will almost certainly divert the trade of the interior to some Slav
port, leaving Fiume to drowse in idleness beside her moss-grown wharfs
and crumbling warehouses, dreaming dreams of her one-time prosperity.

Italy's third reason for insisting on the cession of Fiume is political,
and, because it is based on a deep-seated and haunting fear, it is,
perhaps, the most compelling reason of all. Italy does not trust the
Jugoslavs. She cannot forget that the Austrian and Hungarian fractions
of the new Jugoslav people--in other words, the Slovenes and
Croats--were the most faithful subjects of the Dual Monarchy, fighting
for the Hapsburgs with a ferocity and determination hardly surpassed in
the war. Unlike the Poles and Czecho-Slovaks, who threw in their lot
with the Allies, the Slovenes and Croats fought, and fought desperately,
for the triumph of the Central Empires. Had these two peoples turned
against their masters early in the war, the great struggle would have
ended months, perhaps years, earlier than it did. Yet, within a few days
after the signing of the Armistice, they became Jugoslavs, and announced
that they have always been at heart friendly to the Allies. But, so the
Italians argue, their conversion has been too sudden: they have changed
their flag but not their hearts; their real allegiance is not to
Belgrade but to Berlin. The Italian attitude toward these peoples who
have so abruptly switched from enemies to allies is that of the American
soldier for the Filipino:

"He may be a brother of William H. Taft,
But he ain't no brother of mine."

The Italians are convinced that the three peoples who have been so
hastily welded into Jugoslavia will, as the result of internal
jealousies and dissensions, eventually disintegrate, and that, when the