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Title: The Life and Letters of Walter H. Page, Volume I

Author: Burton J. Hendrick

Release Date: November 6, 2005 [EBook #17017]

Language: English

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[Illustration: Walter H. Page]




THE
LIFE AND LETTERS OF
WALTER H. PAGE


BY
BURTON J. HENDRICK


VOLUME
I


GARDEN CITY      NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1922




PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES
AT
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N.Y.

_First Edition
after the printing of 377 de luxe copies_




_PREFATORY NOTE_


_Among the many who have assisted in the preparation of this Biography
especial acknowledgment is made to Mr. Irwin Laughlin, First Secretary
and Counsellor of the London Embassy under Mr. Page. Mr. Page's papers
show the high regard which he entertained for Mr. Laughlin's abilities
and character, and the author similarly has found Mr. Laughlin's
assistance indispensable. Mr. Laughlin has had the goodness to read the
manuscript and make numerous suggestions, all for the purpose of
reënforcing the accuracy of the narrative. The author gratefully
remembers many long conversations with Viscount Grey of Fallodon, in
which Anglo-American relations from 1913 to 1916 were exhaustively
canvassed and many side-lights thrown upon Mr. Page's conduct of his
difficult and delicate duties. The British Foreign Office most
courteously gave the writer permission to examine a large number of
documents in its archives bearing upon Mr. Page's ambassadorship and
consented to the publication of several of the most important._

B.J.H.




CONTENTS

VOLUME I

CHAPTER                                          PAGE
   I. A RECONSTRUCTION BOYHOOD                      1
  II. JOURNALISM                                   32
 III. "THE FORGOTTEN MAN"                          64
  IV. THE WILSONIAN ERA BEGINS                    102
   V. ENGLAND BEFORE THE WAR                      132
  VI. "POLICY" AND "PRINCIPLE" IN MEXICO          175
 VII. PERSONALITIES OF THE MEXICAN PROBLEM        215
VIII. HONOUR AND DISHONOUR IN PANAMA              232
  IX. AMERICA TRIES TO PREVENT THE EUROPEAN WAR   270
   X. THE GRAND SMASH                             301
  XI. ENGLAND UNDER THE STRESS OF WAR             327
 XII. "WAGING NEUTRALITY"                         357
XIII. GERMANY'S FIRST PEACE DRIVES                398




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


     Walter H. Page                                       _Frontispiece_

     Allison Francis Page (1824-1899), father of Walter H. Page        20

     Catherine Raboteau Page (1831-1897), mother of Walter H. Page     21

     Walter H. Page in 1876, when he was a Fellow of Johns Hopkins
         University, Baltimore, Md.                                    36

     Basil L. Gildersleeve, Professor of Greek, Johns Hopkins
         University, 1876-1915                                         37

     Walter H. Page (1899) from a photograph taken when he was
         editor of the _Atlantic Monthly_                             100

     Dr. Wallace Buttrick, President of the General Education Board   101

     Charles D. McIver, of Greensboro, North Carolina, a leader in
         the cause of Southern Education                              116

     Woodrow Wilson in 1912                                           117

     Walter H. Page, from a photograph taken a few years before he
         became American Ambassador to Great Britain                  292

     The British Foreign Office, Downing Street                       293

     No. 6 Grosvenor Square, the American Embassy under Mr. Page      308

     Irwin Laughlin, Secretary of the American Embassy at London,
         1912-1917, Counsellor 1916-1919                              309




THE

LIFE AND LETTERS

OF

WALTER H. PAGE




THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF WALTER H. PAGE




CHAPTER I

A RECONSTRUCTION BOYHOOD

I


The earliest recollections of any man have great biographical interest,
and this is especially the case with Walter Page, for not the least
dramatic aspect of his life was that it spanned the two greatest wars in
history. Page spent his last weeks in England, at Sandwich, on the coast
of Kent; every day and every night he could hear the pounding of the
great guns in France, as the Germans were making their last desperate
attempt to reach Paris or the Channel ports. His memories of his
childhood days in America were similarly the sights and sounds of war.
Page was a North Carolina boy; he has himself recorded the impression
that the Civil War left upon his mind.

"One day," he writes, "when the cotton fields were white and the elm
leaves were falling, in the soft autumn of the Southern climate wherein
the sky is fathomlessly clear, the locomotive's whistle blew a much
longer time than usual as the train approached Millworth. It did not
stop at so small a station except when there was somebody to get off or
to get on, and so long a blast meant that someone was coming. Sam and I
ran down the avenue of elms to see who it was. Sam was my Negro
companion, philosopher, and friend. I was ten years old and Sam said
that he was fourteen. There was constant talk about the war. Many men of
the neighbourhood had gone away somewhere--that was certain; but Sam and
I had a theory that the war was only a story. We had been fooled about
old granny Thomas's bringing the baby and long ago we had been fooled
also about Santa Claus. The war might be another such invention, and we
sometimes suspected that it was. But we found out the truth that day,
and for this reason it is among my clearest early recollections.

"For, when the train stopped, they put off a big box and gently laid it
in the shade of the fence. The only man at the station was the man who
had come to change the mail-bags; and he said that this was Billy
Morris's coffin and that he had been killed in a battle. He asked us to
stay with it till he could send word to Mr. Morris, who lived two miles
away. The man came back presently and leaned against the fence till old
Mr. Morris arrived, an hour or more later. The lint of cotton was on his
wagon, for he was hauling his crop to the gin when the sad news reached
him; and he came in his shirt sleeves, his wife on the wagon seat with
him.

"All the neighbourhood gathered at the church, a funeral was preached
and there was a long prayer for our success against the invaders, and
Billy Morris was buried. I remember that I wept the more because it now
seemed to me that my doubt about the war had somehow done Billy Morris
an injustice. Old Mrs. Gregory wept more loudly than anybody else; and
she kept saying, while the service was going on, 'It'll be my John
next.' In a little while, sure enough, John Gregory's coffin was put off
the train, as Billy Morris's had been, and I regarded her as a woman
gifted with prophecy. Other coffins, too, were put off from time to
time. About the war there could no longer be a doubt. And, a little
later, its realities and horrors came nearer home to us, with swift,
deep experiences.

"One day my father took me to the camp and parade ground ten miles away,
near the capital. The General and the Governor sat on horses and the
soldiers marched by them and the band played. They were going to the
front. There surely must be a war at the front, I told Sam that night.
Still more coffins were brought home, too, as the months and the years
passed; and the women of the neighbourhood used to come and spend whole
days with my mother, sewing for the soldiers. So precious became woollen
cloth that every rag was saved and the threads were unravelled to be
spun and woven into new fabrics. And they baked bread and roasted
chickens and sheep and pigs and made cakes, all to go to the soldiers at
the front[1]."

The quality that is uppermost in the Page stock, both in the past and in
the present generation, is that of the builder and the pioneer. The
ancestor of the North Carolina Pages was a Lewis Page, who, in the
latter part of the eighteenth century, left the original American home
in Virginia, and started life anew in what was then regarded as the less
civilized country to the south. Several explanations have survived as to
the cause of his departure, one being that his interest in the rising
tide of Methodism had made him uncongenial to his Church of England
relatives; in the absence of definite knowledge, however, it may safely
be assumed that the impelling motive was that love of seeking out new
things, of constructing a new home in the wilderness, which has never
forsaken his descendants. His son, Anderson Page, manifesting this same
love of change, went farther south into Wake County, and acquired a
plantation of a thousand acres about twelve miles north of Raleigh. He
cultivated this estate with slaves, sending his abundant crops of cotton
and tobacco to Petersburg, Virginia, a traffic that made him
sufficiently prosperous to give several of his sons a college education.
The son who is chiefly interesting at the present time, Allison Francis
Page, the father of the future Ambassador, did not enjoy this
opportunity. This fact in itself gives an insight into his character.
While his brothers were grappling with Latin and Greek and theology--one
of them became a Methodist preacher of the hortatory type for which the
South is famous--we catch glimpses of the older man battling with the
logs in the Cape Fear River, or penetrating the virgin pine forest,
felling trees and converting its raw material to the uses of a growing
civilization. Like many of the Page breed, this Page was a giant in size
and in strength, as sound morally and physically as the mighty forests
in which a considerable part of his life was spent, brave, determined,
aggressive, domineering almost to the point of intolerance, deeply
religious and abstemious--a mixture of the frontiersman and the Old
Testament prophet. Walter Page dedicated one of his books[2] to his
father, in words that accurately sum up his character and career. "To
the honoured memory of my father, whose work was work that built up the
commonwealth." Indeed, Frank Page--for this is the name by which he was
generally known--spent his whole life in these constructive labours. He
founded two towns in North Carolina, Cary and Aberdeen; in the City of
Raleigh he constructed hotels and other buildings; his enterprising and
restless spirit opened up Moore County--which includes the Pinehurst
region; he scattered his logging camps and his sawmills all over the
face of the earth; and he constructed a railroad through the pine woods
that made him a rich man.

Though he was not especially versed in the learning of the schools,
Walter Page's father had a mind that was keen and far-reaching. He was a
pioneer in politics as he was in the practical concerns of life. Though
he was the son of slave-holding progenitors and even owned slaves
himself, he was not a believer in slavery. The country that he primarily
loved was not Moore County or North Carolina, but the United States of
America. In politics he was a Whig, which meant that, in the years
preceding the Civil War, he was opposed to the extension of slavery and
did not regard the election of Abraham Lincoln as a sufficient
provocation for the secession of the Southern States. It is therefore
not surprising that Walter Page, in the midst of the London turmoil of
1916, should have found his thoughts reverting to his father as he
remembered him in Civil War days. That gaunt figure of America's time of
agony proved an inspiration and hope in the anxieties that assailed the
Ambassador. "When our Civil War began," wrote Page to Col. Edward M.
House--the date was November 24, 1916, one of the darkest days for the
Allied cause--"every man who had a large and firm grip on economic facts
foresaw how it would end--not when but how. Young as I was, I recall a
conversation between my father and the most distinguished judge of his
day in North Carolina. They put down on one side the number of men in
the Confederate States, the number of ships, the number of manufactures,
as nearly as they knew, the number of skilled workmen, the number of
guns, the aggregate of wealth and of possible production. On the other
side they put down the best estimate they could make of all these
things in the Northern States. The Northern States made two (or I
shouldn't wonder if it were three) times as good a showing in men and
resources as the Confederacy had. 'Judge,' said my father, 'this is the
most foolhardy enterprise that man ever undertook.' But Yancey of
Alabama was about that time making five-hour speeches to thousands of
people all over the South, declaring that one Southerner could whip five
Yankees, and the awful slaughter began and darkened our childhood and
put all our best men where they would see the sun no more. Our people
had at last to accept worse terms than they could have got at the
beginning. This World War, even more than our Civil War, is an economic
struggle. Put down on either side the same items that my father and the
judge put down and add the items up. You will see the inevitable
result."

If we are seeking an ancestral explanation for that moral ruggedness,
that quick perception of the difference between right and wrong, that
unobscured vision into men and events, and that deep devotion to America
and to democracy which formed the fibre of Walter Page's being, we
evidently need look no further than his father. But the son had
qualities which the older man did not possess--an enthusiasm for
literature and learning, a love of the beautiful in Nature and in art,
above all a gentleness of temperament and of manner. These qualities he
held in common with his mother. On his father's side Page was undiluted
English; on his mother's he was French and English. Her father was John
Samuel Raboteau, the descendant of Huguenot refugees who had fled from
France on the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes; her mother was Esther
Barclay, a member of a family which gave the name of Barclaysville to a
small town half way between Raleigh and Fayetteville, North Carolina.
It is a member of this tribe to whom Page once referred as the "vigorous
Barclay who held her receptions to notable men in her bedroom during the
years of her bedridden condition." She was the proprietor of the "Half
Way House," a tavern located between Fayetteville and Raleigh; and in
her old age she kept royal state, in the fashion which Page describes,
for such as were socially entitled to this consideration. The most vivid
impression which her present-day descendants retain is that of her
fervent devotion to the Southern cause. She carried the spirit of
secession to such an extreme that she had the gate to her yard painted
to give a complete presentment of the Confederate Flag. Walter Page's
mother, the granddaughter of this determined and rebellious lady, had
also her positive quality, but in a somewhat more subdued form. She did
not die until 1897, and so the recollection of her is fresh and vivid.
As a mature woman she was undemonstrative and soft spoken; a Methodist
of old-fashioned Wesleyan type, she dressed with a Quaker-like
simplicity, her brown hair brushed flatly down upon a finely shaped head
and her garments destitute of ruffles or ornamentation. The home which
she directed was a home without playing cards or dancing or smoking or
wine-bibbing or other worldly frivolities, yet the memories of her
presence which Catherine Page has left are not at all austere. Duty was
with her the prime consideration of life, and fundamental morals the
first conceptions which she instilled in her children's growing minds,
yet she had a quiet sense of humour and a real love of fun.

She had also strong likes and dislikes, and was not especially
hospitable to men and women who fell under her disapproval. A small
North Carolina town, in the years preceding and following the Civil
War, was not a fruitful soil for cultivating an interest in things
intellectual, yet those who remember Walter Page's mother remember her
always with a book in her hand. She would read at her knitting and at
her miscellaneous household duties, which were rather arduous in the
straitened days that followed the war, and the books she read were
always substantial ones. Perhaps because her son Walter was in delicate
health, perhaps because his early tastes and temperament were not unlike
her own, perhaps because he was her oldest surviving child, the fact
remains that, of a family of eight, he was generally regarded as the
child with whom she was especially sympathetic. The picture of mother
and son in those early days is an altogether charming one. Page's mother
was only twenty-four when he was born; she retained her youth for many
years after that event, and during his early childhood, in appearance
and manner, she was little more than a girl. When Walter was a small
boy, he and his mother used to take long walks in the woods, sometimes
spending the entire day, fishing along the brooks, hunting wild flowers,
now and then pausing while the mother read pages of Dickens or of Scott.
These experiences Page never forgot. Nearly all his letters to his
mother--to whom, even in his busiest days in New York, he wrote
constantly--have been accidentally destroyed, but a few scraps indicate
the close spiritual bond that existed between the two. Always he seemed
to think of his mother as young. Through his entire life, in whatever
part of the world he might be, and however important was the work in
which he might be engaged, Page never failed to write her a long and
affectionate letter at Christmas.

