Clemenceau dwarfed the other French delegates, with a single exception, not alone by the magic of his personality but by the grip which he had on the imagination of France. The people remembered that long career, beginning with the early days of the Republic and culminating with the miracle of the political salvation he brought to France in the dark days of 1917, when the morale of the nation was near the breaking-point, and which made possible the military victory of Foch. France was grateful. He had no political party in the Chamber upon which to rely, but the nation was behind him, at least for the moment. "If I should die now," he is reported to have said during the early days of the Conference, "France would give me a great funeral. If I live six months, no one knows what may happen." For Clemenceau was a realist; he did not permit himself the luxury of being deceived even by the good qualities of his own countrymen. If he feared anything it was the domination of politics by the impractical. Mankind must be taken as it is and not as we should like it to be. He was troubled by what he called the "noble simplicity" of Wilson.Statesmen must be inspired by the sacred egotism which provides for the material safety and progress of their own nation. Above all, in his mind, France was particularly vulnerable and thus must insist upon particular means of defense against the secular enemy across the Rhine.
Behind Clemenceau, in the Council, hovered his friend and Foreign Secretary, Stephane Pichon. More in evidence, however, was André Tardieu, who alone of the French delegates remained undwarfed by the Prime Minister. Journalist, politician, captain of Blue Devils, Franco-American Commissioner, now the youngest of the French peace commission, Tardieu, more than any one else supplied the motive energy that carried the treaty to completion. Debonair and genial, excessively practical, he was the "troubleman" of the Conference: when difficulties arose over the Saar, or Fiume, or reparations, Tardieu was called in to work with a special committee and find a compromise. Not a regular member of the Council of Ten, he was nevertheless at Clemenceau's elbow, and especially after the attempt on the latter's life, he labored day and night on the details which were too much for the strength and time of the older man.
On Clemenceau's right, and half facing him, sat the two American delegates, Wilson and Lansing. The President, to the surprise of many, was by no means the awkward college professor lost among practical politicians. His speech was slow and his manner might almost be called ponderous, but the advisers who whispered over his shoulder, during the course of the debate, attested the rapidity with which his mind operates and his skill in catching the points suggested. There was far less of the dogmatic doctrinaire in his attitude than had been looked for. Occasionally his remarks bordered upon the sententious, but he never "orated," invariably using a conversational tone; many of his points were driven home by humorous allusions or anecdotes rather than by didactic logic. Like that of the other delegates his manner was informal. During the cold days of late January he walked about the room during discussions in order to keep his feet warm. Indeed the proceedings of the Council of Ten were characterized by a noted absence of stiffness. It was evidently expected that the prestige which Wilson possessed among the masses would evaporate in this inner council; but nothing of the kind was apparent.It was not uninteresting to note that when a point was raised every one looked involuntarily to see how it would be taken by the President; and when the delegates of the smaller Powers appeared before the Council they addressed their remarks almost directly at him. Lansing spoke seldom, but then with force and conviction, and was evidently more troubled than Wilson by the compromises with expediency which the Americans were compelled to make. His attention was never distracted by the sketches which he drew without ceasing, during the course of the debates—grotesque and humorous figures, much in demand by every one present as mementos of the Conference.
Next on the right sat David Lloyd George, with thick gray hair and snapping Celtic eyes. Alert and magnetic, he was on the edge of his chair, questioning and interrupting. Frankly ignorant of the details of continental geography and politics, naïve in his inquiries, he possessed the capacity for acquiring effective information at lightning speed. Unfortunately he was not over-critical and the source of his information was not invariably the highest authority; he was prone to accept the views of journalists rather than those of his own Foreign Office.Effervescent as a bottle just rid of its cork, he was also unstable, twisting and veering in his suggestions; not so much blown about by the winds of hostile criticism, to which he paid but little attention, as carried on by the shifting tides of political events at home. For his eye was always across the Channel, calculating the domestic effect of each treaty provision. Few could resist his personal magnetism in conversation and no one would deny him the title of master-politician of his age. During the first weeks of the Conference, Wilson seems to have fallen under the spell of Lloyd George to some extent, who showed himself quite as liberal as the President in many instances. But Wilson was clearly troubled by the Welshman's mercurial policy, and before he finally left for America, found relief in the solid consistency of Clemenceau. He always knew where the French Premier stood, no matter how much he might differ from him in point of view.
Beside Lloyd George, a perfect foil, sat Arthur J. Balfour, assuming the attitude habitual to him after long years in the House of Commons—head on the back of his chair, body reclining at a comfortable angle, long legs stretched in front, hands grasping the lapels of his coat, eyes at frequent intervals closed. Rising, he overtopped every one present, white and bent though he was, in physical stature as he did also in pure intellectual power.Graceful in tone and expression his outlook was the philosophical, possibly over-tolerant for the exigencies of the situation, although upon occasion his judgment proved a valuable counterweight to the hasty enthusiasm of Lloyd George. But Balfour, like Lansing, was sometimes treated with scant consideration by his chief and by no means exercised the influence which his experience and capacity would lead one to expect.
