CHAPTER IX

[10]This plan could not be fulfilled for troops coming to France in 1918, because of lack of time.

The same sort of centralization sought by Wilson in America obviously became necessary in France with the expanding plans for an enormous army. In February, 1918, the Service of Supply was organized. With its headquarters at Tours, the S. O. S. was responsible for securing, organizing, and distributing all the food, equipment, building materials, and other necessities demanded by the expeditionary force. In order to provide for the quantities of essential supplies and to avoid the congestion of the chief ports of France, certain ports were especially allotted to our army, of which the most important were St. Nazaire, Bordeaux, and Brest. The first, a somnolent fishing village, was transformed by the energy of American engineers into a first-class port with enormous docks, warehouses, and supply depots; Brest rose in the space of twelve months from the rank of a second-class port to one that matched Hamburg in the extent of its shipping. In all, more than a dozen ports were used by the Americans and in each extensive improvements and enlargements proved necessary.At Bordeaux not more than two ships a week, of any size, could conveniently be unloaded prior to June, 1917. Eight months later, docks a mile long had been constructed, concrete platforms and electric cranes set up; within a year fourteen ships could be unloaded simultaneously, the rate of speed being determined only by the number of stevedores. For unloading purposes regiments of negroes were stationed at each port.

A few miles back from the coast were the base depots where the materials were stored as they came from the ships. Thence distribution was made to the intermediate depots in the cities of supply, and finally to the depots immediately behind the fighting front. All these depots involved enormous building operations; at first the lumber was shipped, but later, American lumber jacks were brought over to cut French forests. At one supply depot three hundred buildings were put up, covering an area of six square miles, operated by 20,000 men, and holding in storage a hundred million dollars' worth of supplies. For distribution purposes it proved necessary for American engineers to take over the construction and maintenance of communications.At first American engines and cars were operated under French supervision; but ultimately many miles of French railroads were taken over bodily by the American army and many more built by American engineers. More than 400 miles of inland waterways were also used by American armies. This transportation system was operated by American experts of all grades from brakemen to railroad presidents, numbering altogether more than 70,000.

In order to meet the difficulty of securing tonnage for supplies and to avoid competition with the Allies, a General Purchasing Board was created for the coördination of all purchases. Agents of this board were stationed in the Allied countries, in Switzerland, Holland, and Spain, who reconnoitered resources, analyzed requirements, issued forecasts of supplies, supervised the claims of foreign governments on American raw materials, and procured civilian manual labor. Following the establishment of the supreme interallied command, the Interallied Board of Supplies was organized in the summer of 1918, with the American purchasing agent as a member. Other activities of the S. O. S., too numerous to recount in detail, included such important tasks as the reclassification of personnel, the installation and operation of ageneral service of telephone and telegraph communication, with 115,500 kilometers of lines, and the renting and requisitioning of the land and buildings needed by the armies. It was a gigantic business undertaking, organized at top speed, involving tremendous expenditure. Its success would have been impossible without the coöperation of hundreds of men of business, who found in it a sphere of service which enabled the army to utilize the proverbial American genius for meeting large problems of economic organization. At the time of the armistice the S. O. S. reached a numerical strength in personnel of 668,000, including 23,000 civilian employees.

From the first, Pershing had been determined that the American Expeditionary Force should ultimately operate as an independent unit, although in close coöperation with the Allies. During the autumn of 1917 the disasters in Italy and the military demoralization of Russia had led to the formation of the Supreme Military Council of the Allies, upon which the United States was represented by General Tasker Bliss, whose rough visage and gruff manner gave little indication of his wide interests. Few suspected that this soldierly character took secret pleasure in the reading of Latin poets.The coördination that resulted from the creation of the Supreme Council, however, proved insufficient to meet the crisis of the spring of 1918.

On the 21st of March, the Germans attacked in overwhelming force the southern extremity of the British lines, near where they joined the French, and disastrously defeated General Gough's army. The break-through was clean and the advance made by the endless waves of German shock-troops appalling. Within eight days the enemy had swept forward to a depth of fifty-six kilometers, threatening the capture of Amiens and the separation of the French and British. As the initial momentum of the onslaught was lost, the Allied line was re-formed with the help of French reserves under Fayolle. But the Allies had been and still were close to disaster. Complete unity of command was essential. It was plain also, in the words of Pershing's report, that because of the inroads made upon British and French reserves, "defeat stared them in the face unless the new American troops should prove more immediately available than even the most optimistic had dared to hope." The first necessity was satisfied early in April.The extremity of the danger reinforced the demand long made by the French, and supported by President Wilson through Colonel House, that a generalissimo be appointed. The British finally sank their objection, and on the 28th of March it was agreed that General Ferdinand Foch should be made commander-in-chief of all the Allied armies with the powers necessary for the strategic direction of all military operations. The decision was ratified on the 3d and approved by President Wilson on the 16th of April.

General Foch had long been recognized as an eminent student of strategy, and he had proved his practical capacity in 1914 and later. It was he who commanded the French army that broke the German line at the marshes of St. Gond, in the battle of the Marne, thus assuring victory to Joffre, and he had later in the year secured fresh laurels in the first battle of the Yser. At the moment of extreme danger to Italy, after Caporetto, in 1917, he had been chosen to command the assisting force sent down by the French. Unsentimental and unswayed by political factors, he was temperamentally and intellectually the ideal man for the post of supreme Allied commander; he was furthermore supported by the capacity of General Pétain, the French commander-in-chief, and by a remarkablegroup of army commanders, among whom Fayolle, Mangin, and Gouraud were to win particular fame. But he lacked troops, the Germans disposing of 200 divisions as against 162 Allied divisions.

Hence the hurry call sent to America and hence the heavy sacrifice now forced upon Pershing. Much against his will and only as a result of extreme pressure, the American commander-in-chief agreed to a temporary continuance of the brigading of American troops with the British and the French. He had felt all along that "there was every reason why we could not allow them to be scattered among our Allies, even by divisions, much less as replacements, except by pressure of pure necessity." He disliked the emphasis placed by the Allies upon training for trench warfare; he feared the effect of the lack of homogeneity which would render the mixed divisions "difficult to maneuver and almost certain to break up under the stress of defeat," and he believed that the creation of independent American armies "would be a severe blow to German morale." When the pinch of necessity came, however, Pershing sank his objections to amalgamation and, to his credit, agreed with abeau gesteand fine phrase which concealed the differences between the Allied chiefs and won the heartiest sympathy from France and England.The principle of an independent American force, however, Pershing insisted upon, and he made clear that the amalgamation of our troops with the French and British was merely a temporary expedient.

Immediately after the stabilization of the battle-line near Amiens, the Germans began their second great drive, this time against the British along the Lys, in Flanders. The initial success of the attack, which began on the 9th of April, was undeniable, and Sir Douglas Haig himself admitted the danger of the moment: "Every position must be held to the last man. There must be no retirement. With our backs to the wall and believing in the justice of our cause, each one of us must fight to the end. The safety of our homes and the freedom of mankind depend alike upon the conduct of each one of us at this critical moment." The value of Allied unity of command now became apparent, for heavy French reinforcements were brought up in time to help stave off the German drive on the Channel Ports.

