could not resist this opportunity of trading upon the public's sexuality, tribalism and
self-righteousness. There followed an epidemic of abuse, and occasional violence,
against French subjects in England; and thus the party of fear and militarism in France
was given the opportunity it had long sought. For the real cause of this war was
connected with air power. France had persuaded the League of Nations (in one of its
less intelligent moments) to restrict the size of military aeroplanes in such a manner
that, while London lay within easy striking distance of the French coast, Paris could
only with difficulty be touched by England. This state of affairs obviously could not
last long. Britain was agitating more and more insistently for the removal of the
restriction. On the other hand, there was an increasing demand for complete aerial
disarmament in Europe; and so strong was the party of sanity in France, that thescheme would almost certainly have been accepted by the French Government. On
both counts, therefore, the militarists of France were eager to strike while yet there
was opportunity.
In an instant, the whole fruit of this effort for disarmament was destroyed. That subtle
difference of mentality which had ever made it impossible for these two nations to
understand one another, was suddenly exaggerated by this provocative incident into
an apparently insoluble discord. England reverted to her conviction that all
Frenchmen were sensualists, while to France the English appeared, as often before,
the most offensive of hypocrites. In vain did the saner minds in each country insist on
the fundamental humanity of both. In vain, did the chastened Germans seek to
mediate. In vain did the League, which by now had very great prestige and authority,
threaten both parties with expulsion, even with chastisement. Rumour got about in
Paris that England, breaking all her international pledges, was now feverishly building
giant planes which would wreck France from Calais to Marseilles. And indeed the
rumour was not wholly a slander, for when the struggle began, the British air force
was found to have a range of intensive action far wider than was expected. Yet the
actual outbreak of war took England by surprise. While the London papers were
selling out upon the news that war was declared, enemy planes appeared over the city.
In a couple of hours a third of London was in ruins, and half her population lay
poisoned in the streets. One bomb, falling beside the British Museum, turned the
whole of Bloomsbury into a crater, wherein fragments of mummies, statues, and
manuscripts were mingled with the contents of shops, and morsels of salesmen and
the intelligentsia. Thus in a moment was destroyed a large proportion of England's
most precious relics and most fertile brains.
Then occurred one of those microscopic, yet supremely potent incidents which
sometimes mould the course of events for centuries. During the bombardment a
special meeting of the British Cabinet was held in a cellar in Downing Street. The
party in power at the time was progressive, mildly pacifist, and timorously
cosmopolitan. It had got itself involved in the French quarrel quite unintentionally. At
this Cabinet meeting an idealistic member urged upon his colleagues the need for a
supreme gesture of heroism and generosity on the part of Britain. Raising his voice
with difficulty above the bark of English guns and the volcanic crash of French bombs, he suggested sending by radio the following message: "From the people of
England to the people of France. Catastrophe has fallen on us at your hands. In this
hour of agony, all hate and anger have left us. Our eyes are opened. No longer can we
think of ourselves as English merely, and you as merely French; all of us are, before
all else, civilized beings. Do not imagine that we are defeated, and that this message is
a cry for mercy. Our armament is intact, and our resources still very great. Yet,
because of the revelation which has come to us today, we will not fight. No plane, no
ship, no soldier of Britain shall commit any further act of hostility. Do what you will.
It would be better even that a great people should be destroyed than that the whole
race should be thrown into turmoil. But you will not strike again. As our own eyes
have been opened by agony, yours now will be opened by our act of brotherhood. The
spirit of France and the spirit of England differ. They differ deeply; but only as the
eye differs from the hand. Without you, we should be barbarians. And without us,
even the bright spirit of France would be but half expressed. For the spirit of France
lives again in our culture and in our very speech; and the spirit of England is that
which strikes from you your most distinctive brilliance."
At no earlier stage of man's history could such a message have been considered
seriously by any government. Had it been suggested during the previous war, its
author would have been ridiculed, execrated, perhaps even murdered. But since those
days, much had happened. Increased communication, increased cultural intercourse,
and a prolonged vigorous campaign for cosmopolitanism, had changed the mentality
of Europe. Even so, when, after a brief discussion, the Government ordered this
unique message to be sent, its members were awed by their own act. As one of them
expressed it, they were uncertain whether it was the devil or the deity that had
possessed them, but possessed they certainly were.
That night the people of London (those who were left) experienced an exaltation of
spirit. Disorganization of the city's life, overwhelming physical suffering and
compassion, the consciousness of an unprecedented spiritual act in which each
individual felt himself to have somehow participated––these influences combined to
produce, even in the bustle and confusion of a wrecked metropolis, a certain
restrained fervour, and a deep peace of mind, wholly unfamiliar to LondonersMeanwhile the undamaged North knew not whether to regard the Government's
sudden pacificism as a piece of cowardice or as a superbly courageous gesture. Very
soon, however, they began to make a virtue of necessity, and incline to the latter view.