On the right of the British delegates sat the two Japanese, silent, observant, their features immobile as the Sphinx. It was a bold man who would attempt to guess the thoughts masked by their impassive faces. They waited for the strategic moment when they were to present their special claims; until then they attended all meetings, scarcely speaking a word, unwilling to commit themselves. Upon one occasion, in a minor commission, the Japanese delegate held the deciding vote, the other four delegations being tied; when asked by the chairman how he voted, whether with the French and Americans or with the British and Italians, the Japanese responded simply, "Yes." Next the Japanese, but facing Clemenceau and about twelve feet from him, were the Italians:Sonnino with his close-cropped white bullet head and heavy drooping mustache, his great Roman nose coming down to meet an equally strong out-jutting chin, his jaw set like a steel latch. The hawklike appearance of the man was softened in debate by the urbanity of his manner and the modulations of his voice. Orlando was less distinctive in appearance and character. Eloquent and warm-hearted, he was troubled by the consciousness that failure to secure the full extent of Italian claims spelled the downfall of his ministry in Rome. It is of some historical importance that Sonnino, who spoke perfect English with just a trace of Etonian inflection, was the more obstinate in his demands; Orlando, who showed himself inclined to compromise, spoke no English and therefore could come into intellectual contact with Wilson and Lloyd George only through the medium of an interpreter.
Proceedings were necessarily in both French and English, because none of the big men except Clemenceau and Sonnino used the two languages with comfort. The interpreter, Mantoux, who sat behind Clemenceau, was no mere translator. A few notes scribbled on a pad were sufficient for him to render the sense of a speech with keen accuracy and frequently with a fire and a pungency that surpassed the original.He spoke always in the first person as though the points made in debate were his own, and the carrying of each particular point the ideal nearest his heart. Behind the principals, the "Olympians," as they came to be called, were the experts and attachés, with long rolls of maps and complex tables of statistics, ready to answer questions of detailed facts. In truth there was more reference to sources of exact information by the chief delegates than would have been expected by the student of former diplomatic practices.
In the center of the room, facing the Olympians, stood or sat the particular claimant or expert witness of the séance. Now it might be Marshal Foch, with wrinkled, weary, war-worn visage, and thin rumpled hair, in shabby uniform, telling of Germany's failure to fulfill the armistice conditions; one would meet him later in the corridor outside—like Grant, he was apt to have the stump of a black cigar in the corner of his mouth—usually shaking his head ominously over the failure of the politicians to treat Germany with the requisite severity. Or the claimant before the Ten might be the grave, self-contained Venizelos, once outlaw and revolutionary, now, after many turns of fortune's wheel,master of Greece and perhaps the greatest statesman of them all. Then again would appear the boyish Foreign Minister of the Czecho-Slovak Republic, Edward Benes, winning friends on all sides by his frank sincerity and ready smile; or, perfect contrast, the blackbearded Bratiano of Rumania, claiming the enforcement of the secret treaty that was to double the area of his state. Later, Paderewski came from Warsaw, his art sacrificed on the altar of patriotism, leonine in appearance, but surprisingly untemperamental in diplomatic negotiation.
To each of these and to many others who presented problems for immediate settlement the Council listened, for it had not merely to draw up treaties and provide for the future peace of the world, but also to meet crises of the moment. The starving populations of central and southeastern Europe must be fed; tiny wars that had sprung up between smaller nationalities must be attended to and armistice commissions dispatched; the rehabilitation of railroads and river transportation demanded attention; coal mines must be operated and labor difficulties adjusted. This economic renaissance had to be accomplished in face of nationalistic quarrels and the social unrest that threatenedto spread the poison of communistic revolution as far west as the Rhine and the Adriatic.
From the beginning it was clear that the actual drafting of the treaty clauses would have to be undertaken by special commissions. The work could never be completed except by a subdivision of labor and the assignment of particular problems to especially competent groups. As the Council of Ten faced the situation, they decided that the number of the commissions must be increased. By the beginning of February the work was largely subdivided. There was a commission headed by President Wilson working on the League of Nations, while others studied such problems as responsibility for the war, reparations, international labor legislation, international control of ports, waterways, and railways, financial and economic problems, military, naval, and aerial questions. When the Council of Ten found themselves puzzled by the conflicting territorial claims of different Allied nations, they decided to create also special territorial commissions to study boundaries and to report their recommendations back to the Supreme Council. It was President Wilson, chafing at the early delays of the Conference, who eagerly adopted a suggestion of Colonel Houseto the effect that time might be saved if the experts of the different states attacked boundary problems and thus relieved the strain upon the time and nerves of the Olympians, who could not be expected to know or understand the details of each question. The suggestion was approved by the chiefs of the Allied governments. There were five such territorial commissions, which were in turn subdivided, while a single central territorial commission was appointed to coördinate the reports.