But still the demand went up for more men and ships. "Scrap before shipping every pound that takes tonnage and is not necessary to the killing of Germans," wrote a French military authority."Send the most infantry by the shortest route to the hottest corner. No matter what flag they fight under, so long as it is an Allied flag." On the 27th of May the Germans caught Foch by surprise and launched a violent attack on the Chemin des Dames, between Soissons and Berry-au-Bac. This formed the third phase of their great offensive. In four days they pushed before them the tired French divisions, sent into that sector to recuperate, a distance of fifty kilometers and reached the Marne. Again, as in 1914, Paris began to empty, fearful of capture. A statement sent to Wilson on the 2d of June and signed by Clemenceau, Lloyd George, and Orlando, read as follows: "There is great danger of the war being lost unless the numerical inferiority of the Allies can be remedied as rapidly as possible by the advent of American troops.... We are satisfied that General Foch ... is not over-estimating the needs of the case." Such was the peril of the Allies. But in the month of May 245,000 Americans had been landed, and in the following month there were to be 278,000 more.

Previous to June, 1918, the participation of American troops in military operations had been of comparative unimportance and less for tactical purposes than as a part of their training.In October, 1917, the First Division had been sent into trenches on the quiet Lorraine front and had engaged in raids and counter-raids. Three other divisions, the Second, the Forty-second, or "Rainbow," and the Twenty-sixth from New England, followed, and by March, 1918, they were all described by Pershing as "equal to any demands of battle action." On the 29th of April, the last-named division was engaged in something more serious than a mere raid at Seicheprey, near St. Mihiel; the number of prisoners lost indicated lack of experience, but the vigor of the American counter-attack proved definitely the will to fight. That belligerent spirit was equally displayed by various engineering units which, during the break of General Gough's army before the German assault of March, near St. Quentin, had dropped their tools, seized rifles, and, hastily organizing to cover the retreat, had secured valuable respite for various fleeing units.

More important yet, because of the moral effect achieved, was the engagement at Cantigny near Montdidier, on the 28th of May. The Americans launched their attack with skill as well as dash, and stood firm against the violence of the German reaction; this they met without assistance from the French, who had been called to oppose the German advance on the Marne.Pershing spoke of the "desperate efforts" of the enemy at Cantigny, "determined at all costs to counteract the most excellent effect the American success had produced." For three days guns of all calibers were vainly concentrated upon the new positions. Coming at the moment of extreme discouragement, Cantigny was of an importance entirely out of proportion to the numbers involved. For months France had been awaiting American assistance. A year before the French had seen Pershing and the first few doughboys, but the long delay had caused them to lose the confidence which that sight had aroused. Now suddenly came the news that the Americans were arriving in tremendous numbers and from Cantigny, north and south along the lines, spread the report: "These men will fight."

Four days later at Château-Thierry,[11]Americans proved not merely the moral but the practical value of their assistance. The German drive of the 27th of May, beginning on the Chemin des Dames, had pushed south to the Marne and westward towards Meaux. The French falling back in haste had maintained their lines intact, but were pessimistic as to the possibility of stopping the enemy advance. On the 31st of May, German vanguard units entered Château-Thierry, crossed the river, and planned to secure the bridges. At this moment American machine gunners of the Third Division came up with a battalion of French colonials in support, drove the Germans back to the north bank, covered the retreat of the French forces across the Marne, on the following day, and gave time to blow up the bridges. On the same day, the 1st of June, northwest of Château-Thierry, the Second Division came into line to support the wearied French, and as the latter came filtering back and through, soon found itself meeting direct German assaults. Stretching across the road to Paris, with the French too weak to make a stand, it blocked the German advance. Even so, the danger was not entirely parried, since the enemy held strong positions from Vaux northwest to Veuilly, which, when German reinforcements came up, would enable them to deliver deadly assaults. Those positions had to be taken. From the 6th to the 11th of June, American troops, among them marine regiments, struck viciously, concentratingagainst the railroad embankment at Bouresches and the hill of Belleau Woods. The stiffness of the German defense, maintained by their best troops, was overcome by fearless rushing of machine-gun nests, ruthless mopping-up of isolated stragglers, and a final clearing of the Woods by heavy artillery fire. On the 18th of June the Americans took the approaches to Torcy and on the 1st of July the village of Vaux. If the attack on Belleau Woods proved their courage, the capture of Vaux vindicated their skill, for losses were negligible.

[11]The reader should distinguish the defensive operations at Château-Thierry, on the 1st of June, from the attack launched from this sector in July. Both are known as the battle of Château-Thierry.

The Allied line was now in a position to contest actively any deepening of the Marne salient to the west, and American troops had so clearly proved their quality that Pershing could with justice demand a radical revision of the Allied opinion that American soldiers were fit only for the defense. His confidence in their fighting capacity was soon further put to the test and vindicated. On the 15th of July the Germans opened the fourth and last of their great drives, with tremendous artillery fire from Rheims to the Marne. They hoped to capture the former, swing far to the south and west, and, if they failed to take Paris, at least to draw sufficient troops from Flanders and Picardy as to assure a successful drive on Amiens and the Channel Ports.For the first time, however, the element of surprise in their attack was lacking. At the eastern end of the battle-line General Gouraud, with whom were fighting the Forty-second Division and four colored regiments, warned of the moment of attack, withdrew his front lines and permitted the Germans to shell empty trenches; all important positions he held firmly. On the Marne, east of Château-Thierry, the enemy succeeded in crossing the river in the early morning. At various points the American line was compelled to yield, although one of the American regiments stood its ground while on either flank the Germans, who had gained a footing on the south bank, pressed forward; it was, according to Pershing's report, "one of the most brilliant pages in our military annals." At noon, heedless of the warning given by the French commander, American reinforcements launched a strong counter-attack and drove the enemy back to the river; on the next morning no Germans were to be found on the south bank in front of the American troops. During the next two days German efforts to press forward were unrelaxing but in vain, and on the 18th of July, Foch launched his counter-offensive.

The inherent weakness of the Marne salient from the German point of view and the opportunity which it offered the Allied command had not been forgotten by the generalissimo. Foch waited until the enemy had spent his strength in the attacks around Rheims and on the Marne, then struck fiercely between Soissons and Château-Thierry. The spearhead of the main drive was composed of the First and Second American Divisions, immediately to the south of Soissons, who were operating under Mangin with the First French Moroccan Division between them. Straightway, without the orthodox preliminary artillery fire, a deep thrust was made against the western side of the salient; near Soissons, despite fierce resistance, advances of from eight to ten kilometers and large numbers of prisoners were reported in the first twenty-four hours. "Due to the magnificent dash and powers displayed on the field of Soissons by our First and Second Divisions," said Pershing, "the tide of war was definitely turned in favor of the Allies." Further to the south, the Fourth and Twenty-sixth Divisions crossed the road running from Château-Thierry to Soissons, pushing east; while from the southern bank of the Marne, the Third Division pushed north across the river. It was obvious to the Germans that retreat from the perilous salient must proceed at once, especially as Franco-British counter-attacks on the eastern side threatened to close it at the neck and cut the main line of German withdrawal. The retreat was executed with great skill and valor. While holding on the sides, the enemy forces were slowly pulled back from the apex, striving to win time to save artillery, although they must perforce lose or destroy great quantities of ammunition. Against the retreating foe fresh American divisions were hurled. On the 25th of July the Forty-second division relieved the Twenty-sixth, advancing toward the Vesle, with elements of the Twenty-eighth, until relieved on August 3d, by the Fourth Division. Farther east the Thirty-second had relieved the Third. The Americans had to face withering fire from machine-gun nests and fight hand to hand in the crumbled streets of the Champagne villages. Here were carried on some of the fiercest conflicts of American military history. Finally on the 6th of August the Germans reached the line of the Vesle, their retreat secured, although their losses had been terrific. But the pause was only momentary. Before they could bring up replacements, the British launched their great drive south of the Somme, the American Twenty-eighth, Thirty-second,and Seventy-seventh divisions crossed the Vesle pushing the Germans before them, and there began what Ludendorff in his memoirs calls "the last phase."