"Well, I've gossiped a night or two"--such is the conclusion of his
Christmas letter of 1893, when Page was thirty-eight, with a growing
family of his own--"till I've filled the paper--all such little news and
less nonsense as most gossip and most letters are made of. But it is for
you to read between the lines. That's where the love lies, dear mother.
I wish you were here Christmas; we should welcome you as nobody else in
the world can be welcomed. But wherever you are and though all the rest
have the joy of seeing you, which is denied to me, never a Christmas
comes but I feel as near you as I did years and years ago when we were
young. (In those years _big_ fish bit in old Wiley Bancom's pond by the
railroad: they must have been two inches long!)--I would give a year's
growth to have the pleasure of having you here. You may be sure that
every one of my children along with me will look with an added reverence
toward the picture on the wall that greets me every morning, when we
have our little Christmas frolics--the picture that little Katharine
points to and says 'That's my grandmudder.'--The years, as they come,
every one, deepen my gratitude to you, as I better and better understand
the significance of life and every one adds to an affection that was
never small. God bless you.

     "WALTER."

       *       *       *       *       *

Such were the father and mother of Walter Hines Page; they were married
at Fayetteville, North Carolina, July 5, 1849; two children who preceded
Walter died in infancy. The latter was born at Cary, August 15, 1855.
Cary was a small village which Frank Page had created; in honour of the
founder it was for several years known as Page's Station; the father
himself changed the name to Cary, as a tribute to a temperance orator
who caused something of a commotion in the neighbourhood in the early
seventies. Cary was not then much of a town and has not since become
one; but it was placed amid the scene of important historical events.
Page's home was almost the last stopping place of Sherman's army on its
march through Georgia and the Carolinas, and the Confederacy came to an
end, with Johnston's surrender of the last Confederate Army, at Durham,
only fifteen miles from Page's home. Walter, a boy of ten, his brother
Robert, aged six, and the negro "companion" Tance--who figures as Sam in
the extract quoted above--stood at the second-story window and watched
Sherman's soldiers pass their house, in hot pursuit of General "Joe"
Wheeler's cavalry. The thing that most astonished the children was the
vast size of the army, which took all day to file by their home. They
had never realized that either of the fighting forces could embrace such
great numbers of men. Nor did the behaviour of the invading troops
especially endear them to their unwilling hosts. Part of the cavalry
encamped in the Page yard; their horses ate the bark off the mimosa
trees; an army corps built its campfires under the great oaks, and cut
their emblems on the trunks; the officers took possession of the house,
a colonel making his headquarters in the parlour. Several looting
cavalrymen ran their swords through the beds, probably looking for
hidden silver; the hearth was torn up in the same feverish quest; angry
at their failure, they emptied sacks of flour and scattered their
contents in the bedrooms and on the stairs; for days the flour,
intermingled with feathers from the bayonetted beds, formed a carpet all
over the house. It is therefore perhaps not strange that the feelings
which Walter entertained for Sherman's "bummers," despite his father's
Whig principles, were those of most Southern communities. One day a
kindly Northern soldier, sympathizing with the boy because of the small
rations left for the local population, invited him to join the
officers' mess at dinner. Walter drew proudly back.

"I'll starve before I'll eat with the Yankees," he said.

       *       *       *       *       *

"I slept that night on a trundle bed by my mother's," Page wrote years
afterward, describing these early scenes, "for her room was the only
room left for the family, and we had all lived there since the day
before. The dining room and the kitchen were now superfluous, because
there was nothing more to cook or to eat. . . . A week or more after the
army corps had gone, I drove with my father to the capital one day, and
almost every mile of the journey we saw a blue coat or a gray coat lying
by the road, with bones or hair protruding--the unburied and the
forgotten of either army. Thus I had come to know what war was, and
death by violence was among the first deep impressions made on my mind.
My emotions must have been violently dealt with and my sensibilities
blunted--or sharpened? Who shall say? The wounded and the starved
straggled home from hospitals and from prisons. There was old Mr.
Sanford, the shoemaker, come back again, with a body so thin and a step
so uncertain that I expected to see him fall to pieces. Mr. Larkin and
Joe Tatum went on crutches; and I saw a man at the post-office one day
whose cheek and ear had been torn away by a shell. Even when Sam and I
sat on the river-bank fishing, and ought to have been silent lest the
fish swim away, we told over in low tones the stories that we had heard
of wounds and of deaths and of battles.

"But there was the cheerful gentleness of my mother to draw my thoughts
to different things. I can even now recall many special little plans
that she made to keep my mind from battles. She hid the military cap
that I had worn. She bought from me my military buttons and put them
away. She would call me in and tell me pleasant stories of her own
childhood. She would put down her work to make puzzles with me, and she
read gentle books to me and kept away from me all the stories of the war
and of death that she could. Whatever hardships befell her (and they
must have been many) she kept a tender manner of resignation and of
cheerful patience.

"After a while the neighbourhood came to life again. There were more
widows, more sonless mothers, more empty sleeves and wooden legs than
anybody there had ever seen before. But the mimosa bloomed, the cotton
was planted again, and the peach trees blossomed; and the barnyard and
the stable again became full of life. For, when the army marched away,
they, too, were as silent as an old battlefield. The last hen had been
caught under the corn-crib by a 'Yankee' soldier, who had torn his coat
in this brave raid. Aunt Maria told Sam that all Yankees were chicken
thieves whether they 'brung freedom or no.'

"Every year the cotton bloomed and ripened and opened white to the sun;
for the ripening of the cotton and the running of the river and the
turning of the mills make the thread not of my story only but of the
story of our Southern land--of its institutions, of its misfortunes and
of its place in the economy of the world; and they will make the main
threads of its story, I am sure, so long as the sun shines on our white
fields and the rivers run--a story that is now rushing swiftly into a
happier narrative of a broader day. The same women who had guided the
spindles in war-time were again at their tasks--they at least were left;
but the machinery was now old and worked ill. Negro men, who had
wandered a while looking for an invisible 'freedom,' came back and went
to work on the farm from force of habit. They now received wages and
bought their own food. That was the only apparent difference that
freedom had brought them.

"My Aunt Katharine came from the city for a visit, my Cousin Margaret
with her. Through the orchard, out into the newly ploughed ground
beyond, back over the lawn which was itself bravely repairing the hurt
done by horses' hoofs and tent-poles, and under the oaks, which bore the
scars of camp-fires, we two romped and played gentler games than camp
and battle. One afternoon, as our mothers sat on the piazza and saw us
come loaded with apple-blossoms, they said something (so I afterward
learned) about the eternal blooming of childhood and of Nature--how
sweet the early summer was in spite of the harrying of the land by war;
for our gorgeous pageant of the seasons came on as if the earth had been
the home of unbroken peace[3]."


II

And so it was a tragic world into which this boy Page had been born. He
was ten years old when the Civil War came to an end, and his early life
was therefore cast in a desolate country. Like all of his neighbours,
Frank Page had been ruined by the war. Both the Southern and Northern
armies had passed over the Page territory; compared with the military
depredations with which Page became familiar in the last years of his
life, the Federal troops did not particularly misbehave, the attacks on
hen roosts and the destruction of feather beds representing the extreme
of their "atrocities"; but no country can entertain two great fighting
forces without feeling the effects for a prolonged period. Life in this
part of North Carolina again became reduced to its fundamentals. The
old homesteads and the Negro huts were still left standing, and their
interiors were for the most part unharmed, but nearly everything else
had disappeared. Horses, cattle, hogs, livestock of all kinds had
vanished before the advancing hosts of hungry soldiers; and there was
one thing which was even more a rarity than these. That was money.
Confederate veterans went around in their faded gray uniforms, not only
because they loved them, but because they did not have the wherewithal
to buy new wardrobes. Judges, planters, and other dignified members of
the community became hack drivers from the necessity of picking up a few
small coins. Page's father was more fortunate than the rest, for he had
one asset with which to accumulate a little liquid capital; he possessed
a fine peach orchard, which was particularly productive in the summer of
1865, and the Northern soldiers, who drew their pay in money that had
real value, developed a weakness for the fruit. Walter Page, a boy of
ten, used to take his peaches to Raleigh, and sell them to the
"invader"; although he still disdained having companionable relations
with the enemy, he was not above meeting them on a business footing; and
the greenbacks and silver coin obtained in this way laid a new basis for
the family fortunes.

Despite this happy windfall, life for the next few years proved an
arduous affair. The horrors of reconstruction which followed the war
were more agonizing than the war itself. Page's keenest enthusiasm in
after life was democracy, in its several manifestations; but the form in
which democracy first unrolled before his astonished eyes was a phase
that could hardly inspire much enthusiasm. Misguided sentimentalists and
more malicious politicians in the North had suddenly endowed the Negro
with the ballot. In practically all Southern States that meant
government by Negroes--or what was even worse, government by a
combination of Negroes and the most vicious white elements, including
that which was native to the soil and that which had imported itself
from the North for this particular purpose. Thus the political
vocabulary of Page's formative years consisted chiefly of such words as
"scalawag," "carpet bagger," "regulator," "Union League," "Ku Klux
Klan," and the like. The resulting confusion, political, social, and
economic, did not completely amount to the destruction of a
civilization, for underneath it all the old sleepy ante-bellum South
still maintained its existence almost unchanged. The two most
conspicuous and contrasting figures were the Confederate veteran walking
around in a sleeveless coat and the sharp-featured New England school
mar'm, armed with that spelling book which was overnight to change the
African from a genial barbarian into an intelligent and conscientious
social unit; but more persistent than these forces was that old dreamy,
"unprogressive" Southland--the same country that Page himself described
in an article on "An Old Southern Borough" which, as a young man, he
contributed to the _Atlantic Monthly_. It was still the country where
the "old-fashioned gentleman" was the controlling social influence,
where a knowledge of Latin and Greek still made its possessor a person
of consideration, where Emerson was a "Yankee philosopher" and therefore
not important, where Shakespeare and Milton were looked upon almost as
contemporary authors, where the Church and politics and the matrimonial
history of friends and relatives formed the staple of conversation, and
where a strong prejudice still existed against anything that resembled
popular education. In the absence of more substantial employment, stump
speaking, especially eloquent in praise of the South and its
achievements in war, had become the leading industry.

"Wat" Page--he is still known by this name in his old home--was a tall,
rangy, curly-headed boy, with brown hair and brown eyes, fond of fishing
and hunting, not especially robust, but conspicuously alert and vital.
Such of his old playmates as survive recall chiefly his keenness of
observation, his contagious laughter, his devotion to reading and to
talk. He was also given to taking long walks in the woods, frequently
with the solitary companionship of a book. Indeed, his extremely
efficient family regarded him as a dreamer and were not entirely clear
as to what purpose he was destined to serve in a community which, above
all, demanded practical men. Such elementary schools as North Carolina
possessed had vanished in the war; the prevailing custom was for the
better-conditioned families to join forces and engage a teacher for
their assembled children. It was in such a primary school in Cary that
Page learned the elementary branches, though his mother herself taught
him to read and write. The boy showed such aptitude in his studies that
his mother began to hope, though in no aggressive fashion, that he might
some day become a Methodist clergyman; she had given him his middle
name, "Hines," in honour of her favourite preacher--a kinsman. At the
age of twelve Page was transferred to the Bingham School, then located
at Mcbane. This was the Eton of North Carolina, from both a social and
an educational standpoint. It was a military school; the boys all
dressed in gray uniforms built on the plan of the Confederate army; the
hero constantly paraded before their imaginations was Robert E. Lee;
discipline was rigidly military; more important, a high standard of
honour was insisted upon. There was one thing a boy could not do at
Bingham and remain in the school; that was to cheat in class-rooms or at
examinations. For this offence no second chance was given. "I cannot
argue the subject," Page quotes Colonel Bingham saying to the distracted
parent whose son had been dismissed on this charge, and who was begging
for his reinstatement. "In fact, I have no power to reinstate your boy.
I could not keep the honour of the school--I could not even keep the
boys, if he were to return. They would appeal to their parents and most
of them would be called home. They are the flower of the South, Sir!"
And the social standards that controlled the thinking of the South for
so many years after the war were strongly entrenched. "The son of a
Confederate general," Page writes, "if he were at all a decent fellow,
had, of course, a higher social rank at the Bingham School than the son
of a colonel. There was some difficulty in deciding the exact rank of a
judge or a governor, as a father; but the son of a preacher had a fair
chance of a good social rating, especially of an Episcopalian clergyman.
A Presbyterian preacher came next in rank. I at first was at a social
disadvantage. My father had been a Methodist--that was bad enough; but
he had had no military title at all. If it had become known among the
boys that he had been a 'Union man'--I used to shudder at the suspicion
in which I should be held. And the fact that my father had held no
military title did at last become known!"

A single episode discloses that Page maintained his respect for the
Bingham School to the end. In March, 1918, as American Ambassador, he
went up to Harrow and gave an informal talk to the boys on the United
States. His hosts were so pleased that two prizes were established to
commemorate his visit. One was for an essay by Harrow boys on the
subject: "The Drawing Together of America and Great Britain by Common
Devotion to a Great Cause." A similar prize on the same subject was
offered to the boys of some American school, and Page was asked to
select the recipient. He promptly named his old Bingham School in North
Carolina.