The more important commissions, such as that upon the League of Nations, were composed of plenipotentiaries and included generally representatives from the smaller states. The reparations, financial, and labor commissions were made up of business men and financiers, the American representatives including such figures as Lamont, Norman Davis, Baruch, and McCormick. The territorial commissions were composed of the representatives of the four principal Powers; most of the European delegates, who were in some cases also plenipotentiaries, were chosen from the staffs of the Foreign Offices, and included such men as Sir Eyre Crowe, Jules Cambon, Tardieu, and Salvago Raggi.The American delegates were generally members of the Inquiry, men who had been working on these very problems for more than a year. The special commissions worked with care and assiduity, and their decisions rested generally on facts established after long discussion. To this extent, at least, the Paris Conference was characterized by a new spirit in diplomacy.
Upon the reports of these commissions were based the draft articles of the treaties, which were then referred back to the Supreme Council. By the time the reports were finished, that body had divided into two smaller bodies: the Council of Foreign Ministers, and the Council of Premiers, composed of Clemenceau, Lloyd George, Wilson, and Orlando. The latter body, which came to be known as the Council of Four, or, colloquially, the "Big Four," naturally assumed complete direction. It was unfortunate certainly that a congress which had started with the cry of "open covenants" should thus find itself practically resolved into a committee of four. Disappointed liberals have assumed that the inner council was formed with the object of separating President Wilson from contact with popular ideas and bringing him to acceptance of the old-style peace desired by Clemenceau.In reality the Council of Four was simply a revival of the informal committee which had sat during the autumn of 1918, when Colonel House, Lloyd George, and Clemenceau had met by themselves to formulate the policy to be adopted when Germany presented her demand for an armistice. When Wilson left Paris in February, Colonel House, who became chiefly responsible for the American side of negotiations, found the Council of Ten unwieldy. It was attended by as many as thirty or forty persons, some of whom seemed inclined to spread colored accounts of what was going on, and the very size of the meeting tended toward the making of speeches and the slowing-down of progress. Furthermore, at that time Clemenceau, confined to his house by the wound inflicted by a would-be assassin, was unable to attend the sessions of the Council of Ten. It was natural, therefore, that the three statesmen who had worked so effectively the preceding autumn should now renew their private conferences. When Wilson returned to Paris in March, and learned from Colonel House how much more rapidly the small committee was able to dispose of vexatious questions, he readily agreed to it. Nor is there any valid evidence extant to show that his influence was seriously impaired by the change, although the sessions of theCouncil of Four took on a greater appearance of secrecy than had been desired by Colonel House.
The Council of Four acted as a board of review and direction rather than of dictators. When the reports of the expert commissions were unanimous they were generally accepted with little or no alteration. When a divided report was sent up, the Four were compelled to reach a compromise, since every delay threatened to give new opportunity to the forces of social disorder in Germany and southeastern Europe. The Council met ordinarily in the house used by President Wilson, on the Place des États-Unis. Some of the conferences were held in a small room downstairs without the presence of secretaries or advisers; frequently, however, the experts were called in to meet with the chiefs in the large front room upstairs, and would often monopolize the discussion, the Four playing the part of listeners merely. Formality was dispensed with. During a debate upon the southern boundary of Austria, President Wilson might have been seen on all fours, kneeling on the floor and tracing out the suggested frontier on a huge map, while other peace commissioners and experts surrounded him, also on their hands and knees. Hours of labor were long.There was, certainly, much discussion that hinged upon selfish nationalist interests, but also much that was inspired by a sincere desire to secure the solution that would permanently restore the tranquillity of Europe.
The presence of President Wilson did much to maintain the idealism that jostled national self-seeking in the final drafting of the treaties. Though he lacked the political brilliance of Lloyd George and had not the suppressed but irresistible vehemence that characterized Clemenceau, his very simplicity of argument availed much. He was not destined to carry through the full programme of idealism as set out in the Fourteen Points, at least not as interpreted by most liberals. He could not secure the peace of reconciliation which he had planned, but even with his popularity in France, Belgium, and Italy lost, and his prestige dimmed, he retained such a strong position in the Council of Four that he was able to block some of the more extreme propositions advanced by imperialist elements, and, more positively, to secure what he had most at heart, the League of Nations. Whether he yielded more than he gained is a question which demands more detailed consideration.