Pershing had not lost sight of his original object, which was to assemble the American divisions into a separate army. After the victories of July, which wiped out the Marne salient, and those of August, which put the enemy definitely on the defensive, he felt that "the emergency which had justified the dispersion of our divisions had passed." Soon after the successful British attack, south of Amiens, he overcame the objections of Foch and concluded arrangements for the organization of this army, which was to operate in the Lorraine sector.[12]It contained 600,000 men, fourteen American divisions and two French. On the 30th of August the sector was established and preparations made for the offensive, the first step in which was to be the wiping out of the St. Mihiel salient. This salient had existed since 1914, when the Germans, failing to storm the scarp protecting Verdun on the east, had driven a wedge across the lower heights to the south.The elimination of this wedge would have great moral effect; it would free the Paris-Nancy railway from artillery fire; and would assure Pershing an excellent base for attack against the Metz-Sedan railway system and the Briey iron basin. The German positions were naturally strong and had withstood violent French attacks in 1915. But there was only one effective line of retreat and the enemy, if he persisted in holding the apex of the salient, risked losing his entire defending force, should the sides be pressed in from the south and west.

[12]Allied opposition to an American army was so strong as to bring threats of an appeal to Wilson. The President steadfastly supported Pershing.

On the 12th of September the attack was launched. It was originally planned for the 15th, but word was brought that the Germans were about to retire at a rate which would have left none of them in the salient by that date. Hence the attack was advanced by three days. The attempted withdrawal secured the retreat of the German main force, but they were unable to save their rear guard. After four hours of vigorous artillery preparation, with the largest assemblage of aviation ever engaged in a single operation (mainly British and French) and with American heavy guns throwing into confusion all rail movements behind the German lines, the advancing Americans immediately overwhelmed all of the enemy that attempted to hold their ground. By the afternoon of the second day the salient was extinguished, 16,000 prisoners were taken, 443 guns and large stores of supplies captured. American casualties totaled less than 7000. The effects of the victory were incalculable. Apart from the material results, hope of which had motivated the attack, the moral influence of the battle of St. Mihiel in the making of American armies and the discouragement of the German High Command was of the first importance. "An American army was an accomplished fact," wrote Pershing, "and the enemy had felt its power. No form of propaganda could overcome the depressing effect on the morale of the enemy of this demonstration of our ability to organize a large American force and drive it successfully through his defense. It gave our troops implicit confidence in their superiority and raised their morale to the highest pitch. For the first time wire entanglements ceased to be regarded as impassable barriers and open-warfare training, which had been so urgently insisted upon, proved to be the correct doctrine."

The victory of St. Mihiel was merely the necessary prelude to greater things. During the first week of September the Allied command decided that the general offensive movement of their armiesshould be pressed as rapidly as possible, converging upon the main line of German retreat through Mezières and Sedan. The British were to pursue the attack in the direction of Cambrai, the center of the French armies, west of Rheims, was to drive the enemy beyond the Aisne, while the Americans were to attack through the Argonne and on both sides of the Meuse, aiming for Sedan. Pershing was given his choice of the Champagne or Argonne sectors, and chose the latter, which was the more difficult, insisting that no other Allied troops possessed the offensive spirit which would be necessary for success. In the meantime a new American army was to be organized, to operate south of Verdun and against Metz, in the spring of 1919; in fact this was designed to be the chief American effort. As matters turned out this second American army was ready to make its offensive early in November, but in September none of the Allied chiefs expressed the opinion that the final victory could be achieved in 1918. Such were the difficulties of terrain in the Argonne advance that the French did not believe that the attack could be pushed much beyond Montfaucon, between the forest and the Meuse, before winter forced a cessation of active operations.

The defensive importance of the Argonne for the Germans could hardly be overestimated, for if the railway line running through Sedan and Mezières were severed, they would be cut in two by the Ardennes and would be unable to withdraw from France the bulk of their forces, which, left without supplies, would suffer inevitable disaster. As a consequence the Argonne had been strengthened by elaborate fortifications which, taken in conjunction with the natural terrain, densely wooded, covered with rugged heights, and marked by ridges running east and west, made it apparently impregnable. The dense undergrowth, the bowlders, and the ravines offered ideal spots for machine-gun nests. The Germans had the exact range of each important position.

But Pershing's confidence in the offensive valor of the Americans was amply justified. On the morning of the 26th of September the initial attack was delivered, the main force of the blow falling east of the forest, where the natural strength of the enemy positions was less formidable. By noon of the second day Montfaucon was captured, and by the 29th all the immediate objectives of the attack were secured. Losses were heavy, staff work was frequently open to severe criticism, communicationswere broken at times, the infantry had not always received adequate artillery support, but the success of the drive was undeniable. Before the American troops, however, still lay two more lines of defense, the Freya and Kriemhilde, and the Germans were bringing up their best divisions. On the 4th of October the attack was renewed, in coöperation with the French under Gouraud to the west of the forest who pressed forward actively; a week's more bitter fighting saw the Argonne itself cleared of the enemy. Hard struggles ensued, particularly around Grandpré, which was taken and retaken, while on the east of the Meuse the enemy was pushed back. By the end of the month the Kriemhilde line had been broken and the great railway artery was threatened. On the 1st of November the third phase of the great advance began. The desperate efforts of the Germans to hold were never relaxed, but by the evening of that day the American troops broke through their last defense and forced rapid retreat. Motor trucks were hurriedly brought up for the pursuit, and by the fifth the enemy's withdrawal became general. Two days later Americans held the heights which dominated Sedan, the strategic goal, and the German line of communications was as good as severed.

The converging offensive planned by Foch had succeeded. At Cambrai, Le Câtelet, and St. Quentin, the British, with whom were operating four American divisions (the Twenty-seventh, Thirtieth, Thirty-seventh, and Ninety-first), had broken the Hindenburg line; the French had pushed the Germans back from Laon, north of the Aisne, and with the British were driving them into the narrow neck of the bottle; and now the French and Americans, by their Argonne-Meuse advance had closed the neck. The enemy faced an appalling disaster. A few weeks, if not days, of continued fighting meant the most striking military débâcle of history. Germany's allies had fallen from her. Turkey, Bulgaria, and Austria-Hungary had sued for peace and agreed to cease fighting on what amounted to terms of unconditional surrender. At home, the German Government faced revolution; the Kaiser was about to abdicate and flee. On the 6th of November, the Berlin Government begged for an immediate armistice and five days later agreed to the stringent terms which the Allies presented. On the 11th of November, at eleven in the morning, firing ceased. Until the last second the battle raged with a useless intensity dictated by stern military tradition: then perfect quiet on the battle front.

