HAROLD NICOLSON, M.P., formerly in the British diplomatic service, author of "Peacemaking 1919," "Curzon: the Last Phase, 1919-1925," "Dwight Morrow," and other works
"AND how," inquired a visitor to Sans Souci in 1768, "how would Your Majesty define the English system?"
"The English," snapped Frederick the Great, "have no system."
The events of the last six months might appear to confirm this apophthegm.
Yet is it reasonable to suppose that the greatest Empire which the world has ever known has in fact been maintained, as well as created, in a mood of absent-mindedness? Can it be seriously contended that this little dot of land to the west of an Asiatic peninsula has, by mere unconscious cerebration, spread and consolidated one of the few enduring civilizations in human history? Is it really credible that responsibilities as vast as those which have been inherited by the present generation of islanders have not imposed some theory of policy, some habit of extroverted mind? These habits may be little more than congenital instincts. Yet what are those instincts? Are they as valid today as they were before the war? Has the establishment of democratic control of foreign policy rendered these instincts sectional and confused? Is Great Britain abandoning her former directives? Or is the present stage of volatile confusion merely transitional and occasioned only by sudden shiftings in the balances of European power?
Such are the questions which impose themselves today and which, in this article, I shall endeavor to examine.
I am well aware that it would be more expedient for me to postpone what I write until the very last moment before it must go to press. The events of the next few weeks may well disprove my analysis. Yet wisdom after the event is a penurious form of wisdom. It is more stimulating, and in fact more useful, to choose a date (let it be this tenth of May 1936) at which the future of British policy is still obscure; and to examine that obscurity in terms of the probable. What, in other words, are the elements of the present confusion and into what pattern of policy is the present jumble of shapeless factors most likely to fall? The course of the next two months may, or may not, give a conclusive answer to that question; let us examine our uncertainties as they stand today...
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THE first time I saw Sir Edmund Ironside was in 1936. I had been asked to luncheon by some friends and on entering their drawing room I had the impression that it was smaller than I remembered. I then realized that what had changed its proportions was the presence of an enormous and most restless man. He was pacing up and down between the windows discussing with his host some point of military administration.
POLITICAL alliances are not, as Herr Hitler rightly remarked, concluded upon a basis of compatibility of temper; they are concluded for the purpose of assuring certain common ends. The history of Anglo-French relations during the last thirty-five years is a proof of that aphorism. Our national characters, and at moments our immediate national aims, have proved incompatible; it is because we have throughout been faced by a basic common danger that we have been obliged, in spite of many quarrels, to retain our connection.
THE LIFE OF LORD CURZON. BY THE RT. HON. THE EARL OF RONALDSHAY. London: Benn. New York: Horace Liveright. 3 vols. 1928.

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