Whatever mistakes President Wilson made at Paris, he did not greatly underestimate the difficulties of his task when he set forth from the United States. The liberal utterances of the Allied chiefs during the war had never succeeded in winning his sincere confidence; more than once he had even intimated that he did not consider their governments completely representative of public opinion. He anticipated a struggle with Clemenceau and Lloyd George over the amount of indemnity which was to be demanded from Germany, as well as over the territory of which she was to be deprived. Their formal approval of the Fourteen Points had been a cause of intense satisfaction to him, but he realized definitely that they would make every effort to interpret them in terms of purely national self-interest. This he regarded as the greatest difficulty to be met at Paris.The second difficulty lay in the extreme demands that were being made by the smaller nationalities, now liberated from Teuton dominion or overlordship. Poland, Rumania, Serbia, Greece, were all asking for territory which could only be assigned to them on the ancient principle of the division of spoils among the victors. The spirit of nationalism which had played a rôle of so much importance in the antecedents of the war, as well as in the downfall of the Central Empires, now threatened to ruin the peace. As we have seen, it was partly because of this second danger that Wilson agreed to the exclusion of the smaller states from the Supreme Council of the Allies.
Upon the details of the treaties, whether of an economic or a territorial character, the President did not at first lay great stress. He was interested chiefly in the spirit that lay behind the treaties. The peace, he insisted, must be one of justice and, if possible, one of reconciliation. More concretely, the great point of importance was the establishment of a League of Nations; for the President believed that only through the building up of a new international system, based upon the concert of all democratic states, could permanent justice and amity be secured.Only a new system could suffice to prevent the injustice that great states work upon small, and to stamp out the germs of future war. It would be the single specific factor that would make this treaty different from and better than treaties of the past. The ultimate origin of the great war was less to be sought in the aspirations and malevolence of Germany, he believed, than in the disorganized international system of Europe. Unless that were radically reformed, unless a régime of diplomatic coöperation were substituted for the Balance of Power, neither justice nor peace could last. The old system had failed too often.
Wilson does not seem to have formulated definitely before he reached Paris the kind of League which he desired to see created. He was opposed to such intricate machinery as that proposed by the League to Enforce Peace, and favored an extremely simple organization which might evolve naturally to meet conditions of the future. The chief organ of a League, he felt, should be an executive council, possibly composed of the ambassadors to some small neutral power. If trouble threatened in any quarter, the council was to interfere at once and propose a settlement. If this proved unsuccessful, a commercial boycott might be instituted against the offending state: it was to be outlawed, and, asWilson said, "outlaws are not popular now." He regarded it as important that the German colonies should not be divided among the Allies, but should be given to the League, to be administered possibly through some smaller power; for an institution, he felt, is always stabilized by the possession of property.
Such were, broadly speaking, the ideas which seemed uppermost in the President's mind when he landed in France, and which he was determined should form the basis of the peace. He anticipated opposition, and he was in a measure prepared to fight for his ideals. But he failed adequately to appreciate the confusion which had fallen upon Europe, after four years and more of war, and which made the need of a speedy settlement so imperative. If he had gauged more accurately the difficulties of his task he would have been more insistent upon the drafting of a quick preliminary peace, embodying merely general articles, and leaving all the details of the settlement to be worked out by experts at their leisure. He might thus have utilized his popularity and influence when it was at its height, and have avoided the loss of prestige which inevitably followed upon the discussion of specific issues, when he was compelled totake a stand opposed to the national aspirations of the various states. Such a general preliminary treaty would have gone far towards restoring a basis for the resumption of normal political and economic activity; it would have permitted Wilson to return to the United States as the unquestioned leader of the world; it would have blunted the edge of senatorial opposition; and finally it might have enabled him to avoid the controversies with Allied leaders which compelled him to surrender much of his original programme in a series of compromises.
It is only fair to Wilson to remember that his original plan, in November, was to secure such a preliminary treaty, which was to embody merely the general lines of a territorial settlement and the disarmament of the enemy. The delays which postponed the treaty were not entirely his fault. Arriving in France on the 13th of December, he expected that the Conference would convene on the seventeenth, the date originally set. But days passed and neither the French nor the British took steps toward the opening of negotiations. They had not even appointed their delegates. Lloyd George sent messages of welcome from across the Channel, but explained that domestic affairs detained him in England.Conscious of the struggle that was likely to arise between the "practical" aspirations of Europe and the "idealism" of America, the Allied leaders evidently were in no hurry to give to the exponent of the ideal the advantage of the popular support that he enjoyed during the early days following his arrival upon European shores. Hence it was not until the second week of January that the delegations began to assemble at Paris. In the interval Wilson had become involved in various detailed problems and he had lost the opportunity, if indeed it ever offered, to demand immediate agreement on preliminary terms of peace.