At the present moment we lack the perspective, perhaps, to evaluate exactly the share of credit which the American Expeditionary Force deserves for the Allied military victory of 1918. Previous to June the military contribution of the United States had no material effects. The defense of Château-Thierry at the beginning of the month and the operations there and at Belleau Woods had, however, important practical as well as moral effects. The fighting was of a purely local character, but it came at a critical moment and at a critical spot. It was a crisis when the importance of standing firm could not be overestimated, and the defensive capacity of the French had been seriously weakened. The advance of American divisions with the French in the clearing of the Marne sector was of the first military importance. The Americans were better qualified than any European troops, at that stage of the war, to carry through offensive operations. They were fearless not merely because of natural hardihood, but through ignorance of danger; they were fresh and undefeated, physically and morally capable of undergoing the gruelling punishment delivered by the rearguards of the retreating Germans; their training had been primarily for open warfare. The same qualities wereessential for the arduous and deadly task of breaking the German line in the Argonne, which was the finishing blow on the western battlefields.

The defects of the American armies have been emphasized by European experts. They point especially to the faulty staff-work, apparent in the Argonne particularly, which resulted in heavy losses. Staff-officers in numerous instances seem to have been ill-trained and at times positively unequal to the exigencies of the campaign. Mistakes in selection account for this to some degree, for men were appointed who were not equipped temperamentally or intellectually for the positions given them. Equally frequent were mistakes in the distribution of staff-officers. It is a notable fact, however, that such mistakes resulted from inexperience and ignorance and not from the intrusion of politics. President Wilson guaranteed to General Pershing complete immunity from the pleas of politicians and in no war fought by the United States have political factors played a rôle of such insignificance.

Finally, and aside from the fighting qualities of the rank and file and certain defects of the higher command, the Americans represented numbers; and without the tremendous numerical forcetransported to Europe in the spring and summer, the plans of Foch could not have been completed. We have the testimony of the Allied chiefs in June that without American man-power they faced defeat. It is equally obvious that without the 1,390,000 American troops which, by November, had appeared on the fighting line, the autumn of 1918 would not have witnessed the military triumph of the Allies.

The armistice of November 11, 1918, resulted directly from the military defeat of German armies in France, following upon the collapse of Turkey, Bulgaria, and Austria-Hungary. But there were many circumstances other than military that led to Germany's downfall, and by no means of least importance were the moral issues so constantly stressed by Wilson. His speeches had been carefully distributed through the Central Empires; they had done much to arouse the subject peoples of Austria-Hungary to revolt for their freedom, and also to weaken the morale of the German people. The value of Wilson's "verbiage drives" was questioned in this country. Abroad, his insistence upon a peace of justice was generally reckoned a vital moral force in the political movements that supplemented the victories of Marshal Foch. Jugoslavs consented to coöperate with their Italianenemies because they felt that "Wilson's justice" would guarantee a fair court for their aspirations in the Adriatic; Magyars and Austrians threw down their arms in the belief that his promise to "be as just to enemies as to friends" secured a better future than they could hope for through the continuance of the war; the leaders of the German Reichstag demanded the Kaiser's abdication in November, under the impression that Wilson had laid it down as a condition of peace.

From the time when the United States entered the war it was obvious that Wilson placed less emphasis upon defeating Germany than upon securing a just peace. Military victory meant nothing to him except as the road to peace. In his first war speeches the President, much to the irritation of many Americans, insisted that the United States was fighting the government and not the people of Germany. "We have no quarrel," he said, "with the German people. We have no feeling towards them but one of sympathy and friendship." In his Flag Day address he was careful not to attack "Germany" but only "the military masters under whom Germany is bleeding." Certain effects of this attitude were to be seen in the Reichstag revolt of July, 1917, led by that mostsensitive of political weathercocks, Matthias Erzberger, which was designed to take political control out of the hands of the military clique. That crisis, however, was safely survived by Ludendorff, who remained supreme. President Wilson then returned to the attack in his reply to the Pope's peace proposals of August. "The object of this war is to deliver the free peoples of the world from the menace and the actual power of a vast military establishment controlled by an irresponsible government.... This power is not the German people. It is the ruthless master of the German people.... We cannot take the word of the present rulers of Germany as a guarantee of anything that is to endure, unless explicitly supported by such conclusive evidence of the will and purpose of the German people themselves as the other peoples of the world would be justified in accepting."

There was serpentine wisdom in these words, for their very vagueness attracted German liberals. Wilson did not demand a republic; he did not insist upon the Kaiser's abdication, for which Germany was not then prepared; all that he asked was a government responsible to the people, and more and more the Germans were demanding that themselves.Furthermore, he again laid stress upon the fact that the Germans need not fear vengeance such as the Allies had threatened. "Punitive damages, the dismemberment of empires, the establishment of selfish and exclusive economic leagues, we deem inexpedient." The appeal was fruitless in its immediate effects, for the political party leaders were still dominated by the military; but ultimately, in conjunction with a dozen other appeals, its influence acted like a subtle corrosive upon the German will to conquer.

Still less successful were the attempts to win Austria away from her ally by secret diplomatic conversations. In these neither President Wilson nor his personal adviser, Colonel House, placed great confidence. They had been undertaken by the French through Prince Sixtus of Bourbon, and in August, 1917, Major Armand of France discussed with the Austrian emissary, Revertata, possible means of bringing about peace between Austria and the Allies. Lloyd George enthusiastically approved this attempt to drive a wedge between Austria and Germany, was anxious to send Lord Reading as intermediary, and, upon the refusal of the latter to undertake the mission, actually dispatched General Smuts to Switzerland.The Emperor Carl seemed sincerely anxious to make sacrifices for peace and was urged by liberal counselors, such as Förster and Lammasch, in whom the Allies had confidence, to meet many of the demands of his discontented Slav subjects by granting autonomy to the Czechs, Poles, and Jugoslavs. Negotiations were hampered by the belief of the Italians that immediate peace with Austria would prevent them from securing the territories they coveted; by the sullen obstinacy of the Magyars, who were jealous of their mastery over the Hungarian Slavs, and above all, as Colonel House had foreseen, by Austria's fear of Germany. In fact it was a stern ultimatum sent by Ludendorff that brought the wavering Carl back to his allegiance.

In the autumn of 1917, however, talk of peace was in the air and a definite demand for its consideration was made in a noteworthy speech by Lord Lansdowne, a Conservative leader in England. Negotiations were inaugurated between Germany and the new Bolshevik Government of Russia, and for a few weeks at the beginning of the new year the war-weary world seemed close to the possibility of a general understanding. For the first time Lloyd George outlined in specific language the main terms that would be considered by the Allies.It was President Wilson's opportunity. Careless of securing an overwhelming military victory, indeed unwilling to crush Germany, anxious to pledge the Entente to his programme in this moment of their discouragement, he formulated on January 8, 1918, his Fourteen Points, upon which he declared the final peace settlement should be based. His speech was at once an appeal to the liberals and peace-hungry of the Central Empires, a warning to the military clique in Germany then preparing to enforce degrading terms upon Russia, and a notification to the Allies that the United States could not be counted upon to fight for selfish national interests. He reiterated the principles which had actuated the United States when it entered the war: "What we demand in this war, therefore, is nothing peculiar to ourselves. It is that the world be made fit and safe to live in; and particularly that it be made safe for every peace-loving nation which, like our own, wishes to live its own life, determine its own institutions, be assured of justice and fair dealing by the other peoples of the world as against force and selfish aggression. All the peoples of the world are in effect partners in this interest, and for our own part we see very clearlythat unless justice be done to others it will not be done to us."