It was at Bingham that Page gained his first knowledge of Greek, Latin,
and mathematics, and he was an outstanding student in all three
subjects. He had no particular liking for mathematics, but he could
never understand why any one should find this branch of learning
difficult; he mastered it with the utmost ease and always stood high. In
two or three years he had absorbed everything that Bingham could offer
and was ready for the next step. But political conditions in North
Carolina now had their influence upon Page's educational plans. Under
ordinary conditions he would have entered the State University at Chapel
Hill; it had been a great headquarters in ante-bellum days for the
prosperous families of the South. But by the time that Page was ready to
go to college the University had fallen upon evil days. The forces which
then ruled the state, acting in accordance with the new principles of
racial equality, had opened the doors of this, one of the most
aristocratic of Southern institutions, to Negroes. The consequences may
be easily imagined. The newly enfranchised blacks showed no inclination
for the groves of Academe, and not a single representative of the race
applied for matriculation. The outraged white population turned its back
upon this new type of coeducation; in the autumn of 1872 not a solitary
white boy made his appearance. The old university therefore closed its
doors for lack of students and for the next few years it became a
pitiable victim to the worst vices of the reconstruction era.
Politicians were awarded the presidency and the professorships as
political pap, and the resources of the place, in money and books, were
scattered to the wind. Page had therefore to find his education
elsewhere. The deep religious feelings of his family quickly settled
this point. The young man promptly betook himself to the backwoods of
North Carolina and knocked at the doors of Trinity College, a Methodist
Institution then located in Randolph County. Trinity has since changed
its abiding place to Durham and has been transformed into one of the
largest and most successful colleges of the new South; but in those days
a famous Methodist divine and journalist described it as "a college with
a few buildings that look like tobacco barns and a few teachers that
look as though they ought to be worming tobacco." Page spent something
more than a year at Trinity, entering in the autumn of 1871, and leaving
in December, 1872. A few letters, written from this place, are scarcely
more complimentary than the judgment passed above. They show that the
young man was very unhappy. One long letter to his mother is nothing but
a boyish diatribe against the place. "I do not care a horse apple for
Trinity's distinction," he writes, and then he gives the reasons for
this juvenile contempt. His first report, he says, will soon reach home;
he warns his mother that it will be unfavourable, and he explains that
this bad showing is the result of a deliberate plot. The boys who obtain
high marks, Page declares, secure them usually by cheating or through
the partisanship of the professors; a high grade therefore really means
that the recipient is either a humbug or a bootlicker. Page had
therefore attempted to keep his reputation unsullied by aiming at a low
academic record! The report on that three months' work, which still
survives, discloses that Page's conspiracy against himself did not
succeed, for his marks are all high. "Be sure to send him back" is the
annotation on this document, indicating that Page had made a better
impression on Trinity than Trinity had made on Page.

But the rebellious young man did not return. After Christmas, 1872, his
schoolboy letters reveal him at Randolph-Macon College in Ashland, Va.
Here again the atmosphere is Methodistical, but of a somewhat more
genial type. "It was at Ashland that I first began to unfold," said Page
afterward. "Dear old Ashland!" Dr. Duncan, the President, was a
clergyman whose pulpit oratory is still a tradition in the South, but,
in addition to his religious exaltation, he was an exceedingly lovable,
companionable, and stimulating human being. Certainly there was no lack
of the religious impulse. "We have a preacher president," Page writes
his mother, "a preacher secretary, a preacher chaplain, and a dozen
preacher students and three or more preachers are living here and
twenty-five or thirty yet-to-be preachers in college!" In this latter
class Page evidently places himself; at least he gravely writes his
mother--he was now eighteen--that he had definitely made up his mind to
enter the Methodist ministry. He had a close friend--Wilbur Fisk
Tillett--who cherished similar ambitions, and Page one day surprised
Tillett by suggesting that, at the approaching Methodist Conference,
they apply for licensing as "local preachers" for the next summer. His
friend dissuaded him, however, and henceforth Page concentrated on more
worldly studies. In many ways he was the life of the undergraduate body.
His desire for an immediate theological campaign was merely that passion
for doing things and for self-expression which were always conspicuous
traits. His intense ambition as a boy is still remembered in this sleepy
little village. He read every book in the sparse college library; he
talked to his college mates and his professors on every imaginable
subject; he led his associates in the miniature parliament--the Franklin
Debating Society--to which he belonged; he wrote prose and verse at an
astonishing rate; he explored the country for miles around, making
frequent pilgrimages to the birthplace of Henry Clay, which is the chief
historical glory of Ashland, and to that Hanover Court House which was
the scene of the oratorical triumph of Patrick Henry; he flirted with
the pretty girls in the village, and even had two half-serious love
affairs in rapid succession; he slept upon a hard mattress at night and
imbibed more than the usual allotment of Greek, Latin, and mathematics
in the daytime. One year he captured the Greek prize and the next the
Sutherlin medal for oratory. With a fellow classicist he entered into a
solemn compact to hold all their conversation, even on the most trivial
topics, in Latin, with heavy penalties for careless lapses into English.
Probably the linguistic result would have astonished Quintilian, but the
experiment at least had a certain influence in improving the young man's
Latinity. Another favourite dissipation was that of translating English
masterpieces into the ancient tongue; there still survives among Page's
early papers a copy of Bryant's "Waterfowl" done into Latin iambics. As
to Page's personal appearance, a designation coined by a fellow student
who afterward became a famous editor gives the suggestion of a portrait.
He called him one of the "seven slabs" of the college. And, as always,
the adjectives which his contemporaries chiefly use in describing Page
are "alert" and "positive."

[Illustration: Allison Francis Page (1824-1899), father of Walter H.
Page]

[Illustration: Catherine Raboteau Page (1831-1897), mother of Walter H.
Page]

But Randolph-Macon did one great thing for Page. Like many small
struggling Southern, colleges it managed to assemble several instructors
of real mental distinction. And at the time of Page's undergraduate life
it possessed at least one great teacher. This was Thomas R. Price,
afterward Professor of Greek at the University of Virginia and Professor
of English at Columbia University in New York. Professor Price took one
forward step that has given him a permanent fame in the history of
Southern education. He found that the greatest stumbling block to
teaching Greek was not the conditional mood, but the fact that his
hopeful charges were not sufficiently familiar with their mother tongue.
The prayer that was always on Price's lips, and the one with which he
made his boys most familiar, was that of a wise old Greek: "O Great
Apollo, send down the reviving rain upon our fields; preserve our
flocks; ward off our enemies; and--build up our speech!" "It is
irrational," he said, "absurd, almost criminal, to expect a young man,
whose knowledge of English words and construction is scant and inexact,
to put into English a difficult thought of Plato or an involved period
of Cicero." Above all, it will be observed, Price's intellectual
enthusiasm was the ancient tongue. A present-day argument for learning
Greek and Latin is that thereby we improve our English; but Thomas H.
Price advocated the teaching of English so that we might better
understand the dead languages. To-day every great American educational
institution has vast resources for teaching English literature; even in
1876, most American universities had their professors of English; but
Price insisted on placing English on exactly the same footing as Greek
and Latin. He himself became head of the new English school at
Randolph-Macon; and Page himself at once became the favourite pupil.
This distinguished scholar--a fine figure with an imperial beard that
suggested the Confederate officer--used to have Page to tea at least
twice a week and at these meetings the young man was first introduced in
an understanding way to Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Tennyson, and
the other writers who became the literary passions of his maturer life.
And Price did even more for Page; he passed him on to another place and
to another teacher who extended his horizon. Up to the autumn of 1876
Page had never gone farther North than Ashland; he was still a Southern
boy, speaking with the Southern drawl, living exclusively the thoughts
and even the prejudices of the South. His family's broad-minded attitude
had prevented him from acquiring a too restricted view of certain
problems that were then vexing both sections of the country; however,
his outlook was still a limited one, as his youthful correspondence
shows. But in October of the centennial year a great prospect opened
before him.


III

Two or three years previously an eccentric merchant named Johns Hopkins
had died, leaving the larger part of his fortune to found a college or
university in Baltimore. Johns Hopkins was not an educated man himself
and his conception of a new college did not extend beyond creating
something in the nature of a Yale or Harvard in Maryland. By a lucky
chance, however, a Yale graduate who was then the President of the
University of California, Daniel Coit Gilman, was invited to come to
Baltimore and discuss with the trustees his availability for the
headship of the new institution. Dr. Gilman promptly informed his
prospective employers that he would have no interest in associating
himself with a new American college built upon the lines of those which
then existed. Such a foundation would merely be a duplication of work
already well done elsewhere and therefore a waste of money and effort.
He proposed that this large endowment should be used, not for the
erection of expensive architecture, but primarily for seeking out, in
all parts of the world, the best professorial brains in certain approved
branches of learning. In the same spirit he suggested that a similarly
selective process be adopted in the choice of students: that only those
American boys who had displayed exceptional promise should be admitted
and that part of the university funds should be used to pay the expenses
of twenty young men who, in undergraduate work at other colleges, stood
head and shoulders above their contemporaries. The bringing together of
these two sets of brains for graduate study would constitute the new
university. A few rooms in the nearest dwelling house would suffice for
headquarters. Dr. Gilman's scheme was approved; he became President on
these terms; he gathered his faculty not only in the United States but
in England, and he collected his first body of students, especially his
first twenty fellows, with the same minute care.

It seems almost a miracle that an inexperienced youth in a little
Methodist college in Virginia should have been chosen as one of these
first twenty fellows, and it is a sufficient tribute to the impression
that Page must have made upon all who met him that he should have won
this great academic distinction. He was only twenty-one at the time--the
youngest of a group nearly every member of which became distinguished in
after life. He won a Fellowship in Greek. This in itself was a great
good fortune; even greater was the fact that his new life brought him
into immediate contact with a scholar of great genius and lovableness.
Someone has said that America has produced four scholars of the very
first rank--Agassiz in natural science, Whitney in philology, Willard
Gibbs in physics, and Gildersleeve in Greek. It was the last of these
who now took Walter Page in charge. The atmosphere of Johns Hopkins was
quite different from anything which the young man had previously known.
The university gave a great shock to that part of the American community
with which Page had spent his life by beginning its first session in
October, 1876, without an opening prayer. Instead Thomas H. Huxley was
invited from England to deliver a scientific address--an address which
now has an honoured place in his collected works. The absence of prayer
and the presence of so audacious a Darwinian as Huxley caused a
tremendous excitement in the public prints, the religious press, and the
evangelical pulpit. In the minds of Gilman and his abettors, however,
all this was intended to emphasize the fact that Johns Hopkins was a
real university, in which the unbiased truth was to be the only aim. And
certainly this was the spirit of the institution. "Gentlemen, you must
light your own torch," was the admonition of President Gilman, in his
welcoming address to his twenty fellows; intellectual independence,
freedom from the trammels of tradition, were thus to be the directing
ideas. One of Page's associates was Josiah Royce, who afterward had a
distinguished career in philosophy at Harvard. "The beginnings of Johns
Hopkins," he afterward wrote, "was a dawn wherein it was bliss to be
alive. The air was full of noteworthy work done by the older men of the
place and of hopes that one might find a way to get a little working
power one's self. One longed to be a doer of the word, not a hearer
only, a creator of his own infinitesimal fraction of the product, bound
in God's name to produce when the time came."

A choice group of five aspiring Grecians, of whom Page was one,
periodically gathered around a long pine table in a second-story room of
an old dwelling house on Howard Street, with Professor Gildersleeve at
the head. The process of teaching was thus the intimate contact of mind
with mind. Here in the course of nearly two years' residence, Page was
led by Professor Gildersleeve into the closest communion with the great
minds of the ancient world and gained that intimate knowledge of their
written word which was the basis of his mental equipment. "Professor
Gildersleeve, splendid scholar that he is!" he wrote to a friend in
North Carolina. "He makes me grow wonderfully. When I have a chance to
enjoy Æschylus as I have now, I go to work on those immortal pieces with
a pleasure that swallows up everything." To the extent that Gildersleeve
opened up the literary treasures of the past--and no man had a greater
appreciation of his favourite authors than this fine humanist--Page's
life was one of unalloyed delight. But there was another side to the
picture. This little company of scholars was composed of men who aspired
to no ordinary knowledge of Greek; they expected to devote their entire
lives to the subject, to edit Greek texts, and to hold Greek chairs at
the leading American universities. Such, indeed, has been the career of
nearly all members of the group. The Greek tragedies were therefore read
for other things than their stylistic and dramatic values. The sons of
Germania then exercised a profound influence on American education;
Professor Gildersleeve himself was a graduate of Göttingen, and the
necessity of "settling hoti's business" was strong in his seminar.
Gildersleeve was a writer of English who developed real style; as a
Greek scholar, his fame rests chiefly upon his work in the field of
historical syntax. He assumed that his students could read Greek as
easily as they could read French, and the really important tasks he set
them had to do with the most abstruse fields of philology. For work of
this kind Page had little interest and less inclination. When Professor
Gildersleeve would assign him the adverb [Greek: prin], and direct him
to study the peculiarities of its use from Homer down to the Byzantine
writers, he really found himself in pretty deep waters. Was it
conceivable that a man could spend a lifetime in an occupation of this
kind? By pursuing such studies Gildersleeve and his most advanced pupils
uncovered many new facts about the language and even found hitherto
unsuspected beauties; but Page's letters show that this sort of effort
was extremely uncongenial. He fulminates against the "grammarians" and
begins to think that perhaps, after all, a career of erudite scholarship
is not the ideal existence. "Learn to look on me as a Greek drudge," he
writes, "somewhere pounding into men and boys a faint hint of the beauty
of old Greekdom. That's most probably what I shall come to before many
years. I am sure that I have mistaken my lifework, if I consider Greek
my lifework. In truth at times I am tempted to throw the whole thing
away. . . . But without a home feeling in Greek literature no man can lay
claim to high culture." So he would keep at it for three or four years
and "then leave it as a man's work." Despite these despairing words Page
acquired a living knowledge of Greek that was one of his choicest
possessions through life. That he made a greater success than his
self-depreciation would imply is evident from the fact that his
Fellowship was renewed for the next year.

But the truth is that the world was tugging at Page more insistently
than the cloister. "Speaking grammatically," writes Prof. E.G. Sihler,
one of Page's fellow students of that time, in his "Confessions and
Convictions of a Classicist," "Page was interested in that one of the
main tenses which we call the Present." In his after life, amid all the
excitements of journalism, Page could take a brief vacation and spend
it with Ulysses by the sea; but actuality and human activity charmed him
even more than did the heroes of the ancient world. He went somewhat
into Baltimore society, but not extensively; he joined a club whose
membership comprised the leading intellectual men of the town; probably
his most congenial associations, however, came of the Saturday night
meetings of the fellows in Hopkins Hall, where, over pipes and steins of
beer, they passed in review all the questions of the day. Page was still
the Southern boy, with the strange notions about the North and Northern
people which were the inheritance of many years' misunderstandings. He
writes of one fellow student to whom he had taken a liking. "He is that
rare thing," he says, "a Yankee Christian gentleman." He particularly
dislikes one of his instructors, but, as he explains, he is "a native of
Connecticut, and Connecticut, I suppose, is capable of producing any
unholy human phenomenon." Speaking of a beautiful and well mannered
Greek girl whom he had met, he says: "The little creature might be taken
for a Southern girl, but never for a Yankee. She has an easy manner and
even an air of gentility about her that doesn't appear north of Mason
and Dixon's Line. Indeed, however much the Southern race (I say race
intentionally: Yankeedom is the home of another race from us) however
much the Southern race owes its strength to Anglo-Saxon blood, it owes
its beauty and gracefulness to the Southern climate and culture. Who
says that we are not an improvement on the English? An improvement in a
happy combination of mental graces and Saxon force?" This sort of thing
is especially entertaining in the youthful Page, for it is precisely
against this kind of complacency that, as a mature man, he directed his
choicest ridicule. As an editor and writer his energies were devoted to
reconciling North and South, and Johns Hopkins itself had much to do
with opening his eyes. Its young men and its professors were gathered
from all parts of the country; a student, if his mind was awake, learned
more than Greek and mathematics; he learned much about that far-flung
nation known as the United States.

