This Slavonic westerly push has always been blocked by the leading power in the west. France opposed it in the Napoleonic period. Great Britain checked it in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Today it is Germany’s turn to stand the brunt of its pressure. As matters stand both Germany and Russia are vigorous, young and fast-growing. The two peoples have taken root on adjacent land like two sturdy oaks. They are now in the stage at which the soil’s nourishment at the border suffices only for one. The weaker must wither. The Teuton is expanding eastward, the Slav is spreading westward. Their main clashing-zone happens to be the Balkan peninsula. The ceaseless agitation in this area and its menace to the world’s peace is a consequence of the antagonism between the Pan-Slavic Colossus and the Pan-German Titan.

Germany’s expansion is a natural phenomenon. The country is overpopulated. It must expand. The sea is a barrier to its westerly expansion. The north is uninviting. The south is being drained of its resources by active and intelligent inhabitants. The “Drang nach Osten” of German Imperialism is therefore inevitable. The line of least resistance points to the east, where fertile territory awaits development.

Little wonder, then, that the attention of Germany’s far-seeing statesmen has been directed toward oriental countries, whose wealth of natural resources and genial climate combine to render them ideally attractive. The verdant vales and forest-clad mountains of Serbia, Greece and Bulgaria abound with raw material needed for Germany’s increasing industries. Beyond the narrow watercourse, intervening between Europe and Asia, at the Dardanelles and Bosporus lies Asia Minor, a land marvelously rich in minerals and susceptible of great agricultural development. Farther east the exceedingly fertile Mesopotamian valley, once the granary of the civilized world, stretches between the western Euphrates and Tigris, and bids fair to provide humanity anew with vast supplies of cereals.

This is the vision which has floated alluringly before the minds of German and Austrian statesmen, working hand in hand, Austria paving the way in the Balkans, Germany forcing herself successfully in the control of Asia Minor, which today is a German colony in all but name. By their joint efforts, the Teuton brothers have laid the foundation of an empire whose northern shore is washed by the Baltic and whose southern boundary may extend to the Persian Gulf. The great obstacle to this scheme of German expansion is constituted by the neighborhood of Russia and the predominance of the Slavic element in the population of the Balkan peninsula. Montenegrins, Serbians, Macedonians and even Bulgarians dread annexation by Germany.

At the end of the Balkan wars, Russia had scored heavily against Germany. An enlarged Serbia had been constituted directly in the path of Teutonic advance. In addition to this Slavic victory, every Balkan country had been strengthened considerably by the new delimitation of their frontiers. For the first time in their history, Greeks, Bulgarians and Serbians found that their national border could be made to coincide with their linguistic boundary. This national sifting is by no means complete in the Balkan peninsula. But there is no question that notable progress in the recognition of patriotic aspirations was made as soon as the region was rid of its Turkish masters.

With the history of the past hundred years in mind, statesmen engaged in the task of framing peace treaties may well heed the lessons taught by political geography. They might conclude then that greater possibilities of enduring peace exist whenever the delimitation of new frontiers is undertaken with a view to segregating linguistic areas within separate national borders. Commerce and industry will overcome ultimately these barriers and pave the way to friendly international intercourse. These are the lines along which intelligent statecraft will earn its reputation in the future.

The practical value of linguistic frontiers as national boundaries is due to their geographical growth. They are natural because they are the result of human intercourse based largely on economic needs. Having developed naturally, they correspond to national aspirations. Such being the case, the task of frontier delimitation can be made to assume a scientific form. Only in the case of uninhabited or sparsely populated regions will an artificial boundary—say, of the straight line type—prove adequate. But in tenanted portions of the earth’s surface where human wills and desires come into play the problem cannot be dismissed so lightly. The ordinary laws of science must then be applied. This, after all, merely implies drawing on the stock of common sense accumulated by the human race in the course of its development. The clear duty of statesmen engaged in a revision of boundaries is to put the varied interests at stake into harmony with the facts of nature as they are revealed by geography. This is possible because the science deals with the surface of the earth considered as the field of man’s activity. Its data can be drawn upon just as successfully as the engineer draws upon the energy of a waterfall or a ton of coal. Soundness and permanency of the labor of delimitation can thus be insured.

The preceding remarks should not be considered as implying that a mountain, or a river, or even the sea are to be arbitrarily regarded as frontiers. Lines of water-parting deserve particular mention as having provided satisfactory national borders in history. But in boundaries each case should be treated upon its own merits. There was a time when, in Cowper’s words:

Mountains interposed

Make enemies of nations who had else