with all branches of the Christian Church'; their hope is of a Free Church of England so steeped in the spirit and traditions of the entire Church Catholic as to be ready in due time for the reunion of Christendom.' Some members of this society were 'in retreat' in Belgium a year or two before the war, and they showed in what sense they understood the temper and principles of the Fellowship by attending daily Mass in the village Church, not, of course, from curiosity, but in a genuine endeavor to share the experience of those whose religious tradition it is to worship in this way. How far is their spirit from that of the early Puritans, and how full of promise for a brighter future for Christendom!

The 'Free Catholic' Movement is even more alien from the separatist spirit of historic Nonconformity, and more certainly a symptom of the passing of Protestantism. In the words of one of its leaders, the Movement seeks to do for Nonconformity mutatis mutandis what the Oxford Movement did for the Church of England. They wish to press the freedom of Nonconformity to its logical conclusion of admitting Catholicism. They do not believe in denominationalism, but in one Church really free and really Catholic. "The Movement was begun by half a dozen men in the atmosphere of simple devotion and during "Retreat". . . out of "Retreat" we observed the simplest

The Church Quarterly Review

our

possible daily devotional rule of prayer, reading, and meditation Catholicism like every profound religion, is mystical and sacramental, and, for that very reason, thoroughly historical, personal, and concrete.'* Anyone who read the account of their recent Conference at Birmingham, culminating in a Eucharist celebrated by an exJesuit, will realize how far these men have traveled from the merely negative, anti-Catholic attitude which was common up till thirty or forty years ago.

Such movements are without doubt the work of the Holy Spirit. They create a situation which challenges the faith of the English Church, and the statesmanship and imagination of its leaders. Are we prepared to spend the time and the thought which are necessary if we are to understand these movements and especially if we are to grasp what is the spiritual reality which they represent? Are we ready to do our best to explain our own heritage of Catholic faith and devotion to these sincere, devout men? Can we make the effort so to understand the religious value of that heritage that we can explain it to others? If so, then it is no exaggeration to say that there has never been, since the disaster of 1662, an opportunity so obviously providential for the healing of the scandal and shame and weakness of the divisions in English Christianity.

The Free Catholic, Volume III, pages 19-21.

AFTER sixteen hours' journey in the express train from Turin, at last we behold Rome. Although the express trains have ceased running between local points in northern Italy, they continue to run from Trieste, Milan, and Turin (Paris) to Rome, carrying even sleeping cars. The compartments are more crowded than in times of peace, but you get at least a place to sit. Troop trains loaded with French soldiers from the Orient army kept passing us. The soldiers were in shabby uniform and most of them men of mature age, whose faces bespoke the cares and sufferings of war. They were mostly vigorous men physically, and frequently one noticed countenances that indicated a high degree of education and intelligence. It is noticeable that the French, in contrast with the Italians, English, and Americans, scarcely ever shave off their moustache. The officers also are different from what were anticipated. It is very rare to find one who exhibits the elegance which we consider a native quality of the French. Here and there on the station platforms we see a couple of Austro-Hungarian war prisoners, wellclothed and not badly fed, longingly watching the passing train. Now and then we come upon something strangely familiar. They are cars with the white initials of our own railway system.

But here we are at Rome. The tremor of reverential expectation, which one ordinarily has upon entering the Eternal City, is reinforced this time by the thousand new emo

tions at entering the capital of an enemy country after four years of hatred and slaughter. The first thing that strikes us in the entrance hall of the station is a group of Polish legionaries in bright blue uniforms, who are there, to direct on their way, the Polish soldiers who are just arriving. However, not a great many have come. The French, English, and Americans have posted up huge placards to indicate the way for their soldiers. The hotels around the railway station are crowded, and in general the prospect of being unable to find a place to sleep is the same in Italy as in our own country. The price of lodging in lire is almost as high as with us in crowns. In addition, one has to pay four or five lire for heat, so that accommodations for a night in a middle-class inn costs from twelve to fifteen lire. The taxi fares, however, are surprisingly moderate. One is charged only 1.50 lire from the railway station to the centre of the city.