And Page did not confine his work exclusively to the curriculum. He
writes that he is regularly attending a German Sunday School, not,
however, from religious motives, but from a desire to improve his
colloquial German. "Is this courting the Devil for knowledge?" he asks.
And all this time he was engaging in a delightful correspondence--from
which these quotations are taken--with a young woman in North Carolina,
his cousin. About this time this cousin began spending her summers in
the Page home at Cary; her great interest in books made the two young
people good friends and companions. It was she who first introduced Page
to certain Southern writers, especially Timrod and Sidney Lanier, and,
when Page left for Johns Hopkins, the two entered into a compact for a
systematic reading and study of the English poets. According to this
plan, certain parts of Tennyson or Chaucer would be set aside for a
particular week's reading; then both would write the impressions gained
and the criticisms which they assumed to make, and send the product to
the other. The plan was carried out more faithfully than is usually the
case in such arrangements; a large number of Page's letters survive and
give a complete history of his mental progress. There are lengthy
disquisitions on Wordsworth, Browning, Byron, Shelley, Matthew Arnold,
and the like. These letters also show that Page, as a relaxation from
Greek roots and syntax, was indulging in poetic flights of his own; his
efforts, which he encloses in his letters, are mainly imitations of the
particular poet in whom he was at the moment interested. This
correspondence also takes Page to Germany, in which country he spent the
larger part of the summer of 1877. This choice of the Fatherland as a
place of pilgrimage was probably merely a reflection of the enthusiasm
for German educational methods which then prevailed in the United
States, especially at Johns Hopkins. Page's letters are the usual
traveller's descriptions of unfamiliar customs, museums, libraries, and
the like; so far as enlarging his outlook was concerned the experience
does not seem to have been especially profitable.

He returned to Baltimore in the autumn of 1877, but only for a few
months. He had pretty definitely abandoned his plan of devoting his life
to Greek scholarship. As a mental stimulus, as a recreation from the
cares of life, his Greek authors would always be a first love, as they
proved to be; but he had abandoned his early ambition of making them his
everyday occupation and means of livelihood. Of course there was only
one career for a man of his leanings, and, more and more, his mind was
turning to journalism. For only one brief period did he again listen to
the temptations of a scholar's existence. The university of his native
state invited him to lecture in the summer school of 1878; he took
Shakespeare for his subject, and made so great a success that there was
some discussion of his settling down permanently at Chapel Hill in the
chair of Greek. Had the offer definitely been made Page would probably
have accepted, but difficulties arose. Page was no longer orthodox in
his religious views; he had long outgrown dogma and could only smile at
the recollection that he had once thought of becoming a clergyman. But a
rationalist at the University of North Carolina in 1878 could hardly be
endured. The offer, therefore, fortunately was not made. Afterward Page
was much criticized for having left his native state at a time when it
especially needed young men of his type. It may therefore be recorded
that, if there were any blame at all, it rested upon North Carolina. He
refers to his disappointment in a letter in February, 1879--a letter
that proved to be a prophecy. "I shall some day buy a home," he says,
"where I was not allowed to work for one, and be laid away in the soil
that I love. I wanted to work for the old state; it had no need for it,
it seems."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: From "The Southerner," Chapter I. The first chapter in this
novel is practically autobiographical, though fictitious names have been
used.]

[Footnote 2: "The Rebuilding of Old Commonwealths." (1902.)]

[Footnote 3: "The Southerner," Chapter I.]




CHAPTER II

JOURNALISM

I


The five years from 1878 to 1883 Page spent in various places, engaged,
for the larger part of the time, in several kinds of journalistic work.
It was his period of struggle and of preparation. Like many American
public men he served a brief apprenticeship--in his case, a very brief
one--as a pedagogue. In the autumn of 1878 he went to Louisville,
Kentucky, and taught English for a year at the Boys' High School. But he
presently found an occupation in this progressive city which proved far
more absorbing. A few months before his arrival certain energetic
spirits had founded a weekly paper, the _Age_, a journal which, they
hoped, would fill the place in the Southern States which the very
successful New York _Nation_, under the editorship of Godkin, was then
occupying in the North. Page at once began contributing leading articles
on literary and political topics to this publication; the work proved so
congenial that he purchased--on notes--a controlling interest in the new
venture and became its directing spirit. The _Age_ was in every way a
worthy enterprise; in the dignity of its make-up and the high literary
standards at which it aimed it imitated the London _Spectator_. Perhaps
Page obtained a thousand dollars' worth of fun out of his investment; if
so, that represented his entire profit. He now learned a lesson which
was emphasized in his after career as editor and publisher, and that was
that the Southern States provided a poor market for books or
periodicals. The net result of the proceeding was that, at the age of
twenty-three, he found himself out of a job and considerably in debt.

He has himself rapidly sketched his varied activities of the next five
years:

"After trying in vain," he writes, "to get work to do on any newspaper
in North Carolina, I advertised for a job in journalism--any sort of a
job. By a queer accident--a fortunate one for me--the owner of the St.
Joseph, Missouri, _Gazette_, answered the advertisement. Why he did it,
I never found out. He was in the same sort of desperate need of a
newspaper man as I was in desperate need of a job. I knew nothing about
him: he knew nothing about me. I knew nothing about newspaper work. I
had done nothing since I left the University but teach English in the
Louisville, Kentucky, High School for boys one winter and lecture at the
summer school at Chapel Hill one summer. I made up my mind to go into
journalism. But journalism didn't seem in any hurry to make up its mind
to admit me. Not only did all the papers in North Carolina decline my
requests for work, but such of them in Baltimore and Louisville as I
tried said 'No.' So I borrowed $50 and set out to St. Joe, Missouri,
where I didn't know a human being. I became a reporter. At first I
reported the price of cattle--went to the stockyards, etc. My salary
came near to paying my board and lodging, but it didn't quite do it. But
I had a good time in St. Joe for somewhat more than a year. There were
interesting people there. I came to know something about Western life.
Kansas was across the river. I often went there. I came to know Kansas
City, St. Louis--a good deal of the West. After a while I was made
editor of the paper. What a rousing political campaign or two we had!
Then--I had done that kind of a job as long as I cared to. Every
swashbuckling campaign is like every other one. Why do two? Besides, I
knew my trade. I had done everything on a daily paper from stockyard
reports to political editorials and heavy literary articles. In the
meantime I had written several magazine articles and done other such
jobs. I got leave of absence for a month or two. I wrote to several of
the principal papers in Chicago, New York, and Boston and told them that
I was going down South to make political and social studies and that I
was going to send them my letters. I hoped they'd publish them.

"That's all I could say. I could make no engagement; they didn't know
me. I didn't even ask for an engagement. I told them simply this: that
I'd write letters and send them; and I prayed heaven that they'd print
them and pay for them. Then off I went with my little money in my
pocket--about enough to get to New Orleans. I travelled and I wrote. I
went all over the South. I sent letters and letters and letters. All the
papers published all that I sent them and I was rolling in wealth! I had
money in my pocket for the first time in my life. Then I went back to
St. Joe and resigned; for the (old) New York _World_ had asked me to go
to the Atlanta Exposition as a correspondent. I went. I wrote and kept
writing. How kind Henry Grady was to me! But at last the Exposition
ended. I was out of a job. I applied to the _Constitution_. No, they
wouldn't have me. I never got a job in my life that I asked for! But all
my life better jobs have been given me than I dared ask for. Well--I was
at the end of my rope in Atlanta and I was trying to make a living in
any honest way I could when one day a telegram came from the New York
_World_ (it was the old _World_, which was one of the best of the
dailies in its literary quality) asking me to come to New York. I had
never seen a man on the paper--had never been in New York except for a
day when I landed there on a return voyage from a European trip that I
took during one vacation when I was in the University. Then I went to
New York straight and quickly. I had an interesting experience on the
old _World_, writing literary matter chiefly, an editorial now and then,
and I was frequently sent as a correspondent on interesting errands. I
travelled all over the country with the Tariff Commission. I spent one
winter in Washington as a sort of editorial correspondent while the
tariff bill was going through Congress. Then, one day, the _World_ was
sold to Mr. Pulitzer and all the staff resigned. The character of the
paper changed."

What better training could a journalist ask for than this? Page was only
twenty-eight when these five years came to an end; but his life had been
a comprehensive education in human contact, in the course of which he
had picked up many things that were not included in the routine of Johns
Hopkins University. From Athens to St. Joe, from the comedies of
Aristophanes to the stockyards and political conventions of Kansas
City--the transition may possibly have been an abrupt one, but it is not
likely that Page so regarded it. For books and the personal relation
both appealed to him, in almost equal proportions, as essentials to the
fully rounded man. Merely from the standpoint of geography, Page's
achievement had been an important one; how many Americans, at the age of
twenty-eight, have such an extensive mileage to their credit? Page had
spent his childhood--and his childhood only--in North Carolina; he had
passed his youth in Virginia and Maryland; before he was twenty-three he
had lived several months in Germany, and, on his return voyage, he had
sailed by the white cliffs of England, and, from the deck of his
steamer, had caught glimpses of that Isle of Wight which then held his
youthful favourite Tennyson. He had added to these experiences a winter
in Kentucky and a sojourn of nearly two years in Missouri. His Southern
trip, to which Page refers in the above, had taken him through
Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and Louisiana; he had visited
the West again in 1882, spending a considerable time in all the large
cities, Chicago, Omaha, Denver, Leadville, Salt Lake, and from the
latter point he had travelled extensively through Mormondom. The several
months spent in Atlanta had given the young correspondent a glimpse into
the new South, for this energetic city embodied a Southern spirit that
was several decades removed from the Civil War. After this came nearly
two years in New York and Washington, where Page gained his first
insight into Federal politics; in particular, as a correspondent
attached to the Tariff Commission--an assignment that again started him
on his travels to industrial centres--he came into contact, for the
first time, with the mechanism of framing the great American tariff. And
during this period Page was not only forming a first-hand acquaintance
with the passing scene, but also with important actors in it. The mere
fact that, on the St. Joseph _Gazette_, he succeeded Eugene Field--"a
good fellow named Page is going to take my desk," said the careless
poet, "I hope he will succeed to my debts too"--always remained a
pleasant memory. He entered zealously into the life of this active
community; his love of talk and disputation, his interest in politics,
his hearty laugh, his vigorous handclasp, his animation of body and of
spirit, and his sunny outlook on men and events--these are the traits
that his old friends in this town, some of whom still survive,
associate with the juvenile editor. In his Southern trip Page
called--self-invited--upon Jefferson Davis and was cordially
received. At Atlanta, as he records above, he made friends with that
chivalric champion of a resurrected South, Henry Grady; here also he
obtained fugitive glimpses of a struggling and briefless lawyer, who,
like Page, was interested more in books and writing than in the humdrum
of professional life, and who was then engaged in putting together a
brochure on _Congressional Government_ which immediately gave him a
national standing. The name of this sympathetic acquaintance was Woodrow
Wilson.

[Illustration: Walter H. Page in 1876, when he was a Fellow of Johns
Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.]

[Illustration: Basil L. Gildersleeve, Professor of Greek, Johns Hopkins
University, 1876-1915]

Another important event had taken place, for, at St. Louis, on November
15, 1880, Page had married Miss Willia Alice Wilson. Miss Wilson was the
daughter of a Scotch physician, Dr. William Wilson, who had settled in
Michigan, near Detroit, in 1832. When she was a small child she went
with her sister's family--her father had died seven years before--to
North Carolina, near Cary; and she and Page had been childhood friends
and schoolmates. At the time of the wedding, Page was editor of the St.
Joseph _Gazette_; the fact that he had attained this position, five
months after starting at the bottom, sufficiently discloses his aptitude
for journalistic work.

Page had now outgrown any Southern particularism with which he may have
started life. He no longer found his country exclusively in the area
south of the Potomac; he had made his own the West, the North--New York,
Chicago, Denver, as well as Atlanta and Raleigh. It is worth while
insisting on this fact, for the cultivation of a wide-sweeping
Americanism and a profound faith in democracy became the qualities that
will loom most largely in his career from this time forward. It is
necessary only to read the newspaper letters which he wrote on his
Southern trip in 1881 to understand how early his mind seized this new
point of view. Many things which now fell under his observant eye in the
Southern States greatly irritated him and with his characteristic
impulsiveness he pictured these traits in pungent phrase. The atmosphere
of shiftlessness that too generally prevailed in some localities; the
gangs of tobacco-chewing loafers assembled around railway stations; the
listless Negroes that seemed to overhang the whole country like a black
cloud; the plantation mansions in a sad state of disrepair; the old
unoccupied slave huts overgrown with weeds; the unpainted and
broken-down fences; the rich soil that was crudely and wastefully
cultivated with a single crop--the youthful social philosopher found
himself comparing these vestigia of a half-moribund civilization with
the vibrant cities of the North, the beautiful white and green villages
of New England, and the fertile prairie farms of the West. "Even the
dogs," he said, "look old-fashioned." Oh, for a change in his beloved
South--a change of almost any kind! "Even a heresy, if it be bright and
fresh, would be a relief. You feel as if you wished to see some kind of
an effort put forth, a discussion, a fight, a runaway, anything to make
the blood go faster." Wherever Page saw signs of a new spirit--and he
saw many--he recorded them with an eagerness which showed his loyalty to
the section of his birth. The splitting up of great plantations into
small farms he put down as one of the indications of a new day. A
growing tendency to educate, not only the white child, but the Negro,
inspired a similar tribute. But he rejoiced most over the decreasing
bitterness of the masses over the memories of the Civil War, and
discovered, with satisfaction, that any remaining ill-feeling was a
heritage left not by the Union soldier, but by the carpetbagger.