Notwithstanding the delays, the President secured an early triumph in the matter which he had closest at heart, namely, a League of Nations and its incorporation in the Treaty. Clemenceau had taken issue publicly with Wilson. When the President, in the course of his English speeches, affirmed that this was the first necessity of a world which had seen the system of alliances fail too often, the French Premier replied in the Chamber of Deputies, on the 29th of December, that for his part he held to the old principle of alliances which had saved France in the past and must save her in the future, and that his sense of the practical would not be affected by the "noble candeur" of President Wilson.The polite sneer that underlay the latter phrase aroused the wrath of the more radical deputies, but the Chamber gave Clemenceau an overwhelming vote of confidence as he thus threw down the gage. In the meantime Lloyd George had shown himself apparently indifferent to the League and much more interested in what were beginning to be called the "practical issues."
With the opening of the Conference, however, it soon became apparent that Wilson had secured the support of the British delegates. It is possible that a trade had been tacitly consummated. Certain it is that the "freedom of the seas," which the British delegates were determined should not enter into the issues of the Peace Conference and which had threatened to make the chief difficulty between British and Americans, was never openly discussed. Had Wilson decided to drop or postpone this most indefinite of his Fourteen Points, on the understanding that the British would give their support to the League? At all events, the League of Nations was given an important place on the programme of deliberations, and at the second of the plenary sessions of the Conference, held on January 25, 1919, the principle of a League was approved without adissentient voice; it was also decided that the League should be made an integral part of the Treaty. Wilson, in addition to acquiring British support had won that of the Italians, to whom he had promised his aid in securing the Brenner frontier in the Tyrol. Clemenceau, according to an American delegate, "had climbed on the band-wagon."
The President's victory was emphasized when he also won the Europeans and the representatives of the British overseas Dominions to acceptance of the principle of "mandatories," according to which the German colonies were not to be distributed as spoils amongst the victors, but to become the property of the League and to be administered by the mandatory states, not for their own benefit but for that of the colonies. The victory was not complete, since Wilson's first intention had been that the mandatory states should not be the great powers, but such states as Holland or one of the Scandinavian nations. He was compelled to admit the right of the British and French to take over the colonies as mandatories. Even so, the struggle over the issue was intense, Premier Hughes of Australia leading the demand that the German colonies should be given outright to the Allies andthe British self-governing Dominions. Again the support of Lloyd George brought success to the American policy.
In order to assure his victory in the foundation of a League of Nations, it was necessary that before returning home Wilson should see some definite scheme elaborated. Until the 14th of February he labored with the special committee appointed to draft a specific plan, which included much of the best political talent of the world: Lord Robert Cecil, General Smuts, Venizelos, Léon Bourgeois. In order to avoid the criticism that consideration of a League was delaying the preparation of peace terms, the commission met in the evenings so as not to interrupt the regular meetings of the Council of Ten. It was atour de force, this elaboration of a charter for the new international order, in less than three weeks. At times the task seemed hopeless as one deadlock after another developed. Wilson, who presided over the commission, lacked the skill and courage displayed by Clemenceau in his conduct of the plenary sessions, and proved unable to prevent fruitless discussion; possibly he feared lest he be regarded as autocratic in pushing his pet plan. At all events precious moments were dissipated in long speeches, and general principles threatened to be lost in a maze of details.With but two days left before the plenary session of the Conference and the date set for Wilson's sailing, the commission had approved only six of the twenty-seven articles of the Covenant. Fortune intervened. The presence of Wilson was demanded at the Council of Ten and his place as chairman was taken by Lord Robert Cecil. The latter showed himself effective. Ably seconded by Colonel House, he passed over all details and pushed the final stages of the report through at top speed; on the 14th of February the Covenant of the League was completed. It was sanctioned by the plenary session of the Conference that afternoon, and in the evening Wilson left for America with the document in his pocket. Doubtless it seemed to him that the major portion of his task had been accomplished.
The mechanism of the League thus proposed is said to have been largely evolved by Smuts and Cecil, but it coincided roughly with the ideas that Wilson had already conceived. Much of the language of the Covenant is Wilson's; its form was mainly determined by the British and American legal experts, C. J. B. Hurst and D. H. Miller. It provided for an executive council representing nine powers, and a deliberative assembly of all the members of the League. The Council must meet annually and take under advisement any matters threatening to disturb international peace. Its recommendations must be unanimous. The Assembly was entirely without executive power. The members of the League were to agree not to make war without first submitting the matter under dispute to arbitration or to the consideration of the Council. Failure to abide by this agreement would constitute an act of war against the League, which upon recommendation of the Council, might boycott the offending state economically or exercise military force against it. The Covenant declared it "to be the friendly right of each Member of the League to bring to the attention of the Assembly or of the Council any circumstance whatever affecting international relations which threatens to disturb international peace or the good understanding between nations upon which peace depends." The members of the League, furthermore, undertook "to respect and preserve as against external aggression the territorial integrity and existing independence of all members of the League. In case of any such aggression the Council shall advise upon the means by which this obligation shall be fulfilled"(Article X). These two provisions embodied the particular contributions of Wilson to the Covenant, who believed that the capacity of the League to preserve justice and peace depended chiefly upon them. The Covenant also provided in some measure for military and naval disarmament by giving to the Council the right to recommend the size of the force to be maintained by each member of the League, and it attacked secret diplomacy by abrogating previous obligations inconsistent with the Covenant and by providing that every future treaty must be registered and published.