Since the armistice, Rome has been almost as lively as in time of peace. The principal difference is that the crowds of Englishmen and Americans trailing after a guide across the sunburned forum or the great square in front of St. Peter's, obediently looking now to the right and now to the left and now up and now down at the bidding of their guide, all wear uniforms. The men are in military attire. The women wear the garb of nurses. The French are as averse as ever to being herded and in contrast to the English and Americans pass through Italy as

speedily as possible in order to get home. That is the only place they consider worth attention. One notices here a confusion of tongues, almost as great as used to prevail in the former monarchy. Italian soldiers and officers have acquired much more familiarity with German than they used to possess. It is more surprising, however, to meet numerous English and Americans who ordinarily seem to pride themselves on speaking no other language than their own, with a fair knowledge of French or Italian, although their pronounced accent easily betrays their nationality.

There are no restrictions upon the exchange of money. It is not unusual to see Austro-Hungarian bank notes in the show windows of the money changers' shops. One even sees the bills issued by our former government for use in the occupied territories. AustroHungarian bank notes are received readily on account of the demand for them by returning soldiers and officers, and because they circulate in the Austrian territories occupied by the Italians, where they form the only currency. In the middle of January, the exchange rate was 2.50 crowns for one lira. Crowns are in demand for the additional reason that people expect the Italian authorities to follow the example of the French in AlsaceLorraine and exchange them at an artificially high rate for Italian money held by residents of their own race in the occupied district. Naturally, this has resulted in many attempts to smuggle crown notes into those territories and the Italians are taking every possible precaution to prevent this.

The show windows of the city, around which visitors crowd as they formerly crowded into picture galleries, are a great disappointment. The goods displayed are not nearly as abundant or attractive as in times of peace and

though the average display is much better than in Vienna, it is rare to find anything noteworthy for sale. All the merchandise that is good or pretends to be good, is of American or English manufacture, or is alleged to be such. Prices seem high to the Italians, but are lower than with us. For instance, a good English suit costs 350 lire, shoes cost 50 to 70 lire. The armistice has already resulted in some lowering of prices for manufactured articles, but the principal effect has been to stop trading because everyone is waiting for a further fall.

The food situation impresses one favorably. The price for the excellent bread served here has fallen from one lira to 50 centesimi a kilogramme. Although bread cards are still issued, it is rare for them to be asked for either at the bakeshops or at the restaurants. Butter is to be had for 10 lire. You can buy milk at the dairy shops for 20 to 50 centesimi a glass. Chocolate costs at retail from 10 to 25 lire a kilogramme. The only place where I saw men waiting in line to make purchases was in front of the tobacco shops, for cigarette tobacco is very scarce and cigars are not to be had. One peculiar thing is the trade in stamps. Italy has gone crazy over stamp collecting. One sees the stamps exposed for sale in jewelers' shops, bakeshops, provision stalls, and furniture warehouses particularly those of the war period, including the outlawed issues of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy. The prices they command are incredible. For instance, Austrian stamps that you can buy with us for 20 heller will sell for 80 centesimi, which is equivalent to two crowns. Bosnian stamps of the ordinary issues sell for three or four lire, which is eight or 10 crowns. It is not unusual to hear of 300 or 400 lire being paid for the more valuable collections of Austrian war stamps.

The Giornale d'Italia and the Tribuna are still the leading metropolitan papers, but they have two widely-read rivals, Epoca and Tempo. However, the Milan Corriere della Sera with its magnificent news service, remains the most widely-read newspaper in Italy and has an extensive circulation in Rome. The Italian censor still interferes constantly with the press, especially the Social Democratic newspapers. One of the highly intelligent escapades of the censor, which quite equals that of our former Austrian officials in the same service, occurred during my stay in Turin. All over Turin were great bulletins reading 'Avanti, the only newspaper in Italy with its own Berlin correspondent.' I bought Avanti. There was a column headed 'News from Berlin by our Special Correspondent, Comrade censored

January, 1919.'

Consequently, the German public was carefully protected from any infection likely to be communicated by the special correspondent in Berlin. Meantime, the real Berlin reports in the paper were so worded as to conceal their source of origin. While the Italian public displays great interest in news from the South Slav territory, it is rather indifferent to what is going on in the other parts of the former monarchy. However, in spite of this, the interest of the Italians in our country is quite lively compared with that of the French and the English.