And one scene is worth preserving, for it illustrates not only the zeal
of Page himself for the common country, but the changing attitude of the
Southern people. It was enacted at Martin, Tennessee, on the evening of
July 2, 1881. Page was spending a few hours in the village grocery,
discussing things in general with the local yeomanry, when the telegraph
operator came from the post office with rather more than his usual
expedition and excitement. He was frantically waving a yellow slip which
bore the news that President Garfield had been shot. Garfield had been
an energetic and a successful general in the war and his subsequent
course in Congress, where he had joined the radical Republicans, had not
caused the South to look upon him as a friend. But these farmers
responded to this shock, not like sectionalists, but like Americans.
"Every man of them," Page records, "expressed almost a personal sorrow.
Little was said of politics or of parties. Mr. Garfield was President of
the United States--that was enough. A dozen voices spoke the great
gratification that the assassin was not a Southern man. It was an
affecting scene to see weather-beaten old countrymen so profoundly
agitated--men who yesterday I should have supposed hardly knew and
certainly did not seem to care who was President. The great centres of
population, of politicians, and of thought may be profoundly agitated
to-night, but no more patriotic sorrow and humiliation is felt anywhere
by any men than by these old backwoods ex-Confederates."

Page himself was so stirred by the news that he ascended a cracker
barrel, and made a speech to the assembled countrymen, preaching to
responsive ears the theme of North and South, now reunited in a common
sorrow. Thus, by the time he was twenty-six, Page, at any rate in
respect to his Americanism, was a full-grown man.


II

A few years afterward Page had an opportunity of discussing this, his
favourite topic, with the American whom he most admired. Perhaps the
finest thing in the career of Grover Cleveland was the influence which
he exerted upon young men. After the sordid political transactions of
the reconstruction period and after the orgy of partisanship which had
followed the Civil War, this new figure, acceding to the Presidency in
1885, came as an inspiration to millions of zealous and intelligent
young college-bred Americans. One of the first to feel the new spell was
Walter Page; Mr. Cleveland was perhaps the most important influence in
forming his public ideals. Of everything that Cleveland
represented--civil service reform; the cleansing of politics, state and
national; the reduction in the tariff; a foreign policy which, without
degenerating into truculence, manfully upheld the rights of American
citizens; a determination to curb the growing pension evil; the doctrine
that the Government was something to be served and not something to be
plundered--Page became an active and brilliant journalistic advocate. It
was therefore a great day in his life when, on a trip to Washington in
the autumn of 1885, he had an hour's private conversation with President
Cleveland, and it was entirely characteristic of Page that he should
make the conversation take the turn of a discussion of the so-called
Southern question.

"In the White House at Washington," Page wrote about this visit, "is an
honest, plain, strong man, a man of wonderfully broad information and of
most uncommon industry. He has always been a Democrat. He is a
distinguished lawyer and a scholar on all public questions. He is as
frank and patriotic and sincere as any man that ever won the high place
he holds. Within less than a year he has done so well and so wisely that
he has disappointed his enemies and won their admiration. He is as
unselfish as he is great. He is one of the most industrious men in the
world. He rises early and works late and does not waste his time--all
because his time is now not his own but the Republic's, whose most
honoured servant he is. I count it among the most inspiring experiences
in my life that I had the privilege, at the suggestion of one of his
personal friends, of talking with him one morning about the complete
reuniting of the two great sections of our Republic by his election. I
told him, and I know I told him the truth, when I said that every young
man in the Southern States who, without an opportunity to share either
the glory or the defeat of the late Confederacy, had in spite of himself
suffered the disadvantages of the poverty and oppression that followed
war, took new hope for the full and speedy realization of a complete
union, of unparalleled prosperity and of broad thinking and noble living
from his elevation to the Presidency. I told him that the men of North
Carolina were not only patriotic but ambitious as well; and that they
were Democrats and proud citizens of the State and the Republic not
because they wanted offices or favours, but because they loved freedom
and wished the land that had been impoverished by war to regain more
than it had lost. 'I have not called, Mr. President, to ask for an
office for myself or for anybody else,' I remarked; 'but to have the
pleasure of expressing my gratification, as a citizen of North Carolina,
at the complete change in political methods and morals that I believe
will date from your Administration.' He answered that he was glad to
see all men who came in such a spirit and did not come to
beg--especially young men of the South of to-day; and he talked and
encouraged me to talk freely as if he had been as small a man as I am,
or I as great a man as he is.

"From that day to this it has been my business to watch every public act
that he does, to read every public word he speaks, and it has been a
pleasure and a benefit to me (like the benefit that a man gets from
reading a great history--for he is making a great history) to study the
progress of his Administration; and at every step he seems to me to
warrant the trust that the great Democratic party put in him."

The period to which Page refers in this letter represented the time when
he was making a serious and harassing attempt to establish himself in
his chosen profession in his native state. He went south for a short
visit after resigning his place on the New York _World_, and several
admirers in Raleigh persuaded him to found a new paper, which should
devote itself to preaching the Cleveland ideals, and, above all, to
exerting an influence on the development of a new Southern spirit. No
task could have been more grateful to Page and there was no place in
which he would have better liked to undertake it than in the old state
which he loved so well. The result was the _State Chronicle_ of Raleigh,
practically a new paper, which for a year and a half proved to be the
most unconventional and refreshing influence that North Carolina had
known in many a year. Necessarily Page found himself in conflict with
his environment. He had little interest in the things that then chiefly
interested the state, and North Carolina apparently had little interest
in the things that chiefly occupied the mind of the youthful journalist.
Page was interested in Cleveland, in the reform of the civil service;
the Democrats of North Carolina little appreciated their great national
leader and were especially hostile to his belief that service to a party
did not in itself establish a qualification for public office. Page was
interested in uplifting the common people, in helping every farmer to
own his own acres, and in teaching the most modern and scientific way of
cultivating them; he was interested in giving every boy and girl at
least an elementary education, and in giving a university training to
such as had the aptitude and the ambition to obtain it; he believed in
industrial training--and in these things the North Carolina of those
days had little concern. Page even went so far as to take an open stand
for the pitiably neglected black man: he insisted that he should be
taught to read and write, and instructed in agriculture and the manual
trades. A man who advocated such revolutionary things in those days was
accused--and Page was so accused--of attempting to promote the "social
equality" of the two races. Page also declaimed in favour of developing
the state industrially; he called attention to the absurdity of sending
Southern cotton to New England spinning mills, and he pointed out the
boundless but unworked natural resources of the state, in minerals,
forests, waterpower, and lands.

North Carolina, he informed his astonished compatriots, had once been a
great manufacturing colony; why could the state not become one again?
But the matter in which the buoyant editor and his constituents found
themselves most at variance was the spirit that controlled North
Carolina life. It was a spirit that found comfort for its present
poverty and lack of progress in a backward look at the greatness of the
state in the past and the achievements of its sons in the Civil War.
Though Page believed that the Confederacy had been a ghastly error, and
though he abhorred the institution of slavery and attributed to it all
the woes, economic and social, from which his section suffered, he
rendered that homage to the soldiers of the South which is the due of
brave, self-sacrificing and conscientious men; yet he taught that
progress lay in regarding the four dreadful years of the Civil War as
the closed chapter of an unhappy and mistaken history and in hastening
the day when the South should resume its place as a living part of the
great American democracy. All manifestations of a contrary spirit he
ridiculed in language which was extremely readable but which at times
outraged the good conservative people whom he was attempting to convert.
He did not even spare the one figure which was almost a part of the
Southerner's religion, the Confederate general, especially that
particular type who used his war record as a stepping stone to public
office, and whose oratory, colourful and turgid in its celebrations of
the past, Page regarded as somewhat unrelated, in style and matter, to
the realities of the present. The image-breaking editor even asserted
that the Daughters of the Confederacy were not entirely a helpful
influence in Southern regeneration; for they, too, were harping always
upon the old times and keeping alive sectional antagonisms and hatreds.
This he regarded as an unworthy occupation for high-minded Southern
women, and he said so, sometimes in language that made him very
unpopular in certain circles.

Altogether it was a piquant period in Page's life. He found that he had
suddenly become a "traitor" to his country and that his experiences in
the North had completely "Yankeeized" him. Even in more mature days,
Page's pen had its javelin-like quality; and in 1884, possessed as he
was of all the fury of youth, he never hesitated to return every blow
that was rained upon his head. As a matter of fact he had a highly
enjoyable time. The _State Chronicle_ during his editorship is one of
the most cherished recollections of older North Carolinians to-day. Even
those who hurled the liveliest epithets in his direction have long since
accepted the ideas for which Page was then contending; "the only trouble
with him," they now ruefully admit, "was that he was forty years ahead
of his time." They recall with satisfaction the satiric accounts which
Page used to publish of Democratic Conventions--solemn, long-winded,
frock-coated, white-neck-tied affairs that displayed little concern for
the reform of the tariff or of the civil service, but an energetic
interest in pensioning Confederate veterans and erecting monuments to
the Southern heroes of the Civil War. One editorial is joyfully
recalled, in which Page referred to a public officer who was
distinguished for his dignity and his family tree, but not noted for any
animated administration of his duties, as "Thothmes II." When this
bewildered functionary searched the Encyclopædia and learned that
"Thothmes II" was an Egyptian king of the XVIIIth dynasty, whose
dessicated mummy had recently been disinterred from the hot sands of the
desert, he naturally stopped his subscription to the paper. The metaphor
apparently tickled Page, for he used it in a series of articles which
have become immortal in the political annals of North Carolina. These
have always been known as the "Mummy letters." They furnished a vivid
but rather aggravating explanation for the existing backwardness and
chauvinism of the commonwealth. All the trouble, it seems, was caused by
the "mummies." "It is an awfully discouraging business," Page wrote, "to
undertake to prove to a mummy that it is a mummy. You go up to it and
say, 'Old fellow, the Egyptian dynasties crumbled several thousand years
ago: you are a fish out of water. You have by accident or the
Providence of God got a long way out of your time. This is America.' The
old thing grins that grin which death set on its solemn features when
the world was young; and your task is so pitiful that even the humour of
it is gone. Give it up."

Everything great in North Carolina, Page declared, belonged to a
vanished generation. "Our great lawyers, great judges, great editors,
are all of the past. . . . In the general intelligence of the people, in
intellectual force and in cultivation, we are doing nothing. We are not
doing or getting more liberal ideas, a broader view of this world. . . .
The presumptuous powers of ignorance, heredity, decayed respectability
and stagnation that control public action and public expression are
absolutely leading us back intellectually."

But Page did more than berate the mummified aristocracy which, he
declared, was driving the best talent and initiative from the state; he
was not the only man in Raleigh who expressed these unpopular views; at
that time, indeed, he was the centre and inspiration of a group of young
progressive spirits who held frequent meetings to devise ways of
starting the state on the road to a new existence. Page then, as always,
exercised a great fascination over young men. The apparently merciless
character of his ridicule might at first convey the idea of intolerance;
the fact remains, however, that he was the most tolerant of men; he was
almost deferential to the opinions of others, even the shallow and the
inexperienced; and nothing delighted him more than an animated
discussion. His liveliness of spirits, his mental and physical vitality,
the constant sparkle of his talk, the sharp edge of his humour,
naturally drew the younger men to his side. The result was the
organization of the Wautauga Club, a gathering which held monthly
meetings for the discussion of ways and means of improving social and
educational conditions in North Carolina. The very name gives the key to
its mental outlook. The Wautauga colony was one of the last founded in
North Carolina--in the extreme west, on a plateau of the Great Smoky
Mountains; it was always famous for the energy and independence of its
people. The word "Wautauga" therefore suggested the breaker of
tradition; and it provided a stimulating name for Page's group of young
spiritual and economic pathfinders. The Wautauga Club had a brief
existence of a little more than two years, the period practically
covering Page's residence in the state; but its influence is an
important fact at the present time. It gave the state ideas that
afterward caused something like a revolution in its economic and
educational status. The noblest monument to its labours is the State
College in Raleigh, an institution which now has more than a thousand
students, for the most part studying the mechanic arts and scientific
agriculture. To this one college most North Carolinians to-day attribute
the fact that their state in appreciable measure is realizing its great
economic and industrial opportunities. From it in the last thirty years
thousands of young men have gone: in all sections of the commonwealth
they have caused the almost barren acres to yield fertile and
diversified crops; they have planted everywhere new industries; they
have unfolded unsuspected resources and everywhere created wealth and
spread enlightenment. This institution is a direct outcome of Page's
brief sojourn in his native state nearly forty years ago. The idea
originated in his brain; the files of the _State Chronicle_ tell the
story of his struggle in its behalf; the activities of the Wautauga Club
were largely concentrated upon securing its establishment.

The State College was a great victory for Page, but final success did
not come until three years after he had left the state. For a year and a
half of hard newspaper work convinced Page that North Carolina really
had no permanent place for him. The _Chronicle_ was editorially a
success: Page's articles were widely quoted, not only in his own state
but in New England and other parts of the Union. He succeeded in
stirring up North Carolina and the South generally, but popular support
for the _Chronicle_ was not forthcoming in sufficient amount to make the
paper a commercial possibility. Reluctantly and sadly Page had to forego
his hope of playing an active part in rescuing his state from the
disasters of the Civil War. Late in the summer of 1885, he again left
for the North, which now became his permanent home.


III

And with this second sojourn in New York Page's opportunity came. The
first two years he spent in newspaper work, for the most part with the
_Evening Post_, but, one day in November, 1887, a man whom he had never
seen came into his office and unfolded a new opportunity. Two years
before a rather miscellaneous group had launched an ambitious literary
undertaking. This was a monthly periodical, which, it was hoped, would
do for the United States what such publications as the _Fortnightly_ and
the _Contemporary_ were doing for England. The magazine was to have the
highest literary quality and to be sufficiently dignified to attract the
finest minds in America as contributors; its purpose was to exercise a
profound influence in politics, literature, science, and art. The
projectors had selected for this publication a title that was almost
perfection--the _Forum_--but which, after nearly two years'
experimentation, represented about the limit of their achievement. The
_Forum_ had hardly made an impression on public thought and had
attracted very few readers, although it had lost large sums of money for
its progenitors. These public-spirited gentlemen now turned to Page as
the man who might rescue them from their dilemma and achieve their
purpose. He accepted the engagement, first as manager and presently as
editor, and remained the guiding spirit of the _Forum_ for eight years,
until the summer of 1895.