Paris itself was divided by the message into a vocal party of triumph and a silent party
of bewilderment. But as the hours advanced, and the former urged a policy of
aggression, the latter found voice for the cry, "Viva l'Angleterre, viva l'humanité."
And so strong by now was the will for cosmopolitanism that the upshot would almost
certainly have been a triumph of sanity, had there not occurred in England an accident
which tilted the whole precarious course of events in the opposite direction.
The bombardment had occurred on a Friday night. On Saturday the repercussions of
England's great message were echoing throughout the nations. That evening, as a wet
and foggy day was achieving its pallid sunset, a French plane was seen over the
western outskirts of London. It gradually descended, and was regarded by onlookers
as a messenger of peace. Lower and lower it came. Something was seen to part from it
and fall. In a few seconds an immense explosion occurred in the neighbourhood of a
great school and a royal palace. There was hideous destruction in the school. The
palace escaped. But, chief disaster for the cause of peace, a beautiful and
extravagantly popular young princess was caught by the explosion. Her body,
obscenely mutilated, but still recognizable to every student of the illustrated papers,
was impaled upon some high park-railings beside the main thoroughfare toward the
city. Immediately after the explosion the enemy plane crashed, burst into flame, and
was destroyed with its occupants.
A moment's cool thinking would have convinced all onlookers that this disaster was
an accident, that the plane was a belated straggler in distress, and no messenger of
hate. But, confronted with the mangled bodies of schoolboys, and harrowed by cries
of agony and terror, the populace was in no state for ratiocination. Moreover there
was the princess, an overwhelmingly potent s****l symbol and emblem of tribalism,
slaughtered and exposed before the eyes of her adorers.
The news was flashed over the country, and distorted of course in such a manner as to
admit no doubt that this act was the crowning deviltry of s****l fiends beyond the
Channel. In an hour the mood of London was changed, and the whole population of
England succumbed to a paroxysm of primitive hate far more extravagant than any that had occurred even in the war against Germany. The British air force, all too well
equipped and prepared, was ordered to Paris.
Meanwhile in France the militaristic government had fallen, and the party of peace
was now in control. While the streets were still thronged by its vociferous supporters,
the first bomb fell. By Monday morning Paris was obliterated. There followed a few
days of strife between the opposing armaments, and of butchery committed upon the
civilian populations. In spite of French gallantry, the superior organization,
mechanical efficiency, and more cautious courage of the British Air Force soon made
it impossible for a French plane to leave the ground. But if France was broken,
England was too crippled to pursue her advantage. Every city of the two countries
was completely disorganized. Famine, riot, looting, and above all the rapidly
accelerating and quite uncontrollable spread of disease, disintegrated both States, and
brought war to a standstill.
Indeed, not only did hostilities cease, but also both nations were too shattered even to
continue hating one another. The energies of each were for a while wholly occupied
in trying to prevent complete annihilation by famine and pestilence. In the work of
reconstruction they had to depend very largely on help from outside. The management
of each country was taken over, for the time, by the League of Nations.
It is significant to compare the mood of Europe at this time with that which followed
the European War. Formerly, though there had been a real effort toward unity, hate
and suspicion continued to find expression in national policies. There was much
wrangling about indemnities, reparations, securities; and the division of the whole
continent into two hostile camps persisted, though by then it was purely artificial and
sentimental. But after the Anglo-French war, a very different mood prevailed. There
was no mention of reparations, no possibility of seeking security by alliances.
Patriotism simply faded out, for the time, under the influence of extreme disaster. The
two enemy peoples co-operated with the League in the work of reconstructing not
only each one itself, but each one the other. This change of heart was due partly to the
temporary collapse of the whole national organization, partly to the speedy dominance
of each nation by pacifist and anti-nationalist Labour, partly to the fact that the
League was powerful enough to inquire into and publish the whole story of the origins
of the war, and expose each combatant to itself and to the world in a sorry light. We have now observed in some detail the incident which stands out in man's history
as perhaps the most dramatic example of petty cause and mighty effect. For consider.
Through some miscalculation, or a mere defect in his instruments, a French airman
went astray, and came to grief in London after the sending of the peace message. Had
this not happened, England and France would not have been wrecked. And, had the
war been nipped at the outset, as it almost was, the party of sanity throughout the
world would have been very greatly strengthened; the precarious will to unity would
have gained the conviction which it lacked, would have dominated man not merely
during the terrified revulsion after each spasm of national strife, but as a permanent
policy based on mutual trust. Indeed so delicately balanced were man's primitive and
developed impulses at this time, that but for this trivial accident, the movement which
was started by England's peace message might have proceeded steadily and rapidly
toward the unification of the race. It might, that is, have attained its goal, before,
instead of after, the period of mental deterioration, which in fact resulted from a long
epidemic of wars. And so the first Dark Age might never have occurred.