Of the Fourteen Points into which he then divided his peace programme, the first five were general in nature. The first insisted upon open diplomacy, to begin with the approaching Peace Conference: "Open covenants of peace, openly arrived at, after which there shall be no private international understandings of any kind." Next came "absolute freedom of navigation upon the seas ... alike in peace and in war." Then "the removal, so far as possible, of all economic barriers and the establishment of an equality of trade conditions among all the nations consenting to the peace." There followed a demand for the reduction of armaments "to the lowest point consistent with domestic safety." The fifth point called for an "impartial adjustment of all colonial claims, based upon ... the interests of the populations concerned" as well as "the equitable claims of the government whose title is to be determined."

These generalizations were not so much God-given tables which must determine the international law of the future as they were subtle inducements to cease fighting; they were idealistic in tone, but intensely practical in purpose.They guaranteed to any Germans who wanted peace that there would be protection against British "navalism," against the threatened Allied economic boycott, as well as a chance of the return of the conquered colonies. The force of their seductiveness was proved, when, many months later, in October, 1918, defeated Germany grasped at them as a drowning man at a straw. At the same time Wilson offered to liberals the world over the hope of ending the old-style secret diplomacy, and to business men and labor the termination of the system of competitive armaments, with their economic and moral waste. No one would suggest that Wilson did not believe in the idealism of these first five points; no one should forget, however, that they were carefully drafted with the political situation of the moment definitely in view. They might be construed as a charter for future international relations, but they were designed primarily to serve as a diplomatic weapon for the present.

Each of the succeeding eight points was more special in character, and dealt with the territorial and political problems of the warring states. They provided for the evacuation and restoration of all conquered territories in Europe, including Russia, Belgium, France, and the Balkan States.The sovereignty of Belgium should be unlimited in future; the "wrong done to France by Prussia in 1871 in the matter of Alsace-Lorraine ... should be righted"; Italian frontiers should be readjusted "along clearly recognizable lines of nationality"; the peoples of Austria-Hungary "should be accorded the freest opportunity of autonomous development"; the relations of the Balkan States should be determined "along historically established lines of allegiance and nationality"; nationalities under Turkish rule should receive opportunity for security of life and autonomous development, and the Dardanelles should be permanently opened to all nations under international guarantees; an independent Polish state should be erected to "include the territories inhabited by indisputably Polish populations, which should be assured a free and secure access to the sea."

Generally speaking these stipulations seemed to guarantee the moderate war aims of the Entente and corresponded closely to the demands made by Lloyd George; they certainly repudiated the extreme purposes attributed to German imperialists. And yet these eight points were so vague and capable of such diverse interpretation that, like the first five general points, they might prove not unattractive to liberals in Germany and Austria. France was not definitely promised Alsace-Lorraine; any hint at the dismemberment of Austria-Hungary was carefully avoided; the readjustment of Italian frontiers might mean much or little. What were "historically established lines of allegiance and nationality" in the Balkans? And if Poland were to include only populations "indisputably Polish," was it possible to assure them "free and secure access to the sea"? The political advantage in such generalities was obvious. But there was also great danger. The time might come when both belligerent camps would accept the Fourteen Points and would still be uncertain of their meaning and application. The struggle for definite interpretation would be the real test. The President's fourteenth and last point, however, was unmistakable and expressed the ideal nearest his heart: "A general association of nations must be formed under specific covenants for the purpose of affording mutual guarantees of political independence and territorial integrity to great and small states alike."

Later events have magnified the significance of this notable speech of the 8th of January.It was a striking bid for peace, which indeed was not far away and it ultimately formed the general basis of the peace terms actually drafted. But it contained nothing new. Its definition of the conditions of peace was vague; its formulation of principles followed exactly along the lines developed by President Wilson ever since he had adopted the idea of a League of Nations founded upon international justice. His summing up of the main principle underlying his whole policy was merely the echo of his speeches for the past twelve-month: "The principle of justice to all peoples and nationalities, and their right to live on equal terms of liberty and safety with one another, whether they be strong or weak." The importance of the speech does not lie in its novelty but in its timeliness. It came at a moment when the world was anxiously listening and the undeniable idealism of its content assured to President Wilson, at least temporarily, the moral leadership of mankind. Unfortunately as the event proved, it promised more than could ever be secured by any single man. The President was to pay the price for his leadership later when he encountered the full force of the reaction.

As a step toward immediate peace the speech of the Fourteen Points failed.What might have been the result had von Hertling, Chancellor of Germany, and Czernin, in Austria, possessed full powers, it is difficult to say. But the military masters of Germany could not resist the temptation which the surrender of Russia brought before their eyes. By securing the eastern front and releasing prisoners as well as troops there, they would be able to establish a crushing superiority in the west; France would be annihilated before the American armies could count, if indeed they were ever raised. Hence the heavy terms of Brest-Litovsk and Bucharest and the preparations for the great drive of March. As Wilson said, "The tragical circumstance is that this one party in Germany is apparently willing and able to send millions of men to their death to prevent what all the world now sees to be just." Thus Germany lost her last chance to emerge from the war uncrushed.

The ruthless policy followed by Ludendorff and his associates gave the President new opportunities to appeal to the peoples of the Central Empires. He incorporated in his speeches the phrases of the German Socialists. "Self-Determination" and "No annexations and no indemnities" were phrases that had been made in Germany before Russia imported them; and when they formed the text of presidential addresses, many Germans, despite themselves, doubtless felt a twinge of sympathy. Coupled with these appeals went the President's warnings that if they persisted in tying up their fortunes with those of their rulers, they must share the penalties. If Germany insisted upon making force alone the deciding element, then he must accept the challenge and abide the issue. "There is, therefore, but one response possible from us: Force, Force to the utmost, Force without stint or limit, the righteous and triumphant Force which shall make Right the law of the world and cast every selfish dominion down in the dust." Neither the appeals nor the warnings of Wilson had any effect apparent at the moment, and yet the seed was sown. During the victorious German drives of March, April, and May, opinion to the east of the Rhine seemed to have rallied firmly behind the Teuton Government; but with the first slight setbacks of the following month the process of crumbling began. An American economist and banker, Henry C. Emery, then prisoner in Germany, tells of the pessimism prevalent as early as June and the whispers of the approaching fall of the Kaiser. In his memoirs Ludendorff lays the failure of the German armies in August to the complete breakdown of the national spirit.

The end came with extraordinary speed. Already in September, after the defection of Bulgaria and the startling success of Foch's converging movement on Sedan, Germany knew that she was defeated. The Berlin Government turned to Wilson and on the 5th of October requested an armistice. At the same time Austria-Hungary made a similar request offering to negotiate on the basis of the Fourteen Points. Wilson's position was delicate. He knew in September that the end was near and prepared for the situation in some degree by sending Colonel House abroad to be ready to discuss armistice terms with the Allies. But the sudden character of the German collapse had intoxicated public opinion to such an extent that the political idealism which he had voiced ran the risk of becoming swamped. If Germany were indeed helpless and the Allies triumphant, there was the danger that, in the flush of victory, all the promises of a just peace would be forgotten. He must provide against such a contingency. On the other hand he must secure guarantees that Germany had indeed thrown off her militaristic cloak, as Prince Max of Baden, the new Chancellor, insisted; and also that under cover of an armistice she might not effect a withdrawal of her defeated armies, only to renew the struggle under more favorable conditions on her own borders.He was caught between the danger of German fraud and Allied exuberance.