That the success of a publication is the success of its editors, and not
of its business managers and its "backers," is a truth that ought to be
generally apparent; never has this fact been so eloquently illustrated
as in the case of the _Forum_ under Page. Before his accession it had
had not the slightest importance; for the period of his editorship it is
doubtful if any review published in English exercised so great an
influence, and certainly none ever obtained so large a circulation. From
almost nothing the _Forum_, in two or three years, attracted 30,000
subscribers--something without precedent for a publication of this
character. It had accomplished this great result simply because of the
vitality and interest of its contents. The period covered was an
important one, in the United States and Europe; it was the time of
Cleveland's second administration in this country, and of Gladstone's
fourth administration in England; it was a time of great controversy and
of a growing interest in science, education, social reform and a better
political order. All these great matters were reflected in the pages of
the _Forum_, whose list of contributors contained the most distinguished
names in all countries. Its purpose, as Page explained it, was "to
provoke discussion about subjects of contemporary interest, in which the
magazine is not a partisan, but merely the instrument." In the highest
sense, that is, its purpose was journalistic; practically everything
that it printed was related to the thought and the action of the time.
So insistent was Page on this programme that his pages were not "closed"
until a week before the day of issue. Though the _Forum_ dealt
constantly in controversial subjects it never did so in a narrow-minded
spirit; it was always ready to hear both sides of a question and the
magazine "debate," in which opposing writers handled vigorously the same
theme, was a constant feature.

Page, indeed, represented a new type of editor. Up to that time this
functionary had been a rather solemn, inaccessible high priest; he sat
secluded in his sanctuary, and weeded out from the mass of manuscripts
dumped upon his desk the particular selections which seemed to be most
suited to his purpose. To solicit contributions would have seemed an
entirely undignified proceeding; in all cases contributors must come to
him. According to Page, however, "an editor must know men and be out
among men." His system of "making up" the magazine at first somewhat
astounded his associates. A month or two in advance of publication day
he would draw up his table of contents. This, in its preliminary stage,
amounted to nothing except a list of the main subjects which he aspired
to handle in that number. It was a hope, not a performance. The subjects
were commonly suggested by the happenings of the time--an especially
outrageous lynching, the trial of a clergyman for heresy, a new attack
upon the Monroe Doctrine, the discovery of a new substance such as
radium, the publication of an epoch-making book. Page would then fix
upon the inevitable men who could write most readably and most
authoritatively upon these topics, and "go after" them. Sometimes he
would write one of his matchless editorial letters; at other times he
would make a personal visit; if necessary, he would use any available
friends in a wire-pulling campaign. At all odds he must "get" his man;
once he had fixed upon a certain contributor nothing could divert him
from the chase. Nor did the negotiations cease after he had "landed" his
quarry. He had his way of discussing the subject with his proposed
writer, and he discussed it from every possible point of view. He would
take him to lunch or to dinner; in his quiet way he would draw him out,
find whether he really knew much about the subject, learn the attitude
that he was likely to take, and delicately slip in suggestions of his
own. Not infrequently this preliminary interview would disclose that the
much sought writer, despite appearances, was not the one who was
destined for that particular job; in this case Page would find some way
of shunting him in favour of a more promising candidate. But Page was no
mere chaser of names; there was nothing of the literary tuft-hunter
about his editorial methods. He liked to see such men as Theodore
Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, William Graham Sumner, Charles W. Eliot,
Frederic Harrison, Paul Bourget, and the like upon his title page--and
here these and many other similarly distinguished authors appeared--but
the greatest name could not attain a place there if the letter press
that followed were unworthy. Indeed Page's habit of throwing out the
contributions of the great, after paying a stiff price for them, caused
much perturbation in his counting room. One day he called in one of his
associates.

"Do you see that waste basket?" he asked, pointing to a large receptacle
filled to overflowing with manuscripts. "All our Cleveland articles are
there!"

He had gone to great trouble and expense to obtain a series of six
articles from the most prominent publicists and political leaders of
the country on the first year of Mr. Cleveland's second administration.
It was to be the "feature" of the number then in preparation.

"There isn't one of them," he declared, "who has got the point. I have
thrown them all away and I am going to try to write something myself."

And he spent a couple of days turning out an article which aroused great
public interest. When Page commissioned an article, he meant simply that
he would pay full price for it; whether he would publish it depended
entirely upon the quality of the material itself. But Page was just as
severe upon his own writings as upon those of other men. He wrote
occasionally--always under a nom-de-plume; but he had great difficulty
in satisfying his own editorial standards. After finishing an article he
would commonly send for one of his friends and read the result.

"That is superb!" this admiring associate would sometimes say.

In response Page would take the manuscript and, holding it aloft in two
hands, tear it into several bits, and throw the scraps into the waste
basket.

"Oh, I can do better than that," he would laugh and in another minute he
was busy rewriting the article, from beginning to end.

Page retired from the editorship of the _Forum_ in 1895. The severance
of relations was half a comedy, half a tragedy. The proprietors had only
the remotest relation to literature; they had lost much money in the
enterprise before Page became editor and only the fortunate accident of
securing his services had changed their losing venture into a financial
success. In a moment of despair, before the happier period had arrived,
they offered to sell the property to Page and his friends. Page quickly
assembled a new group to purchase control, when, much to the amazement
of the old owners, the _Forum_ began to make money. Instead of having a
burden on their hands, the proprietors suddenly discovered that they had
a gold mine. They therefore refused to deliver their holdings and an
inevitable struggle ensued for control. Page could edit a magazine and
turn a shipwrecked enterprise into a profitable one; but, in a tussle of
this kind, he was no match for the shrewd business men who owned the
property. When the time came for counting noses Page and his friends
found themselves in a minority. Of course his resignation as editor
necessarily followed this little unpleasantness. And just as inevitably
the _Forum_ again began to lose money, and soon sank into an obscurity
from which it has never emerged.

The _Forum_ had established Page's reputation as an editor, and the
competition for his services was lively. The distinguished Boston
publishing house of Houghton, Mifflin & Company immediately invited him
to become a part of their organization. When Horace E. Scudder, in 1898,
resigned the editorship of the _Atlantic Monthly_, Page succeeded him.
Thus Page became the successor of James Russell Lowell, James T. Fields,
William D. Howells, and Thomas Bailey Aldrich as the head of this famous
periodical. This meant that he had reached the top of his profession. He
was now forty-three years old.

No American publication had ever had so brilliant a history. Founded in
1857, in the most flourishing period of the New England writers, its
pages had first published many of the best essays of Emerson, the second
series of the Biglow papers as well as many other of Lowell's writings,
poems of Longfellow and Whittier, such great successes as Holmes's
"Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," Mrs. Howe's "Battle Hymn of the
Republic," and the early novels of Henry James. If America had a
literature, the _Atlantic_ was certainly its most successful periodical
exponent. Yet, in a sense, the _Atlantic_, by the time Page succeeded to
the editorship, had become the victim of its dazzling past. Its recent
editors had lived too exclusively in their back numbers. They had
conducted the magazine too much for the restricted audience of Boston
and New England. There was a time, indeed, when the business office
arranged the subscribers in two classes--"Boston" and "foreign";
"Boston" representing their local adherents, and "foreign" the loyal
readers who lived in the more benighted parts of the United States. One
of its editors had been heard to boast that he never solicited a
contribution; it was not his business to be a literary drummer! Let the
truth be fairly spoken: when Page made his first appearance in the
_Atlantic_ office, the magazine was unquestionably on the decline. Its
literary quality was still high; the momentum that its great
contributors had given it was still keeping the publication alive;
entrance into its columns still represented the ultimate ambition of the
aspiring American writer; but it needed a new spirit to insure its
future. What it required was the kind of editing that had suddenly made
the _Forum_ one of the greatest of English-written reviews. This is the
reason why the canny Yankee proprietors had reached over to New York and
grasped Page as quickly as the capitalists of the _Forum_ let him slip
between their fingers.

Page's sense of humour discovered a certain ironic aspect in his
position as the dictator of this famous New England magazine. The fact
that his manner was impatiently energetic and somewhat startling to the
placid atmosphere of Park Street was not the thing that really signified
its break with its past. But here was a Southerner firmly entrenched in
a headquarters that had long been sacred to the New England
abolitionists. One of the first sights that greeted Page, as he came
into the office, was the angular and spectacled countenance of William
Lloyd Garrison, gazing down from a steel engraving on the wall. One of
Garrison's sons was a colleague, and the anterooms were frequently
cluttered with dusky gentlemen patiently waiting for interviews with
this benefactor of their race. Page once was careless enough to inform
Mr. Garrison that "one of your niggers" was waiting outside for an
audience. "I very much regret, Mr. Page," came the answer, "that you
should insist on spelling 'Negro' with two 'g's'." Despite the mock
solemnity of this rebuke, perennial good-nature and raillery prevailed
between the son of Garrison and his disrespectful but ever sympathetic
Southern friend. Indeed, one of Page's earliest performances was to
introduce a spirit of laughter and genial coöperation into a rather
solemn and self-satisfied environment. Mr. Mifflin, the head of the
house, even formally thanked Page "for the hearty human way in which you
take hold of life." Mr. Ellery Sedgwick, the present editor of the
_Atlantic_, has described the somewhat disconcerting descent of Page
upon the editorial sanctuary of James Russell Lowell:

     "Were a visitant from another sphere to ask me for the incarnation
     of those qualities we love to call American, I should turn to a
     familiar gallery of my memory and point to the living portrait that
     hangs there of Walter Page. A sort of foursquareness, bluntness, it
     seemed to some; an uneasy, often explosive energy; a disposition to
     underrate fine drawn nicenesses of all sorts; ingrained Yankee
     common sense, checking his vaulting enthusiasm; enormous
     self-confidence, impatience of failure--all of these were in him;
     and he was besides affectionate to a fault, devoted to his country,
     his family, his craft--a strong, bluff, tender man.

     "Those were the decorous days of the old tradition, and Page's
     entrance into the 'atmosphere' of Park Street has taken on the
     dignity of legend. There were all kinds of signs and portents, as
     the older denizens will tell you. Strange breezes floated through
     the office, electric emanations, and a pervasive scent of tobacco,
     which--so the local historian says--had been unknown in the
     vicinity since the days of Walter Raleigh, except for the literary
     aroma of Aldrich's quarantined sanctum upstairs. Page's coming
     marked the end of small ways. His first requirement was, in lieu of
     a desk, a table that might have served a family of twelve for
     Thanksgiving dinner. No one could imagine what that vast, polished
     tableland could serve for until they watched the editor at work.
     Then they saw. Order vanished and chaos reigned. Huge piles of
     papers, letters, articles, reports, books, pamphlets, magazines,
     congregated themselves as if by magic. To work in such confusion
     seemed hopeless, but Page eluded the congestion by the simple
     expedient of moving on. He would light a fresh cigar, give the
     editorial chair a hitch, and begin his work in front of a fresh
     expanse of table, with no clutter of the past to disturb the new
     day's litter.

     "The motive power of his work was enthusiasm. Never was more
     generous welcome given to a newcomer than Page held out to the
     successful manuscript of an unknown. I remember, though I heard the
     news second hand at the time, what a day it was in the office when
     the first manuscript from the future author of 'To Have and To
     Hold,' came in from an untried Southern girl. He walked up and
     down, reading paragraphs aloud and slapping the crisp manuscript
     to enforce his commendation. To take a humbler instance, I recall
     the words of over generous praise with which he greeted the first
     paper I ever sent to an editor quite as clearly as I remember the
     monstrous effort which had brought it into being. Sometimes he
     would do a favoured manuscript the honour of taking it out to lunch
     in his coat-pocket, and an associate vividly recalls eggs, coffee,
     and pie in a near-by restaurant, while, in a voice that could be
     heard by the remotest lunchers, Page read passages which many of
     them were too startled to appreciate. He was not given to
     overrating, but it was not in his nature to understate. 'I tell
     you,' said he, grumbling over some unfortunate proof-sheets from
     Manhattan, 'there isn't one man in New York who can write
     English--not from the Battery to Harlem Heights.' And if the faults
     were moral rather than literary, his disapproval grew in emphasis.
     There is more than tradition in the tale of the Negro who,
     presuming on Page's deep interest in his race, brought to his desk
     a manuscript copied word for word from a published source. Page
     recognized the deception, and seizing the rascal's collar with a
     firm editorial grip, rejected the poem, and ejected the poet, with
     an energy very invigorating to the ancient serenities of the
     office.

     "Page was always effervescent with ideas. Like an editor who would
     have made a good fisherman, he used to say that you had to cast a
     dozen times before you could get a strike. He was forever in those
     days sending out ideas and suggestions and invitations to write.
     The result was electric, and the magazine became with a suddenness
     (of which only an editor can appreciate the wonder) a storehouse of
     animating thoughts. He avoided the mistake common to our craft of
     editing a magazine for the immediate satisfaction of his
     colleagues. 'Don't write for the office,' he would say. 'Write for
     outside,' and so his magazine became a living thing. His phrase
     suggests one special gift that Page had, for which his profession
     should do him especial honour. He was able, quite beyond the powers
     of any man of my acquaintance, to put compendiously into words the
     secrets of successful editing. It was capital training just to hear
     him talk. 'Never save a feature,' he used to say. 'Always work for
     the next number. Forget the others. Spend everything just on that.'
     And to those who know, there is divination in the principle. Again
     he understood instinctively that to write well a man must not only
     have something to say, but must long to say it. A highly
     intelligent representative of the coloured race came to him with a
     philosophic essay. Page would have none of it. 'I know what you are
     thinking of,' said Page. 'You are thinking of the barriers we set
     up against you, and the handicap of your lot. If you will write
     what it feels like to be a Negro, I will print that.' The result
     was a paper which has seemed to me the most moving expression of
     the hopeless hope of the race I know of.