If the President expected to be hailed at home as conquering hero, he was destined to bitter disappointment. He must now pay the price for those tactical mistakes which had aroused opinion against him in the previous autumn. The elements which he had antagonized by his war-policies, by his demand for a Democratic Congress, by his failure to coöperate with the Senate in the formulation of American policy and in the appointment of the Peace Commission, and which had opposed his departure in person to Paris—all those elements now had their chance. Having won a difficult victory over reactionary forces in Europe, Wilson was now compelled to begin the struggle over again at home.And whereas at Paris he had displayed some skill in negotiation and an attitude of conciliation even when firm in his principles, upon his return he adopted a tone which showed that he had failed to gauge the temper of the people. He probably had behind him the majority of the independent thinkers, even many who disliked him personally but who appreciated the importance and the value of the task he was trying to carry through. The mass of the people, however, understood little of what was going on at Paris. The situation abroad was complex and it had not been clarified adequately by the press. Opinion needed to be educated. It wanted to know why a League was necessary and whether its elaboration was postponing peace and the return of the doughboys. Why must the League be incorporated in the Treaty? And did the League put the United States at the mercy of European politicians and would it involve our country in a series of European wars in which we had no interest?
What followed must be counted as little less than a tragedy. The man of academic antecedents with masterly powers of exposition, who had voiced popular thought during the years of the war so admirably, now failed completely as an educator of opinion.The President might have shown that the League Covenant, instead of postponing peace, was really essential to a settlement, since it was to facilitate solutions of various territorial problems which might otherwise hold the Conference in debate for months. He could have demonstrated with a dramatic vigor which the facts made possible, the anarchical condition of Europe and the need for some sort of international system of coöperation if a new cataclysm was to be avoided, and he might have pictured the inevitable repercussive effect of such a cataclysm upon America. He might have shown that in order to give effect to the terms of the Treaty, it was necessary that the League Covenant should be included within it. He could have emphasized the fact that the Covenant took from Congress no constitutional powers, that the Council of the League, on which the United States was represented, must be unanimous before taking action, and then could only make recommendations. But the President failed to explain the situation in terms comprehensible to the average man. However adequate his addresses seemed to those who understood the situation abroad, they left the American public cold.His final speech in the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City was especially unfortunate, for his statement that he would bring back the Treaty and the League so intertwined that no one could separate them sounded like a threat. At the moment when he needed the most enthusiastic support to curb the opposition of the Senate, he alienated thousands and lost the chance to convince tens of thousands.
These developments did not pass unnoticed in Europe. Clemenceau and Lloyd George had yielded to Wilson during the first weeks of the Conference because they could not afford to separate their fortunes from the United States, upon whom they depended for economic support, and because an open break with Wilson would weaken their own position with liberals in France and England. But now it became apparent to them that Wilson's position at home was so unstable that they might be justified in adopting a stronger tone. Each of them could point to the tangible evidence of victorious elections and votes of confidence. President Wilson could not. The party in the Senate which, after the 4th of March, would hold the majority, expressly repudiated Wilson's policy. When the President returned to Paris, on the 14th of March, he found a different atmosphere. The League was no longer the central topic of discussion.Concrete questions were uppermost. How much should Germany pay? What territory should be taken from her? How was the Kaiser to be punished? Wilson had been given the satisfaction of securing approval for the principle of the League. Now he must permit the Conference to satisfy the practical aspirations of France, England, and Italy.
It is a tribute to the personality of Wilson that by his presence at this critical juncture, when the attitude of the Allies differed but slightly, if at all, from that of the powers at the Congress of Vienna, he was able to bring back something of the spirit of justice which had been so frequently and loudly declaimed before the armistice, and to repress at least in some degree the excessive claims which demanded satisfaction in the treaties. The plans which, during his absence, had been evolved for the separation of the Covenant from the Treaty and for its postponement, and which had received the hearty support of several French and British diplomats, were quickly dropped. Wilson was able to announce without contradiction, that the Covenant would be an integral part of the Treaty, as decided on the 25th of January. Far more difficult was the situation that resulted from French and British plans for indemnities from Germany, and from the French territorial claims on the Rhine. In each of these matters Wilson could secure nothing better than a compromise.