Regarded from the surface, the German language seems to have been extinguished in Italy. During the two months I was there, I did not hear a single word of German, except when Italians conversed with me, and I did not see a German book in a show window. I was, therefore, surprised when I noticed in the streets of Rome that the railway time tables for the occupied territories were printed in

German and Italian. While I was in Rome, I was never insulted or embarrassed because I used the German speech, although two young men in Trieste, who conversed in German, were roughly handled by the people. On the other hand, prominent Italian politicians, who were radical nationalists, with whom I began to converse in Italian, voluntarily spoke with me in German.

When we have stripped off the externals of this life from which we have been separated for four years by contempt and hatred and destruction and death, we readily win access to the new spiritual attitude of these people. After a few weeks under the cloudless skies of Rome, where the bright January sunshine gilds the yellow marble palaces and bestows its genial warmth upon the crowds that circulate through the Corso to the Piazza Colonna and the Piazza del Popolo, or sitting in the open in front of the cafés sipping their coffee espresso or their glass of vermuth, the icy estrangement melts. One looks about and discovers that these men cherish no permanent hatred. They have no ill-will toward Germany. Austria, whose name they half sing in their own melodious tongue, is the only government responsible for such injustice as was done. Moreover, the Italians do not charge the people of Austria with the responsibility of the war the way the French and English charge the Germans. Their complaint is concerning alleged atrocities, such as the devastation of the occupied territories and the poor feeding of the prisoners of war. However, the Italians seem to feel no personal hatred for the people of Austria, and they make little distinction in their sentiment between the citizens of the different nationalities that belong to the old empire. There is nothing of that hostility that the French and English cherish

against the Germans. I do not refer to the Americans, at whose officers' mess in Fiume I was most hospitably entertained. And in any case, that personal tact which avoids even an unpleasant allusion dominates the popular attitude toward Austria, and completely subordinates such sentiment of national hostility as may exist. I cannot acknowledge too gratefully the friendliness and the consideration of the Italian officers and civilian officials with whom I had to deal so frequently in connection with my residence in the country. You cannot help feeling a responsive thrill of cordiality when the major commanding the gendarmes accompanies his approval of a traveling permit for a 'hostile foreigner' with a warm hand-shake and a wish for a pleasant journey. One rarely sees any traces of the Ricordatevi Society which was organized to perpetuate hatred. Conditions contrast remarkably with those in France, where a similar organization is very active. In that country you see great placards posted in the railway station with the legend 'Never forget,' and a picture of a German hangman churl, with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a bloody sword in his right hand and a torch in his left. Or England's hatred! A young woman had invested a modest sum in the English branch of the Leipzig piano manufacturer, Blüthner. The English undertaking became insolvent because it was forbidden to sell any goods. The former well-to-do lady is now earning a meagre living in Italy as a language teacher. When I suggested that possibly the British company would again become solvent after it had restored connections with the parent house in Germany, she rejected the thought angrily-'Never! she'd rather starve the rest of her life than think that an Englishman would ever do business with a German.'

This was the attitude in January, 1919. Such incidents seemed to me very significant, although they may not be quite typical of the average. During my residence of several weeks in Rome, I never heard a single word of hatred but frequently received expressions of kindness and consideration. Of course, Rome is not really a political city. It is, in fact, a city of entertainment and pleasure. Weeks pass without a single political massmeeting. Italian politics are shaped in Milan. When I was residing in Milan, in the middle of January, the house walls for miles were covered with an almost uninterrupted line of posters: 'For Dalmatia,' 'For Fiume,' 'For Zara,' 'For Sevenice,' 'For Spalato.' There was a tremendous demonstration in honor of Wilson, from whom everybody was simultaneously expecting the fulfillment of the most contradictory desires. Wilson's bust or picture surrounded with flags and wreaths was exhibited in every show window. In one butcher shop I saw him encircled with a double wreath of thick sausages. By the side of these posters were thousands of others put up by the National Social Democrats and the International Social Democrats, inviting men returning from the trenches to hundreds of mass meetings.

All over Italy, however, the economic interests of the private citizen are becoming a matter of more lively concern than the national aspirations of the country at large. Worry over their business future dominates the thoughts of the masses so that little evidence of jubilation over the victory was observable. In general it is a mistake to assume that the Western Powers are in a tumult of joy over their victory. Those countries still feel their wounds too keenly and already they are oppressed too deeply with