     "Page was generous in his coöperation. He never drew a rigid line
     about his share in any enterprise, but gave and took help with each
     and all. A lover of good English, with an honest passion for things
     tersely said, Page esteemed good journalism far above any
     second-rate manifestation of more pretentious forms; but many of us
     will regret that he was not privileged to find some outlet for his
     energies in which aspiration for real literature might have played
     an ampler part. For the literature of the past Page had great
     respect, but his interest was ever in the present and the future.
     He was forever fulminating against bad writing, and hated the
     ignorant and slipshod work of the hack almost as much as he
     despised the sham of the man who affected letters, the dabbler and
     the poetaster. His taste was for the roast beef of literature, not
     for the side dishes and the trimmings, and his appreciation of the
     substantial work of others was no surer than his instinct for his
     own performance. He was an admirable writer of exposition,
     argument, and narrative--solid and thoughtful, but never dull. . . .
     I came into close relations with him and from him I learned more of
     my profession than from any one I have ever known. Scores of other
     men would say the same."

But the fact that a new hand had seized the _Atlantic_ was apparent in
other places than in the _Atlantic_ office itself. One of Page's
contributors of the _Forum_ days, Mr. Courtney DeKalb, happened to be in
St. Louis when the first number of the magazine under its new editor
made its appearance. Mr. DeKalb had been out of the country for some
time and knew nothing of the change. Happening accidentally to pick up
the _Atlantic_, the table of contents caught his eye. It bore the traces
of an unmistakable hand. Only one man, he said to himself, could
assemble such a group as that, and above all, only Page could give such
an enticing turn of the titles. He therefore sat down and wrote his old
friend congratulating him on his accession to the _Atlantic Monthly_.
The change that now took place was indeed a conspicuous, almost a
startling one. The _Atlantic_ retained all its old literary flavour, for
to its traditions Page was as much devoted as the highest caste
Bostonian; it still gave up much of its space to a high type of fiction,
poetry, and reviews of contemporary literature, but every number
contained also an assortment of articles which celebrated the prevailing
activities of men and women in all worth-while fields of effort. There
were discussions of present-day politics, and these even became
personal dissections of presidential candidates; there were articles on
the racial characters of the American population: Theodore Roosevelt was
permitted to discuss the New York police; Woodrow Wilson to pass in
review the several elements that made the Nation; Booker T. Washington
to picture the awakening of the Negro; John Muir to enlighten Americans
upon a national beauty and wealth of which they had been woefully
ignorant, their forests; William Allen White to describe certain aspects
of his favourite Kansas; E.L. Godkin to review the dangers and the hopes
of American democracy; Jacob Rüs to tell about the Battle with the Slum;
and W.G. Frost to reveal for the first time the archaic civilization of
the Kentucky mountaineers. The latter article illustrated Page's genius
at rewriting titles. Mr. Frost's theme was that these Kentucky
mountaineers were really Elizabethan survivals; that their dialect,
their ballads, their habits were really a case of arrested development;
that by studying them present-day Americans could get a picture of their
distant forbears. Page gave vitality to the presentation by changing a
commonplace title to this one: "Our Contemporary Ancestors."

There were those who were offended by Page's willingness to seek
inspiration on the highways and byways and even in newspapers, for not
infrequently he would find hidden away in a corner an idea that would
result in valuable magazine matter. On one occasion at least this
practice had important literary consequences. One day he happened to
read that a Mrs. Robert Hanning had died in Toronto, the account
casually mentioning the fact that Mrs. Hanning was the youngest sister
of Thomas Carlyle. Page handed this clipping to a young assistant, and
told him to take the first train to Canada. The editor could easily
divine that a sister of Carlyle, expatriated for forty-six years on
this side of the Atlantic, must have received a large number of letters
from her brother, and it was safe to assume that they had been carefully
preserved. Such proved to be the fact; and a new volume of Carlyle
letters, of somewhat more genial character than the other collections,
was the outcome of this visit[4]. And another fruit of this journalistic
habit was "The Memoirs of a Revolutionist," by Prince Peter Kropotkin.
In 1897 the great Russian nihilist was lecturing in Boston. Page met
him, learned from his own lips his story, and persuaded him to put it in
permanent form. This willingness of Page to admit such a revolutionary
person into the pages of the _Atlantic_ caused some excitement in
conventional circles. In fact, it did take some courage, but Page never
hesitated; the man was of heroic mould, he had a great story to tell, he
wielded an engaging pen, and his purposes were high-minded. A great book
of memoirs was the result.

Mr. Sedgwick refers above to Page's editorial fervour when Miss Mary
Johnston's "Prisoners of Hope" first fell out of the blue sky into his
Boston office. Page's joy was not less keen because the young author was
a Virginia girl, and because she had discovered that the early period of
Virginia history was a field for romance. When, a few months afterward,
Page was casting about for an _Atlantic_ serial, Miss Johnston and this
Virginia field seemed to be an especially favourable prospect.
"Prisoners of Hope" had been published as a book and had made a good
success, but Miss Johnston's future still lay ahead of her. With Page to
think meant to act, and so, instead of writing a formal letter, he at
once jumped on a train for Birmingham, Alabama, where Miss Johnston was
then living. "I remember quite distinctly that first meeting," writes
Miss Johnston. "The day was rainy. Standing at my window I watched Mr.
Page--a characteristic figure, air and walk--approach the house. When a
few minutes later I met him he was simplicity and kindliness itself.
This was my first personal contact with publishers (my publishers) or
with editors of anything so great as the _Atlantic_. My heart beat! But
he was friendly and Southern. I told him what I had done upon a new
story. He was going on that night. Might he take the manuscript with him
and read it upon the train? It might--he couldn't say positively, of
course--but it might have serial possibilities. I was only too glad for
him to have the manuscript. I forget just how many chapters I had
completed. But it was not quite in order. Could I get it so in a few
hours? In that case he would send a messenger for it from the hotel.
Yes, I could. Very good! A little further talk and he left with a strong
handshake. Three or four hours later he had the manuscript and took it
with him from Birmingham that night."

Page's enterprising visit had put into his hands the half-finished
manuscript of a story, "To Have and to Hold," which, when printed in the
_Atlantic_, more than doubled its circulation, and which, when made into
a book, proved one of the biggest successes since "Uncle Tom's Cabin."

Page's most independent stroke in his _Atlantic_ days came with the
outbreak of the Spanish-American War. Boston was then the headquarters
of a national mood which has almost passed out of popular remembrance.
Its spokesmen called themselves anti-imperialists. The theory back of
their protest was that the American declaration of war on Spain was not
only the wanton attack of a great bully upon a feeble little country: it
was something that was bound to have deplorable consequences. The
United States was breaking with its past and engaging in European
quarrels; as a consequence of the war it would acquire territories and
embark on a career of "imperialism." Page was impatient at this kind of
twaddle. He declared that the Spanish War was a "necessary act of
surgery for the health of civilization." He did not believe that a
nation, simply because it was small, should be permitted to maintain
indefinitely a human slaughter house at the door of the United States.
The _Atlantic_ for June, 1898, gave the so-called anti-imperialists a
thrill of horror. On the cover appeared the defiantly flying American
flag; the first article was a vigorous and approving presentation of the
American case against Spain; though this was unsigned, its incisive
style at once betrayed the author. The _Atlantic_ had printed the
American flag on its cover during the Civil War; but certain New
Englanders thought that this latest struggle, in its motives and its
proportions, was hardly entitled to the distinction. Page declared,
however, that the Spanish War marked a new period in history; and he
endorsed the McKinley Administration, not only in the war itself, but in
its consequences, particularly the annexation of the Philippine Islands.

Page greatly enjoyed life in Boston and Cambridge. The _Atlantic_ was
rapidly growing in circulation and in influence, and the new friends
that its editor was making were especially to his taste. He now had a
family of four children, three boys and one girl--and their bringing up
and education, as he said at this time, constituted his real occupation.
So far as he could see, in the summer of 1899, he was permanently
established in life. But larger events in the publishing world now again
pulled him back to New York.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: "Letters of Thomas Carlyle to his Youngest Sister." Edited
by Charles Townsend Copeland. Houghton, Mifflin & Company, 1899.]




CHAPTER III

"THE FORGOTTEN MAN"

I


In July, 1899, the publishing community learned that financial
difficulties were seriously embarrassing the great house of Harper. For
nearly a century this establishment had maintained a position almost of
preëminence among American publishers. Three generations of Harpers had
successively presided over its destinies; its magazines and books had
become almost a household necessity in all parts of the United States,
and its authors included many of the names most celebrated in American
letters. The average American could no more associate the idea of
bankruptcy with this great business than with the federal Treasury
itself. Yet this incredible disaster had virtually taken place. At this
time the public knew nothing of the impending ruin; the fact was,
however, that, in July, 1899, the banking house of J.P. Morgan & Company
practically controlled this property. This was the situation which again
called Page to New York.

In the preceding year Mr. S.S. McClure, whose recent success as editor
and publisher had been little less than a sensation, had joined forces
with Mr. Frank N. Doubleday, and organized the new firm of Doubleday &
McClure. This business was making rapid progress; and that it would soon
become one of the leading American publishing houses was already
apparent. It was perhaps not unnatural, therefore, that Mr. J. Pierpont
Morgan, scanning the horizon for the men who might rescue the Harper
concern from approaching disaster, should have had his attention drawn
to Mr. McClure and Mr. Doubleday. "The failure of Harper & Brothers,"
Mr. Morgan said in a published statement, "would be a national
calamity." One morning, therefore, a member of the Harper firm called
upon Mr. McClure. Without the slightest hesitation he unfolded the
Harper situation to his astonished contemporary. The solution proposed
was more astonishing still. This was that Mr. Doubleday and Mr. McClure
should amalgamate their young and vigorous business with the Harper
enterprise and become the active managers of the new corporation. Both
Mr. McClure and Mr. Doubleday were comparatively young men, and the
magnitude of the proposed undertaking at first rather staggered them. It
was as though a small independent steel maker should suddenly be invited
to take over the United States Steel Corporation. Mr. McClure,
characteristically impetuous and daring, wished to accept the invitation
outright; Mr. Doubleday, however, suggested a period of probation. The
outcome was that the two men offered to take charge of Harper & Brothers
for a few months, and then decide whether they wished to make the
association a permanent one. One thing was immediately apparent; Messrs.
Doubleday and McClure, able as they were, would need the help of the
best talent available in the work that lay ahead. The first man to whom
they turned was Page, who presently left Boston and took up his business
abode at Franklin Square. The rumble of the elevated road was somewhat
distracting after the four quiet years in Park Street, but the new daily
routine was not lacking in interest. The Harper experiment, however, did
not end as Mr. Morgan had hoped. After a few months Messrs. Doubleday,
Page and McClure withdrew, and left the work of rescue to be performed
by Mr. George Harvey, who, curiously enough, succeeded Page, twenty-one
years afterward, in an even more important post--that of ambassador to
the Court of St. James's. The one important outcome of the Harper
episode, so far as Page was concerned, was the forming of a close
business and personal association with Mr. Frank N. Doubleday. As soon
as the two men definitely decided not to assume the Harper
responsibility, therefore, they joined forces and founded the firm of
Doubleday, Page & Company. Page now had the opportunity which he had
long wished for; the mere editing of magazines, even magazines of such
an eminent character as the _Forum_ and the _Atlantic Monthly_, could
hardly satisfy his ambition; he yearned to possess something which he
could call his own, at least in part.

The life of an editor has its unsatisfactory aspect, unless the editor
himself has an influential ownership in his periodical. Page now found
his opportunity to establish a monthly magazine which he could regard as
his own in both senses. He was its untrammelled editor, and also, in
part, its proprietor. All editors and writers will sympathize with the
ideas expressed in a letter written about this time to Page's friend,
Mr. William Roscoe Thayer, already distinguished as the historian of
Italian unity and afterward to win fame as the biographer of Cavour and
John Hay. When the first number of the _World's Work_ appeared Mr.
Thayer wrote, expressing a slight disappointment that its leading
tendency was journalistic rather than literary and intellectual. "When
you edited the _Forum_," wrote Mr. Thayer, "I perceived that no such
talent for editing had been seen in America before, and when, a little
later, you rejuvenated the _Atlantic_, making it for a couple of years
the best periodical printed in English, I felt that you had a great
mission before you as evoker and editor of the best literary work and
weightiest thought on important topics of our foremost men." He had
hoped to see a magnified _Atlantic_, and the new publication, splendid
as it was, seemed to be of rather more popular character than the
publications with which Page had previously been associated. Page met
this challenge in his usual hearty fashion.

     _To William Roscoe Thayer_
       34 Union Square East, New York,
         December 5, 1900.

     My Dear Thayer:

     The _World's Work_ has brought me nothing so good as your letter of
     yesterday. When Mrs. Page read it, she shouted "Now that's it!" For
     "it" read "truth," and you will have her meaning and mine. My
     thanks you may be sure you have, in great and earnest abundance.

     You surprise me in two ways--(1) that you think as well of the
     magazine as you do. If it have half the force and earnestness that
     you say it has, how happy I shall be, for then it will surely bring
     something to pass. The other way in which you surprise me is by the
     flattering things that you say about my conduct of the _Atlantic_.
     Alas! it was not what you in your kind way say--no, no.

     Of course the _World's Work_ is not yet by any means what I hope to
     make it. But it has this incalculable advantage (to me) over every
     other magazine in existence: it is mine (mine and my partners',
     i.e., partly mine), and I shall not work to build up a good piece
     of machinery and then be turned out to graze as an old horse is.
     This of course, is selfish and personal--not wholly selfish either,
     I think. I threw down the _Atlantic_ for this reason: (Consider the
     history of its editors) Lowell[5] complained bitterly that he was
     never rewarded properly for the time and work he did; Fields was
     (in a way) one of its owners; it was sold out from under Howells,
     etc., etc. I might (probably should) have been at the mercy
     completely of owners some day who would have dismissed me for a
     younger man. Nearly all hired editors suffer this fate. My good
     friends in Boston were sincere in thinking that my day of doom
     would never come; but they didn't offer me any guarantee--part
     ownership, for instance; and the years go swiftly. I could afford,
     of my own volition, to leave the _Atlantic_. I couldn't afford to
     take permanently the risks that a hired editor must take. Nor
     should I ever again have turned my hand to such a task except on a
     magazine of my own. I should have sought other employment. There
     are many easier and better and more influential things to do--yet;
     ten years hence I might have been too old. Harry Houghton[6] has an
     old horse thirty years old. I used to see him grazing sometimes and
     hear his master's self-congratulatory explanation of his own
     kindness to that faithful beast. In the office of Houghton, Mifflin
     & Company there is an old man whom I used to see every
     day--pensioned, grazing. Then I would go home and see four bright
     children. Three of them are now away from home at school; and the
     four cost a pretty penny to educate. My income had been the same
     for ten years-or very nearly the same. If I was a "magic" editor, I
     confess I didn't see the magic; and there is no power under Heaven
     or in it that can prove to me that I ought to keep on making
     magazines as a hired man--without the common security of permanent
     service for lack of which nearly all my predecessors lost their
     chance.