There ensued a month of negotiations, during which the military victory of the Allies was further assured, as described in the preceding pages. The German Government was first asked by Wilson if it accepted the Fourteen Points and the similar stipulations made by the President in subsequent addresses. Replying in the affirmative, Prince Max then promised to acquiesce in armistice terms that would leave the military situation unchanged, and further agreed to order a cessation of unrestricted submarine warfare and of the wanton destruction caused by the German armies in their retreat. Finally he declared in answer to Wilson's demand, that the request for an armistice and peace came from a government "which is free from any arbitrary and irresponsible influence, and is supported by the approval of an overwhelming majority of the German people." The President then formally transmitted the correspondence to the Allies, and Colonel House entered upon discussions to establish with them the understanding that the basis of the peace negotiations would be the Wilsonian programme. He was successful; and theFourteen Points, with reservation of the second, "Freedom of the seas," were accepted by the Allied governments. The Allies, on the other hand, secured President Wilson's approval of the principle that "compensation will be made by Germany for all damage done to the civilian population of the Allies and their property by the aggression of Germany by land, by sea, and from the air." Upon this understanding the details of the armistice were left to the military leaders. The terms as fixed reflected the military situation on the fighting front and the political situation in Germany and placed Germany entirely in the power of the victors without possibility of renewing the war. The conditions laid down were so stringent that until the last moment a refusal by the German delegates seemed imminent; but on the 11th of November, just before the expiration of the time limit allowed them, they accepted the inevitable.

It is a mistake to regard the armistice as forced upon the Allies by President Wilson. Many persons abroad, as in this country, felt, it is true, that it was wrong to permit the peaceful withdrawal of the German armies, even though the full military advantages of victory were secured by the armistice conditions;the Allies ought, they argued, to impress on the Germans the magnitude of their defeat on the field of battle, and this could not be done so long as German soil had been free from warfare. General Pershing was strongly opposed to the granting of an armistice. The Allied chiefs knew, however, that although the continuation of the fighting would lead to the surrender of a great German force, every day would cost the victorious armies a heavy toll of killed and wounded, and the advantage to be gained thereby was at least questionable. This fact was emphasized even by Marshal Foch. They hesitated, certainly, to accept the Fourteen Points as the basis for peace, for they feared lest the interpretation put upon them at the Peace Conference might rob them of what they believed to be the just fruits of victory. In both France and England there was, it is true, a body of liberal opinion which would not brook open repudiation of the ideals that Wilson had sponsored during the war and to which Allied ministers had themselves paid tribute. In each country there was another group demanding a "peace of annihilation," with the payment of all war costs by the defeated, but Lloyd George and Clemenceau feared at the moment to raise this issue.Both England and France were dependent upon American assistance for the immediate future as they had been during the war. They needed American food, raw materials, and money. A break with Wilson, who for the moment was the popular hero of Europe, taken in conjunction with an economic crisis, might be the signal for domestic disturbances if not revolution.

Thus with Germany helpless and the Allies at least outwardly accepting his peace programme, Woodrow Wilson seemed to be master of the situation. And yet his power was more apparent than real. Apart from that moral influence which he exercised over the European liberals and which among some of the working classes was so extreme that candles were burnt before his picture, but which also was inevitably unstable and evanescent, Wilson's power rested upon the fact that he was President of the United States. But the nation was no longer united behind him or his policy, if indeed it had ever been so. That hatred and distrust which had marked the electoral campaign of 1916, and which, stifled for the moment by entrance into the war, had flamed out early in 1918 in the attack upon his war administration, now in the autumn threatened an explosion of popular disapprobation in some parts of the country.Men had long whispered "autocrat" but had generally been silenced during the war by the admonition not to weaken the government by factious criticism. Now they began to shout it from the house-tops. Because of his inability to grasp the importance of either tact or tactics, the President made the way of his opponents easy for them.

Shortly before the Congressional elections of November, at the moment when he felt the need of national support in order to strengthen his position with the Allies, the President was prevailed upon to issue an appeal to the electors, asking them to vote for Democratic candidates on the ground that the nation ought to have unified leadership in the coming moment of crisis, and that a Republican Congress would divide the leadership. There was nothing novel in such an appeal; in 1898, McKinley had begged for a Republican Congress on the ground that "this is no time for divided councils," the same ground as that taken by Wilson in 1918. Roosevelt in the same year (1898) had said: "Remember that whether you will or not your votes this year will be viewed by the nations of Europe from one standpoint only.... A refusal to sustain the President this year will, in their eyes, be read as a refusal to sustain the war and to sustain the efforts of the peace commission."Wilson's appeal in 1918 was merely an echo of Roosevelt's in 1898. Yet it was a mistake in tactics. It enabled the Republicans to assert that, whereas they had sunk partisan differences during the war in order to secure the victory of the nation, Wilson was now capitalizing the war and foreign problems to win a partisan advantage. The result of the elections was Republican success, assuring to that party a slight majority in the Senate and a goodly majority in the House after March 4, 1919.

The President made other tactical mistakes. Instead of taking the Senate into his confidence by entering upon numerous conferences with its leaders, he stood upon the letter of the Constitution and gave the clear impression that he would conduct the peace negotiations himself without Senatorial assistance, leaving the Senators merely their constitutional privilege of "advice and consent" when a treaty should be laid before them. He would have done better to remember a remarkable passage in one of his own lectures, delivered ten years before. Speaking of the difficulty of bringing pressure to bear upon the Senate, he had said that there is a "course which the President may follow, and which one or two Presidents ofunusual political sagacity have followed, with the satisfactory results that were to have been expected. He may himself be less stiff and offish, may himself act in the true spirit of the Constitution and establish intimate relations of confidence with the Senate on his own initiative, not carrying his plans to completion and then laying them in final form before the Senate to be accepted or rejected, but keeping himself in confidential communication with the leaders of the Senate while his plans are in course, when their advice will be of service to him and his information of the greatest service to them, in order that there may be veritable counsel and a real accommodation of views, instead of a final challenge and contest." Had Wilson in 1918, and after, followed his own advice, the outcome might have been different. But nothing describes so perfectly the exact opposite of his attitude as the passage quoted above.

The President might at least have assuaged the sense of injury that rankled in the hearts of the Senators by asking for their advice in the appointment of the Peace Commission. Instead he kept his own counsel. He decided to go to Paris himself as head of the Commission, and chose for his associates men who were not qualified to win for him the support that he needed in the Senate or in the country.Robert Lansing, as Secretary of State, was a necessary appointment. Colonel House was probably the best-fitted man in America for the approaching negotiations, alike by his temperament, by the breadth of his knowledge of foreign questions, and by his intimacy with foreign statesmen. But at least two places on the Commission should have been given to eminent Republicans and to men universally known and respected. If Wilson was unwilling to select members of the Senate, he might have heeded public opinion which called definitely for William Howard Taft and Elihu Root. Both were pledged to the most important item of Wilson's programme, the League of Nations; both exercised wide influence in the country and in the Republican party. The Senate, with a Republican majority, would almost certainly ratify any treaty which they had signed. But the President, for reasons of a purely negative character, passed them over and with what looked to the public like mere carelessness, chose General Tasker Howard Bliss and Henry White, formerly Ambassador to Rome and Paris under Presidents Roosevelt and Taft.Both were men of ability and experience, but neither enjoyed the particular confidence of the American people; and what Americans chiefly wanted was the assurance of persons they knew and trusted, that the peace was right. In the existing state of public opinion, the assurance of the President was not in itself sufficient.

