"The total revenue for the current year is $2,545,000,000. Our last Peace Budget was $1,000,000,000. Assuming that the war would end by next March 1st, you must add another $590,000,000 for interest and sinking fund on the war debt together with a further $100,000,000 for pensions which would make the total yearly expenditure for the first year of peace $1,690,000,000. Deducting this from the existing taxation you get a surplus of $855,000,000. Thus after withdrawing the $430,000,000 received from the excess profits tax there still remains a margin of $425,000,000."
Indeed, to analyze British war finance to-day is to find something besides debits and credits and balances. It is a great moral force that does not reckon in terms of pounds or pence. There is no thought of indemnity to soothe the scars of waste: no dream of conquest to atone for friendly land despoiled.
Money grubbing has gone, if only for the moment, along with the other baser things that have evaporated in the giant melting pot of the war. In England to-day there are only two things, Work and Fight. They are giving the nation an economic rebirth: a new idea of the dignity of toil: they have begot a spirit of denial that is rearing an impregnable rampart of resource.
Even more marvellous is the financial devotion of the French who present a spectacle of unselfish sacrifice that merely to touch, as alien, is to have a thrilling and unforgettable experience.
When you look into the French method of paying for the war you get the really picturesque and human interest details. In place of taxation you find that the war is being paid, in the main, out of the savings of the people. Instead of mortgaging the future, the Gaul is utilising his thrifty past.
Never in all history is there a more impressive or inspiring demonstration of the value of thrift as a national asset. It has reared the bulwark that will enable France to withstand whatever economic attack the war will make.
The difference between the English and French system of war financing is psychological as well as material. The average Frenchman has a great deal of the peasant in him. He is willing to give his life and his honour to the nation but he absolutely draws the line at paying taxes. This is why the French have made it a war of loans.
Go up and down the battle line in France and you get startling evidence of the French devotion to savings. More than one English officer has told me of tearful requests from French peasants for permission to go back to their steel-swept and war-torn little farms to dig up the few hundreds of francs buried in some corner of field or garden. Equally impressive is the sight of farmers—usually old men and women—working in the fields while shells shriek overhead and the artillery rumbles along dusty highways.
Thus the French war debt will be met because of the almost incredible saving power of the French people. It is at once their pride and their prosperity. When all is said and done, you discover that with nations as with individuals it is not what they make but what they save that makes them strong and enduring.
One afternoon last summer I talked in Paris with M. Alexandre Ribot, the French Minister of Finance: a stately white-bearded figure of a man who looked as if he had just stepped out of a Rembrandt etching. He sat in a richly tapestried room in the old Louvre Palace where more than one King had danced to merry tune. Now this stately apartment was the nerve centre of a marvellous and close-knit structure that represented a real financial democracy.