[38] In view of what the census said with regard to this place it is superfluous to add that when an Italian officer in my hearing asked one who was stationed there if there was any social life, the other answered: "None at all; the whole population is Slav." I find that Modern Italy (published in London) quoted with approval the following telegram which appeared, it said, in the Tempo of May 9: "A remarkably enthusiastic celebration took place at Obrovazzo. Several thousands, including representatives of the neighbouring villages, formed a procession and marched through the town. In the principal piazza, the President of the National party, Bertuzzi, delivered a stirring speech, which was enthusiastically applauded."
[39] It is customary for Serbian officers to wear but one decoration, the highest among those to which they are entitled. To illustrate this Serbian modesty regarding honorifics, I might mention that one evening at the house of a Belgrade lawyer I heard his wife, a Scotswoman, to whom he had been married for more than a year, ascertain that he had won the Obilić medal for bravery and several other decorations which—and his case was typical—he had not troubled to procure.
[40] June 24, 1919.
[41] May 15, 1919.
[42] Mr. Leiper in the Morning Post (June 23, 1920) scouts the idea of these malcontents being the supporters of Nikita, who "were all laid by the heels or driven out of the country long ago—largely by the inhabitants themselves." He observes that the land is one land with Serbian soil—its frontiers are merely the artificial imposition of kings and policies. The nations, he points out, are not two but one—one in blood, in temperament, in habits, in tradition, in language; round the fireside they tell their children the same stories, sing them the same songs: the greatest poem in Serbian literature, as all the world knows, was written by a Prince-Bishop of Montenegro. Since the day when the Serbian State came into existence it has been, he says, the constant, burning desire of the Montenegrins to be joined to it. We may well rub our eyes at a letter in the same newspaper from Lord Sydenham, who makes the perfectly inane remark that this constant, burning desire was never probable. "Montenegro already is Serbia," says Mr. Leiper, "and Serbia Montenegro, in every way except verbally." But Lord Sydenham has set himself up as a stern critic of the Serbs in Montenegro; therefore he cannot countenance the Leiper articles, which give him "pain and surprise." Is he surprised that Mr. Leiper, a shrewd Scottish traveller, who is acquainted with the language, should disagree with him? "The great mass of the people," says Mr. Leiper, "are as firm as a rock in their determination that Nicholas shall never return." Listen to Lord Sydenham: "I am afraid," says he, "that your correspondent has been misled by the raging, tearing Serbian propaganda with which I am familiar." And he quotes for our benefit an unnamed correspondent of his in Montenegro who says that the people there are terrified of speaking. It is much to be desired that a little of this terror might invade a gentleman who plunges headlong into matters which he does not understand.
[43] Cf. Morning Post, November 17, 1920.
[44] A most vivid account of this affair was contributed to the Chicago Tribune (July 13, 1919) by its correspondent, Thomas Stewart Ryan, one of the two neutral eye-witnesses. He came to the conclusion that as Italy was an interested party and was exasperated by the long delay in the decision, an outbreak even more violent might occur unless her forces were brought down to the level of the other Allies. In alliance with the city rabble, the Giovani Fiumani, Italian soldiers attacked the French: "I can state emphatically," says Mr. Ryan, "that the French guards did nothing whatever to provoke the assault, some details of which would blot the escutcheon of most savage tribes. I saw soldiers of France killed, after surrender, by their supposed Allies.... I could scarcely believe my ears when Italian officers rapped out the order to load. But they seemed to remember that Frenchmen can fight." However, he also saw an Italian officer who "prevented this murder and held back the civilians who were trying to reach their victim. I must record it to the credit of this officer that his was the only Italian voice to defend the game little soldier. 'A hundred against one! Shame on you, soldiers of Italy!' I wish I knew this officer's name." At another part of the harbour, "A British naval officer, fearing that the wounded Frenchman would be stabbed inside the court to which he was dragged, followed the body and defied the captain of carabinieri, who ordered him to leave." And at the close "I was no longer alone with my friend as a neutral eye-witness. The British Admiral Sinclair appeared, causing much perturbation to the Italian officers, who though some of them had just taken part in the shambles, were already glib with excuses. 'The British Admiral wants to know' was enough to bring the Italian officer running and bowing, with 'I beg of you....' 'We are willing to explain all....' American naval officers of the destroyer Talbot were also among this post-mortem crowd. In a French motor bearing two Italian officers who stood up to ward off possible shots, came a French captain. He was of that calm, splendid type that makes you think of the Chevalier Bayard, a knightly figure. Quietly he moved among his dead. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he give token of what was working deep down in that French heart of his. I heard an Italian officer tell him that the French had started the most regrettable affair by firing on the Italian ships. The officer spoke this falsehood under the glazed stare of the French dead and the protesting gaze of the wounded. The French captain nodded his head, remarked, 'Oh yes! of course. Now we must only pick up the wounded,' and, with all the gentleness of a mother beside her child's sick-bed...." A very good account of this shocking episode is contained in A Political Escapade: The Story of Fiume and d'Annunzio, by J. N. Macdonald, O.S.B. (London, 1921). His narrative is extremely well documented—he appears to have been a member of the British Mission. "It is incomprehensible," says he, "how officers and men could attack the very post that they had been sent to defend. Moreover, they were over 100 strong and fully armed, whereas the French garrison was small and had no intention of putting up a defence." One of the lesser outrages described by Father Macdonald, since it was not attended with fatal results, was that which happened to Captain Gaillard, who from his window saw an Italian lieutenant shoot and kill with his revolver an unarmed Annamese. The captain cried out with rage, and when his room was entered by fifteen men carrying rifles with fixed bayonets and they ordered him to go with them, Madame Gaillard tried to intervene and received a blow on the arm dealt with the butt end of a rifle. At this juncture an Italian officer appeared and roughly told Gaillard to come without further delay. A mob of civilians and soldiers who were outside greeted Gaillard with a shower of blows, and while they went along the street, the officer escorting him kept up a volley of abuse against France and England. Very fortunately for Gaillard he was brought into the presence of an Italian officer to whom he was personally known. This gentleman, looking very uneasy, refused to give the name of his brother-officer, but caused the Frenchman to be released.
[45] Cf. The Balkan Peninsula (English translation). London, 1887.