President Wilson's decision to go to Paris as a member of the Commission aroused still fiercer opposition, but had reasons infinitely more cogent. He knew that there would be great difficulty in translating his ideals into fact at the Peace Conference. He believed that he could count upon the support of liberal opinion in Europe, but realized that the leading politicians had not yet been won sincerely to his policy. The pledge they had given to accept the Fourteen Points might mean much or little; everything depended upon interpretation. A peace of justice and a League of Nations still hung in the balance. At this moment, with Germany clearly helpless, opinion abroad appeared to be tending, naturally enough, toward the old-style division of the spoils among the victors. More than one influential French and British newspaper began to sound the cryVæ victis. Moreover, in America broke forth a chorus of encouragement to the Allies to pay no attention to Wilsonian idealism.On the 27th of November, shortly before the Commission sailed, Roosevelt wrote: "Our Allies and our enemies and Mr. Wilson himself should all understand that Mr. Wilson has no authority whatever to speak for the American people at this time. His leadership has just been emphatically repudiated by them.... Mr. Wilson and his Fourteen Points and his four supplementary points and his five complementary points and all his utterances every which way have ceased to have any shadow of right to be accepted as expressive of the will of the American people.... Let them [the Allies] impose their common will on the nations responsible for the hideous disaster which has almost wrecked mankind." It was frank encouragement to the Allies, coming from the American who, with Wilson, was best-known abroad, to divide the spoils and to disregard all promises to introduce a new international order, and it must have brought joy to Clemenceau and Sonnino.

Wilson feared that having won the war the United States might lose the peace: not by softness towards Germany—as yet there was no danger of that—but by forgetting the ideals for which it had entered the war, by forgetting that a peace of injustice sows the seeds of the next war, and by arelapse into the old bankrupt system of the Balance of Power. He realized that the peoples of France, England, and Italy had felt the pinch of war as the American people had never done, and that it was demanding too much of human nature to expect that their attitude would be one of moderation. He knew that in the negotiations Clemenceau and Sonnino would be definitely opposed to his programme and that he could not count upon Lloyd George. He decided therefore that he must himself go to Paris to fight for his ideals. The decision was one of tremendous significance. At the moment when domestic problems of reconstruction would be most acute, an American President was going to leave the country because of the interest of America in European affairs. The United States was now so much a part of the world system that domestic issues seemed of less importance than the danger that Europe might fall back into the old international system which had proved unable to keep the peace. The President's voyage to France was the clearest manifestation yet vouchsafed of the settled position of the United States as a world power.

If the justice of his policy and the necessity of full participation in the peace as in the war be admitted, Wilson was probably right in going to Paris.No one else could have secured so much of his programme. No one else was possessed of the political power or the personal prestige which belonged to him. The history of the Conference was to show that when he absented himself in February and after he left Paris in June, his subordinates found great difficulty in meeting Allied opposition. But the decision of the President to attend the Peace Conference furnished fresh material for criticism at home. It was a new thing in our history; people did not understand the importance of the issues involved and attributed his voyage to vanity. Unquestionably it weakened Wilson in America as much as it strengthened him abroad. When on the 4th of December, the presidential ship,George Washington, sailed out of New York harbor, saluted by the wild shrieks of a thousand sirens and the showers of glittering white papers streaming from the windows of the skyscrapers, preceded by the battleshipPennsylvania, flanked by destroyers, with acrobatic airplanes and a stately dirigible overhead, external enthusiasm was apparently at its height. But Wilson left behind him glowing embers of intense opposition which, during the next six months, were to be fanned into a dangerous flame.

On Friday, December 13, 1918, theGeorge Washingtonsteamed slowly into Brest harbor through a long double line of gray battleships and destroyers, greeted by the thunder of presidential salutes and the blare of marine bands. Europe thrilled with emotion, which was half curiosity and half genuine enthusiasm: it was to see and applaud the man who during the past eighteen months had crystallized in speech the undefined thought of the Allied world, who represented (at least in European eyes) the strength and idealism of America, and who stood, for the moment, as the political Messiah to liberals in every country of the Old World, victors or defeated. The intensity of the curiosity as well as the sincerity of the enthusiasm was attested on the following day, when President Wilson drove through the streets of Paris, welcomed by the vociferous plaudits of the close-packed crowd.It was for him a public triumph, no greater than that accorded to King Albert of Belgium and certainly less demonstrative than the jubilations of armistice night, but nevertheless undeniably sweet to the President, who looked to popular opinion as the bulwark upon which he must rely during the difficult days ahead.

Further triumphs awaited him in his trips to England and to Italy. In London and Rome, as in Paris, he was the object of demonstrations which at times became almost delirious; more than once his admirers must have been reminded of the Biblical phrase that alludes to the honor of a prophet outside his own country. The emotion of Europe is not difficult to understand. The man in the street was ready to shout, for the war was finished and the miseries of the peace that was no peace were not yet realized, Wilson stood for Justice above everything, and the people of each country believed whole-heartedly that their particular demands were just; the President, therefore, must stand with them. To Frenchmen it was obvious that he must approve the "simple justice" of the claim that Germany pay the entire cost of the war; Italians were convinced that he would sanction their "just" demand for the annexation of Fiume.So long as Justice remained something abstract his popularity remained secure. Could he retain it when concrete issues arose? As early as the beginning of January ebullitions of approval became less frequent. Discordant voices were audible suggesting that Wilson was too prone to sacrifice the material necessities of the war-burdened nations to his idealistic notions. People asked why he failed to visit Belgium and the devastated regions of France, so as to see for himself what sufferings had been endured. And the historian may well inquire if it were because he had not gauged the depth of feeling aroused by German war practices, or because he had determined to show the Germans that he would not let his judgment be clouded by emotion. Whatever the explanation, his popularity suffered.

Without question the original strength of President Wilson's position, resting in part upon the warmth of popular feeling, which is ever uncertain, was undermined by the delays that marked the opening of the Peace Conference. Such delays may have resulted in part from the purpose of the Allied leaders, who wished to permit public enthusiasm for Wilson to cool; they may also have been caused in part by the differences that developedover the incorporation of the League of Nations in the Treaty. But a prime cause of delay is to be found in the fact that a Peace Conference of this character was a new experience and the statesmen assembled were not quite sure how to conduct it. Too little thought had been given to the problem of organization, and the plans which had been drawn up by the French and Americans were apparently forgotten. The host of diplomatic attachés and technical advisers, who crowded the Quai d'Orsay and the hotels of Paris, had only a vague notion as to their duties and waited uneasily, wondering why their chiefs did not set them to work. In truth the making of peace was to be characterized by a looseness of organization, a failure to coördinate, and a waste of time and energy resulting from slipshod methods. In the deliberations of the Conference there was a curious mixture of efficiency and ineffectiveness; a wealth of information upon the topics under discussion and an inability to concentrate that information. Important decisions were made and forgotten in the welter of conferential disorganization.

No one could complain that delays were caused by the kind of gay frivolity that characterized the Vienna Congress a hundred years ago.The atmosphere of the Paris Conference was more like that of a convention of traveling salesmen. The Hotel Crillon, home of the American Commission, was gray and gaunt as the State, War, and Navy Building in Washington. Banquets were rare; state balls unheard of. The President who had separate headquarters, first in the Parc Monceau and later on the Place des États Unis, avoided the orthodox diversions of diplomacy and labored with an intensity that was destined to result in physical collapse. The very dress of the delegates mirrored their businesslike attitude: high silk hats were seldom seen; Lloyd George appeared in the plainest of bowlers and Colonel House in his simple, black felt. Experts worked far into the early morning hours in order that principals might have statistics; principals labored even on Easter Day, and were roused from their beds at four in the morning to answer telegrams. Unique departure in the history of diplomacy: this was a working Peace Conference!

