April 1st

It is increasingly clear that the Conference is in the doldrums and that heavy weather awaits the ship upon which it is planned to embark the Covenant of the new-world order. Our delegates are whishing for wind from a favorable quarter, or merely to keep up their courage, which it is not quite clear. The Colonel is as busy as a bee in missionary work to secure the insertion of the Monroe Doctrine reservation in the Covenant which is now to be amended, and the President, poor man! has taken to his bed. It was high time. Five weeks ago he sailed away, the picture of confidence—some (those who like him not) thought the picture of arrogance. Today he is broken in health and in spirit. The realization that has come to him so belatedly of the power of those who oppose his policies while it was long in coming has at last crushed him to the earth. At least two of our delegates are advising him to summon the George Washington and go home, thanking God that three thousand miles of Atlantic Ocean roll between us and the European mess.

It does seem strange that until now the President did not realize that Clemenceau received a tremendous vote of confidence from the French Chamber in December in support of his peace policies, and that Lloyd George about the same time swept Great Britain in the Khaki election, while our voters have placed the control of the Senate in the hands of his enemies. When he first arrived here and the Colonel pointed out some of the obstacles in his path, the President smiled and said, “Men die, but ideas live.” But except when the plague is raging men do not die very fast. Those who favor an open break with the powerful war premiers (and there are some here who do) whose mandates have just been renewed do not, it seems, envisage possible developments of the situation which at times seem quite probable. Bad as are the war premiers to deal with, or so it seems from our viewpoint, there are worse men in reserve. Let us suppose, for an instant, and it is by no means a far-fetched supposition, that Foch and Briand and Poincare and Franklin-Bouillon and other open as well as secret enemies of the Tiger should overthrow him (and hardly a day passes but what some threat of this is heard in the Palais Bourbon), what would happen then and what would Mr. Wilson’s position be? Certainly not an enviable one! And suppose that Northcliffe, now in open opposition to his former idol aided by the far-from-harmonious groups of Tory-Conservatives, should vote against Lloyd George’s peace plans?

And suppose that Orlando should be replaced (and he admits he is in danger, and the admission is not due entirely for bargaining purposes) by some of the noisy Imperialists in Rome who are harassing him and stirring up mobs to hang him in effigy, what would be the situation then? No one knows, but it would certainly be worse than the present—bad as that is. It is forgotten, or so it seems to me, that all these war premiers have accepted the Fourteen Points and pledged themselves to their observance. True it is that Lloyd George has reserved the right to reinterpret” the Freedom of the Seas clause and also that he agrees with Clemenceau that France and Britain are still bound by the secret treaties and that these treaties are as solemn and consequently as binding as any their respective countries ever entered upon—in the words that Clemenceau so frequently uses. If our President should go over the heads of these recognized rulers and appeal to the people, and he is undoubtedly toying with the idea, of course he might win, as some suggest that he would, but the best opinion is that he would fail and that he would then have to deal with people in comparison with whom the Tiger would be gratefully remembered as an amiable lamb. And not only that—these new people would claim for themselves and their governments perfect freedom of action. To them the acceptance of the Fourteen Points by their predecessors would be classed as mere diplomatic literature. These considerations are having weight with the President and undoubtedly they should. After all, he has to show a decent respect for the attitude of large groups of European legislators, who almost any day may develop into majorities, particularly so as he now stands before the Conference with a request to amend the Covenant at the behest of a fairly large group of American Congressmen.

Undoubtedly this demand from America (and that is clearly what it is) to insert the Monroe Doctrine reservation has opened wide the gates to other and very radical changes. With perfect frankness the President and Colonel House have explained to the delegates that without this reservation the Treaty and the Covenant will have hard sledding in the American Congress, might even fail of ratification, and quite naturally this has been the signal for the war premiers to confess their own difficulties—and undeniably they are considerable. Many important groups in the French Chamber are denouncing Clemenceau for his apparent failure to secure the Rhineland and other vital interests of France. Poor Orlando is booed in Rome and Milan, Lloyd George is being harassed by the delegates from the self-governing Dominions, so the hard-driven war premiers can say, and certainly they are saying, that the wishes of their people expressed in legislatures, or in public meetings, have to be considered quite as much as the will of the American people as voiced in that Congress over which, unfortunately, President Wilson has, apparently, lost control.

So while he won the war the President must realize today that he has lost the ideal peace he dreamed of. What should he do? Wash his hands of the whole matter and go home? In this case there would be no treaty, and a state of anarchy not only in Europe but throughout the world would follow. The predatory powers would pitch in and take what they want, and the democracies we thought to help, and most certainly promised to help, would be despoiled. Or should the President consent to a treaty that will reveal some compromises in principle but at least one that will contain the Covenant, a bright star of hope and guidance in the dark heavens by night and a rainbow of promise in the troubled skies by day?

“I think the President will reject the counsel of despair,” said the Colonel today. “He will not run away. He has lost the first battle, but with the Covenant accepted and in force he will win the campaign although I admit years may pass before the war psychosis that enthralls the world is cleared away.” I showed the Colonel then an excerpt from a great speech of Gladstone, spoken by him in a somewhat similar moment of distress long ago, which I came across and have kept on my desk for weeks. He admitted that the reading of it was timely and the sentiments applicable to the situation with which the Conference is confronted. “I shall show it to the ‘Governor,’ ” he added. “Not many encouraging words are reaching him today.” And he read it aloud several times:

“Men ought not to suffer from disenchantment; they ought to know that ideals in politics are never realized. W. E. Gladstone.”