From the day when peace dawned upon Europe, the question that had touched Allied peoples most closely was, How much will Germany pay? It was not so much the shout of the brutal victor greedy for loot, as the involuntary cry of nations which had seen their homes and factories pulverized, their ships sunk, the flower of their youth killed and maimed, and which now faced years of crushing taxation. They had carried the load of war gallantly and they would enter the struggle for recuperation courageously. But they would not endure that the enemy, which had forced these miseries upon them, should not make good the material damage that had been done. What was the meaning of the word justice, if the innocent victors were to emerge from the war with keener sufferings and more gloomy future than the guilty defeated? Another question stirred the mind of every Frenchman. For generations the eastern frontier of France had lain open to the invasion of the Teuton hordes. The memory of Prussian brutality in 1814 had been kept alive in every school; the horrors of 1870 had been told and retold by participants and eye-witnesses; and the world had seen the German crimes of 1914. From all France the cry went up, How long? It would be the most criminal stupidity if advantage were not taken of the momentary helplessness of the inevitable enemy in order to make that vulnerable frontier secure. This was not the end. Some day the struggle would be renewed. Already, within two months of the armistice, the French General Staff were considering mobilization plans for the next war. France must be made safe while she had the chance.
These feelings had such a hold on the people that the statesmen of Europe would have been over-thrown on the day they forgot them. Popular sentiment was reënforced by practical considerations less justifiable. Crushing indemnities would not merely ease the load of Allied taxation and furnish capital for rapid commercial development; they would also remove Germany as an economic competitor. French control of all territory west of the Rhine would not only assure France against the danger of another German invasion, but would also provide her capitalists with a preponderating economic advantage in regions by no means French in character. Such selfish interests the Americans strove to set aside, although they never forgot their desire to secure as complete justice for the Allies as seemed compatible with a stable and tranquil settlement.
In the matter of indemnities, or reparations as they came to be called, the experts of the various powers soon established the fact that Germany would be unable to pay the total bill of reparation, even at the most conservative reckoning. There was a long discussion as to whether or not the costs of war, aside from material damage done, that had been incurred by the Allies, should be included in the amount that Germany was to pay. It was finally determined, in accordance with the arguments of the American financial delegates who were warmly supported by President Wilson, that such war costs should be excluded. On the other hand it was agreed that pensions might properly be made part of Germany's reparation bill. The two items of damages and pensions were calculated by the American experts as amounting to a total figure of not less than $30,000,000,000 present capital sum, which Germany ought to pay.
The next step was to determine how much Germany could be made to pay. By drafting too severe terms German trade might be destroyed completely and Germany left without the economiccapacity to make the money that was to pay the bill. It was obvious to careful students that the total amount which she could turn over to the Allies could not be much more than the excess of her exports over imports; and that even if payments were extended over twenty or thirty years their value for purposes of reparation would probably not much exceed twenty-five billion dollars. Lloyd George in his election pledges had promised that the complete reparations account would be settled by the enemy; neither he nor Clemenceau dared to confess that the sum which could be exacted from Germany would fall far below their early promises. The British experts, Sumner and Cunliffe, continued to encourage Lloyd George in his belief that Germany could afford to pay something in the neighborhood of a hundred billion dollars, and the French Finance Minister, Klotz, was equally optimistic. At first, accordingly, Allied demands on Germany seemed likely to be fantastic.
The Americans, on the other hand, were infinitely more conservative in their estimates of what Germany could pay. Even after certain Allied experts, including Montagu and Loucheur, affirmed the necessity of scaling down the suggested sum of reparations, the difference betweenthe American proposals and those of the Allies was serious.[13]Political considerations, however, interposed, and preventing the settling of a definite total sum which Germany must pay. Neither Lloyd George nor Clemenceau dared to go to their constituents with the truth, namely that Germany could not possibly pay the enormous indemnities which the politicians had led the people to expect. (Lloyd George, for example, had stated the sum that Germany must pay at about $120,000,000,000.) Both the chiefs of state asserted that they were almost certain to be turned out of office as a result, with consequent confusion in the Peace Conference, and a prolongation of the crisis. The only escape seemed to be in a postponement of the problem by not naming any definite sum which Germany must pay, but requiring her to acknowledge full liability. The disadvantages of this method were apparent to the Presidentand his financial advisers, for it was clear that the economic stability of the world could not be restored until the world knew how much Germany was going to pay.
[13]At first the French and British refused to name any specific sum that might be collected from Germany, requesting the Americans to submit estimates. The latter named $5,000,000,000 as representing a sum that might be collected prior to May 1, 1921, and thereafter a capital sum as high as $25,000,000,000, always provided that the other clauses in the treaty did not too greatly drain Germany's resources. After some weeks of discussion the French experts stated that if the figures could be revised up to $40,000,000,000 they would recommend them to their chiefs. The British refused to accept a figure below $47,000,000,000.