Each of the different commissions had brought to Paris a staff of attachés and experts, upon whom the principal delegates were to rely in questions of fact, and who were themselves to decide points of detail in drafting the economic and political clausesof the treaties and in determining new boundaries. The expert staff of the American Commission had been carefully selected and was generally regarded as equal to that of any other power. Compared with the foreign experts, its members lacked experience in diplomatic methods, no doubt, but they were as well or better equipped with exact information. There is an instance of an American expert on a minor commission asking that a decision be altered in view of new facts just brought to light, and offering to place those facts in detail before the commission. "I suggest," said a foreign delegate, "that we accept the amendment without investigation. Hitherto the facts presented by the Americans have been irrefutable; it would be waste of time to investigate them."

Such men as Hoover, Hurley, and Gompers were at hand to give their expert opinions on questions which they had mastered during the course of the war. Norman Davis and Thomas Lamont acted as financial advisers. Baruch and McCormick brought the wealth of experience which resulted from their administration of the War Industries and War Trade Boards. The foresight of Colonel House, furthermore, had gathered together a group of men who, organized since the summer of 1917 inwhat had been called "The Inquiry," had been studying the conditions that would determine new political boundaries on the basis of justice and practicability. The principal delegates could not be expected to know the details that would decide the disposition of Danzig, the fate of Fiume, the division of the Banat of Temesvar. They would need some one to tell them the amount of coal produced in the Saar Basin, the location of mines in Teschen, the ethnic character of eastern Galicia, the difference between Slovaks and Ruthenians. It was all very well to come to the Conference with demands for justice, but our commissioners must have cold facts to support those demands. The fact that exact information was available, and played a rôle in the decisions of the Conference, marks a step forward in the history of diplomatic relations.

Contrary to general expectation and rumor, Wilson, although he disregarded the American Commissioners, except Colonel House, made constant use of the various experts. On theGeorge Washingtonhe had told a group of them that he would rely absolutely upon the results of their investigations. "Tell me what's right," he had said, "and I'll fight for it.Give me a guaranteed position." During the negotiations he called in the experts for daily consultations; they sat behind him at the sessions of the Council of Ten and on the sofa beside him in the Council of Four. Their advice was not always followed to the letter; in the Shantung issue it was reluctantly discarded; but in such important matters as the Fiume problem, Wilson rested his case wholly upon the knowledge and opinions of the experts.

In defiance of the example of the Congress of Vienna, which never formally gathered in plenary session, the Paris Conference met with all delegates for the first time, on January 18, 1919. It was a picturesque scene, cast in the long Clock Room of the Quai d'Orsay, the conventional black of the majority of delegates broken by the horizon-blue uniform of Marshal Foch, the natty red-trimmed khaki of British staff officers, and the white flowing robes and golden headdress of the Arabian Emir Faisal; down the center of the room ran the traditionally diplomatic green baize tables behind which sat the delegates; attachés and press correspondents crowded into the corners or peered around the curtains of adjoining rooms; at the end, in front of the white marble fireplace, sat the dominating personalities of the Allied world.But such plenary sessions were not to witness the actual work of the Conference, nor was Wilson's demand for "open covenants openly arrived at" to be translated literally into accomplishment. To conduct the Peace Conference by sessions open to the public was obviously not feasible. There were too many delegates. Time, which was precious beyond evaluation, would be lost in the making of speeches for home consumption. More time would be lost in translation of the Babel of languages. Frankness and directness of negotiation would be impossible, for if the papers should print what the delegates said about each other there would be a national crisis every day. Finally, a congress is by nature ill-adapted for the study of intricate international problems, as was later to be illustrated in the history of the United States Senate.

The representatives of the larger European Powers had assumed that the direction of the Conference would be taken by a small executive committee, corresponding to the Supreme War Council, and to this President Wilson agreed. Such a committee would necessarily meet in secret, in order that it might not be hampered by formalities and that there might be frank speech. Only a brief communiqué, stating the subject of discussion and the decision reached, would be issued to the press. The committee would provide for the executive measures that must be taken to oppose the growth of economic and political anarchy in central and southeastern Europe, would distribute the problems that were to be studied by special commissions, and would formulate or approve the solutions to those problems. It would supervise the drafting of the treaties and present them to the plenary conference in practically final form. Since the bulk of the fighting had been carried by the major powers and since they would guarantee the peace, this supreme council of the Conference was composed of two representatives of the major five, France, Great Britain, the United States, Italy, and Japan, the last-named now entering the sacred coterie of "Great Powers." Among the delegates of the smaller powers there was lively dissatisfaction at the exclusion from the inner council of such states as Belgium and Serbia, which had been invaded by the enemy and had made heavy sacrifices in the war: they complained also that the number of delegates allotted them was insufficient. Already, it was whispered, the phrases that dealt with the "rights of small nations" were being forgotten, and this peace congress was to be but a repetition of those previous diplomatic assemblies where the spoils went to the strong.But Wilson, who was regarded as the defender of the rights of the small states, agreed with Clemenceau that practical necessity demanded an executive council of restricted numbers, and felt that such a body could be trusted to see that effective justice was secured. In truth the President was almost as much impressed by the extreme nationalistic ardor of the small powers, as a source of future danger, as he was by the selfishness of the large.

The Supreme Council, during the early days of the Conference, was generally known as the Council of Ten. It met in the study of Stephane Pichon, the French Foreign Minister, which opened on to the garden of the French Foreign Office, and which, with its panelled walls, covered with gorgeous Gobelins picturing Ruben's story of Marie de' Medici, its stately brocaded chairs, and old-rose and gray Aubusson carpets, was redolent of old-time diplomacy. In the center, behind a massive desk, sat the president of the Conference, Georges Clemenceau—short, squat, round-shouldered, with heavy white eyebrows and mustache serving perfectly to conceal the expression both of eyes and of mouth. Ordinarily he rested immobile, his hands folded in the eternal gray gloves, on his face an expression of bored tolerance, the expression of a man who, after half a century in the political arena of France, had little to learn either of men or of affairs, even from a Peace Conference. Skeptical in attitude, a cold listener, obviously impermeable to mere verbiage and affected by the logic of facts alone, he had a ruthless finger ready to poke into the interstices of a loosely-woven argument. Clemenceau spoke but rarely, in low even tones, with a paucity and awkwardness of gesture surprising in a Latin; he was chary of eloquence, disdaining the obvious arts of the rhetor, but he had at his command an endless string of biting epigrams, and his satire wounded with a touch so sharp that it was scarcely felt or seen except by the unfortunate recipient. Upon infrequent occasion, in the course of hot debate, some one would pierce his armor and touch him upon the unguarded quick; then the man was transformed, the eyebrows would shoot up, the eyes flash, the mustache bristle, the voice vibrate, and the invective which he poured forth scalded like molten lead. One understood at such a moment why he was called "the Tiger." But such outbursts were rare. More characteristic of his method of debate was the low-voiced ironical phrase, when his arid humor crackled like a wireless message.

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