and on the surface uninterested in the event.

The explanation of this outward apathy in the public is simple: nobody
knew anything definite enough as yet to rouse passions. The Italian
newspaper is probably the emptiest receptacle of news published
anywhere. The journals are all personal "organs," and anybody can know
whose "views" they are voicing. There was the "Messagero," subsidized by
the French and the English embassies, which emitted cheerful pro-Ally
paragraphs of gossip. There was the "Vittorio," founded by the German
party, patently the mouthpiece of Teutonic diplomacy. There was the
"Giornale d'Italia" that spoke for the Vatican, and the "Idea Nazionale"
which voiced radical young Italy. And so on down the list. But there was
a perfectly applied censorship which suppressed all diplomatic leaks. So
one read with perfect confidence that Prince von Buelow had driven to the
Consulta at eleven-fifteen yesterday, and having been closeted with Baron
Sonnino, the Italian Foreign Minister, or with the Premier, Signor
Salandra, or with both, for forty-seven minutes, had emerged upon the
street smiling. And shortly after this event Baron Macchio, the Austrian
Envoy, arrived at the Consulta in his motor-car and had spent within the
mystery of the Foreign Office twenty or more minutes. The reader might
insert any fatal interpretation he liked between the lines of this
chronicle. That was quite all the reality the Roman public, the people
of Italy, had to speculate upon during weeks of waiting, and for the most
part they waited quietly, patiently. For whatever the American prejudice
against the dangers of secret diplomacy may be, the European, especially
the Italian, idea is that all grave negotiations should be conducted
privately--that the diplomatic cake should be composed by experts in
retirement until it is ready for the baking. And the European public
is well trained in controlling its curiosities.