[13]At first the French and British refused to name any specific sum that might be collected from Germany, requesting the Americans to submit estimates. The latter named $5,000,000,000 as representing a sum that might be collected prior to May 1, 1921, and thereafter a capital sum as high as $25,000,000,000, always provided that the other clauses in the treaty did not too greatly drain Germany's resources. After some weeks of discussion the French experts stated that if the figures could be revised up to $40,000,000,000 they would recommend them to their chiefs. The British refused to accept a figure below $47,000,000,000.
Equally difficult was the problem of the French frontier. The return of Alsace-Lorraine to France was unanimously approved. The French claimed in addition, the districts of the Saar, with their valuable coal-fields, a portion of which had been left to France after the first abdication of Napoleon but annexed to Prussia after his defeat at Waterloo; and they contended that if the German territories west of the Rhine were not to be annexed to France, they must at least be separated from Germany, which had secured a threatening military position mainly through their possession. American experts had felt inclined to grant a part of the Saar region to France as compensation for the wanton destruction of French mines at Lens and Valenciennes by the Germans; but both Wilson and Lloyd George were opposed to absolute annexation of the district which the French demanded, including, as it did, more than six hundred thousand Germans and no French. Wilson was definitely hostile to any attempt to separate from the Fatherland such purely German territory as that on the left bank of the Rhine.The Allies, as well as himself, had given assurances that they did not aim at the dismemberment of Germany, and it was on the basis of such assurances that the Germans had asked for an armistice. Wilson admitted that from the point of view of military strategy the argument of Foch was unanswerable, under the old conditions; but he insisted that the League of Nations would obviate the necessity of the strategic protection asked for.
The struggle over these issues nearly broke the back of the Conference. If Clemenceau had yielded in January when the League was demanded by Wilson, it was with the mental reservation that when the "practical" issues came up, the victory should be his. The French press were not slow to give support to their Government, and within a short time the President, so recently a popular idol, found himself anathematized as a pro-German and the sole obstacle to a speedy and satisfactory peace. The more noisy section of the British press followed suit. Liberals were silenced and American idealism was cursed as meddlesome myopia. For some days the deadlock appeared interminable and likely to become fatal. In a contest of obstinacy even Wilson could be matched by Clemenceau. The increasing bitterness of French attacks upon theAmericans began to tell upon Wilson; for the first time his physical strength seemed likely to collapse under the strain. Matters were brought to a head by a bold stroke, on the 7th of April, when Wilson ordered theGeorge Washingtonto sail for Brest. The inference was plain: the President would leave the Conference unless the Allies abated their claims.
The week of strain was followed by one of adjustment. Fearing an open break with America, Allied leaders showed themselves anxious to find a compromise, and Wilson himself was willing to meet them part way, since he realized that without France and England his new international system could never operate. Colonel House found opportunity for his tested skill and common sense as a mediator, and he was assisted by Tardieu, who proved himself to be fertile in suggestions for a practical middle course. As in the case of all compromises, the solutions satisfied no one completely. But clearly some sort of treaty had to be framed, if the world were to resume normal life and if the spread of social revolution were to be checked. At least the compromises had the virtue of winning unanimity, without which Europe could not be saved.
The indemnity problem was settled, at least for the moment, by postponing a final definite statement of the total amount that Germany must pay. It was decided that the sum of five billion dollars (twenty billion gold marks), in cash or kind, should be demanded from Germany as an initial payment, to be made before May 1, 1921. Certain abatements were to be permitted the Germans, since this sum was to include the expenses of the army of occupation, which were reckoned as in the neighborhood of a billion dollars; and supplies of food and raw materials, which Germany might need to purchase, could be paid for out of that sum. In the second place, Germany was required to deliver interest-bearing bonds to a further amount of ten billions; and, if the initial payment of cash fell short of five billions by reason of permitted deductions, the amount of bonds was to be so increased as to bring the total payments in cash, kind, or bonds, up to fifteen billions by May 1, 1921. If a Reparations Commission, the decisions of which Germany must agree to accept, should be satisfied that more yet could be paid, a third issue of bonds, amounting to a further ten billions might be exacted. Even this total of twenty-five billions was not to be regarded as final, if Germany's capacity to pay more were determined by the Reparations Commission.Germany was required to acknowledge full liability, and the total sum which she might theoretically have to pay was reckoned by a British expert as between thirty-two and forty-four billions. The Reparations Commission, however, was given the power to recommend abatements as well as increased payments; upon the wisdom of its members the practical application of the treaty would obviously depend.[14]