     But this is not all, nor half. A man ought to express himself,
     ought to live his own life, say his own little say, before silence
     comes. The "say" may be bad--a mere yawp, and silence might be more
     becoming. But the same argument would make a man dissatisfied with
     his own nose if it happened to be ugly. It's _his_ nose, and he
     must content himself. So it's _his_ yawp and he must let it go.

     I'm not going to make the new magazine my own megaphone--you may be
     sure of that. It will nevertheless contain my general
     interpretation of things, in which I swear I do believe! The first
     thing, of course, is to establish it. Then it can be shaped more
     nearly into what I wish it to become. If it seem unmannerly,
     aggressive, I know no other way to make it heard. If it died, then
     the game would be up. Well, we seem to have established it at once.
     It promises not to cost us a penny of investment.

     Now, the magazines need new topics. They have all threshed over old
     straw for many years. There is _one_ new subject, to my thinking
     worth all the old ones: the new impulse in American life, the new
     feeling of nationality, our coming to realize ourselves. To my mind
     there is greater promise in democracy than men of any preceding
     period ever dared dream of--aggressive democracy--growth by action.
     Our writers (the few we have) are yet in the pre-democratic era.
     When men's imaginations lay hold on the things that already begin
     to appear above the horizon, we shall have something worth reading.
     At present I can do no more than bawl out, "See! here are new
     subjects." One of these days somebody will come along who can write
     about them. I have started out without a writer. Fiske is under
     contract, James would give nothing more to the _Atlantic_, you were
     ill (I thank Heaven you are no longer so) the second-and third-rate
     essayists have been bought by mere Wall Street publishers. Beyond
     these are the company of story tellers and beyond them only a
     dreary waste of dead-level unimaginative men and women. I can
     (soon) get all that I could ever have got in the _Atlantic_ and new
     ones (I know they'll come) whom I could never have got there.

     You'll see--within a year or two--by far a better magazine than I
     have ever made; and you and I will differ in nothing unless you
     feel despair about the breakdown of certain democratic theories,
     which I think were always mere theories. Let 'em go! The real
     thing, which is life and action, is better.

     Heartily and always your grateful friend,
                                 Walter H. Page

Thus the fact that Page's new magazine was intended for a popular
audience was not the result of accident, but of design. It represented a
periodical plan which had long been taking shape in Page's mind. The
things that he had been doing for the _Forum_ and the _Atlantic_ he
aspired to do for a larger audience than that to which publications of
this character could appeal. Scholar though Page was, and lover of the
finest things in literature that he had always been, yet this sympathy
and interest had always lain with the masses. Perhaps it is impossible
to make literature democratic, but Page believed that he would be
genuinely serving the great cause that was nearest his heart if he could
spread wide the facts of the modern world, especially the facts of
America, and if he could clothe the expression in language which, while
always dignified and even "literary," would still be sufficiently
touched with the vital, the picturesque, and the "human," to make his
new publication appeal to a wide audience of intelligent, everyday
Americans. It was thus part of his general programme of improving the
status of the average man, and it formed a logical part of his
philosophy of human advancement. For the only acceptable measure of any
civilization, Page believed, was the extent to which it improved the
condition of the common citizen. A few cultured and university-trained
men at the top; a few ancient families living in luxury; a few painters
and poets and statesmen and generals; these things, in Page's view, did
not constitute a satisfactory state of society; the real test was the
extent to which the masses participated in education, in the necessities
and comforts of existence, in the right of self-evolution and
self-expression, in that "equality of opportunity," which, Page never
wearied of repeating, "was the basis of social progress." The mere right
to vote and to hold office was not democracy; parliamentary majorities
and political caucuses were not democracy--at the best these things were
only details and not the most important ones; democracy was the right of
every man to enjoy, in accordance with his aptitudes of character and
mentality, the material and spiritual opportunities that nature and
science had placed at the disposition of mankind. This democratic creed
had now become the dominating interest of Page's life. From this time on
it consumed all his activities. His new magazine set itself first of all
to interpret the American panorama from this point of view; to describe
the progress that the several parts of the country were making in the
several manifestations of democracy--education, agriculture, industry,
social life, politics--and the importance that Page attached to them was
practically in the order named. Above all it concerned itself with the
men and women who were accomplishing most in the definite realization of
this great end.

And now also Page began to carry his activities far beyond mere print.
In his early residence in New York, from 1885 to 1895, he had always
taken his part in public movements; he had been a vital spirit in the
New York Reform Club, which was engaged mainly in advocating the
Cleveland tariff; he had always shown a willingness to experiment with
new ideas; at one time he had mingled with Socialists and he had been
quite captivated by the personal and literary charm of Henry George.
After 1900, however, Page became essentially a public man, though not in
the political sense. His work as editor and writer was merely one
expression of the enthusiasms that occupied his mind. From 1900 until
1913, when he left for England, life meant for him mainly an effort to
spread the democratic ideal, as he conceived it; concretely it
represented a constant campaign for improving the fundamental
opportunities and the everyday social advantages of the masses.


II

Inevitably the condition of the people in his own homeland enlisted
Page's sympathy, for he had learned of their necessities at first hand.
The need of education had powerfully impressed him even as a boy. At
twenty-three he began writing articles for the Raleigh _Observer_, and
practically all of them were pleas for the education of the Southern
child. His subsequent activities of this kind, as editor of the _State
Chronicle_, have already been described. The American from other parts
of the country is rather shocked when he first learns of the
backwardness of education in the South a generation ago. In any real
sense there was no publicly supported system for training the child. A
few wretched hovels, scattered through a sparsely settled country,
served as school houses; a few uninspiring and neglected women, earning
perhaps $50 or $75 a year, did weary duty as teachers; a few groups of
anemic and listless children, attending school for only forty days a
year--such was the preparation for life which most Southern states gave
the less fortunate of their citizens. The glaring fact that emphasized
the outcome of this official carelessness was an illiteracy, among white
men and women, of 26 per cent. Among the Negroes it was vastly larger.

The first exhortation to reform came from the Wautauga Club, which Page
had organized in Raleigh in 1884. After Page had left his native state,
other men began preaching the same crusade. Perhaps the greatest of
those advocates whom the South loves to refer to as "educational
statesmen" was Dr. Charles D. McIver, of Greensboro, N.C. McIver's
personality and career had an heroic quality all their own. Back in the
'eighties McIver and Edwin A. Alderman, now President of the University
of Virginia, endured all kinds of hardships and buffetings in the cause
of popular education; they stumped the state, much like political
campaigners, preaching the strange new gospel in mountain cabin, in
village church, at the cart's tail--all in an attempt to arouse their
lethargic countrymen to the duty of laying a small tax to save their
children from illiteracy. Some day the story of McIver and Alderman will
find its historian; when it does, he will learn that, in those dark
ages, one of their greatest sources of inspiration was Walter Page.
McIver, a great burly boy, physically and intellectually, so full of
energy that existence for him was little less than an unending tornado,
so full of zeal that any other occupation than that of training the
neglected seemed a trifling with life, so sleepless in his efforts that,
at the age of forty-five, he one day dropped dead while travelling on a
railroad train; Alderman, a man of finer culture, quieter in his
methods, an orator of polish and restraint, but an advocate vigorous in
the prosecution of the great end; and Page, living faraway in the North,
but pumping his associates full of courage and enthusiasm--these were
the three guardsmen of this new battle for the elevation of the white
and black men of the South. McIver's great work was the State Normal
College for Women, which, amid unparalleled difficulties, he founded
for teaching the teachers of the new Southern generation. It was at this
institution that Page, in 1897, delivered the address which gave the
cause of Southern education that one thing which is worth armies to any
struggling reform--a phrase; and it was a phrase that lived in the
popular mind and heart and summed up, in a way that a thousand speeches
could never have done, the great purpose for which the best people in
the state were striving.

His editorial gift for title-making now served Page in good stead. "The
Forgotten Man," which was the heading of his address, immediately passed
into the common speech of the South and even at this day inevitably
appears in all discussions of social progress. It was again Page's
familiar message of democracy, of improving the condition of the
everyday man, woman, and child; and the message, as is usually the case
in all incitements to change, involved many unpleasant facts. Page had
first of all to inform his fellow Southerners that it was only in the
South that "The Forgotten Man" was really an outstanding feature. He did
not exist in New England, in the Middle States, in the Mississippi
Valley, or in the West, or existed in these regions to so slight an
extent that he was not a grave menace to society. But in the South the
situation was quite different. And for this fact the explanation was
found in history. The South certainly could not fix the blame upon
Nature. In natural wealth--in forests, mines, quarries, rich soil, in
the unlimited power supplied by water courses--the Southern States
formed perhaps the richest region in the country. These things North
Carolina and her sister communities had not developed; more startling
still, they had not developed a source of wealth that was infinitely
greater than all these combined; they had not developed their men and
their women. The Southern States represented the purest "Anglo-Saxon"
strain in the United States; to-day in North Carolina only one person in
four hundred is of "foreign stock," and a voting list of almost any town
contains practically nothing except the English and Scotch names that
were borne by the original settlers. Yet here democracy, in any real
sense, had scarcely obtained a footing. The region which had given
Thomas Jefferson and George Washington to the world was still, in the
year 1897, organized upon an essentially aristocratic basis. The
conception of education which prevailed in the most hide-bound
aristocracies of Europe still ruled south of the Potomac. There was no
acceptance of that fundamental American doctrine that education was the
function of the state. It was generally regarded as the luxury of the
rich and the socially high placed; it was certainly not for the poor;
and it was a generally accepted view that those who enjoyed this
privilege must pay for it out of their own pockets. Again Page returned
to the "mummy" theme--the fact that North Carolina, and the South
generally, were too much ruled by "dead men's" hands. The state was
ruled by a "little aristocracy, which, in its social and economic
character, made a failure and left a stubborn crop of wrong social
notions behind it--especially about education." The chief backward
influences were the stump and the pulpit. "From the days of King George
to this day, the politicians of North Carolina have declaimed against
taxes, thus laying the foundation of our poverty. It was a misfortune
for us that the quarrel with King George happened to turn upon the
question of taxation--so great was the dread of taxation that was
instilled into us." What had the upper classes done for the education of
the average man? The statistics of illiteracy, the deplorable economic
and social conditions of the rural population--and most of the
population of North Carolina was rural--furnished the answer.

Thus the North Carolina aristocracy had failed in education and the
failure of the Church had been as complete and deplorable. The preachers
had established preparatory schools for boys and girls, but these were
under the control of sects; and so education was either a class or an
ecclesiastical concern. "The forgotten man remained forgotten. The
aristocratic scheme of education had passed him by. To a less extent,
but still to the extent of hundreds of thousands, the ecclesiastical
scheme had passed him by." But even the education which these
institutions gave was inferior. Page told his North Carolina audience
that the University of which they were so proud did not rank with
Harvard, Yale, Princeton, and other universities of the North. The state
had not produced great scholars nor established great libraries. In the
estimation of publishers North Carolina was unimportant as a book
market. "By any test that may be made, both these systems have failed
even with the classes that they appealed to." The net result was that
"One in every four was wholly forgotten"--that is, was unable to read
and write. And the worst of it all was that the victim of this neglect
was not disturbed over his situation. "The forgotten man was content to
be forgotten. He became not only a dead weight, but a definite opponent
of social progress. He faithfully heard the politician on the stump
praise him for virtues that he did not have. The politicians told him
that he lived in the best state in the Union; told him that the other
politicians had some hare-brained plan to increase his taxes, told him
as a consolation for his ignorance how many of his kinsmen had been
killed in the war, told him to distrust any one who wished to change
anything. What was good enough for his fathers was good enough for him.
Thus the 'forgotten man' became a dupe, became thankful for being
neglected. And the preacher told him that the ills and misfortunes of
this life were blessings in disguise, that God meant his poverty as a
means of grace, and that if he accepted the right creed all would be
well with him. These influences encouraged inertia. There could not have
been a better means to prevent the development of the people."

Even more tragic than these "forgotten men" were the "forgotten women."
"Thin and wrinkled in youth from ill-prepared food, clad without warmth
or grace, living in untidy houses, working from daylight till bedtime at
the dull round of weary duties, the slaves of men of equal slovenliness,
the mothers of joyless children--all uneducated if not illiterate."
"This sight," Page told his hearers, "every one of you has seen, not in
the countries whither we send missionaries, but in the borders of the
State of North Carolina, in this year of grace."

"Our civilization," he declared, "has been a failure." Both the
politicians and the preacher had failed to lift the masses. "It is a
time for a wiser statesmanship and a more certain means of grace." He
admitted that there had been recent progress in North Carolina, owing
largely to the work of McIver and Alderman, but taxes for educational
purposes were still low. What was the solution? "A public school system
generously supported by public sentiment and generously maintained by
both state and local taxation, is the only effective means to develop
the forgotten man and even more surely the only means to develop the
forgotten woman. . . ." "If any beggar for a church school oppose a local
tax for schools or a higher school tax, take him to the huts of the
forgotten women and children, and in their hopeless presence remind him
that the church system of education has not touched tens of thousands of
these lives and ask him whether he thinks it wrong that the commonwealth
should educate them. If he think it wrong ask him and ask the people
plainly, whether he be a worthy preacher of the gospel that declares one
man equal to another in the sight of God? . . . The most sacred thing in
the commonwealth and to the commonwealth is the child, whether it be
your child or the child of the dull-faced mother of the hovel. The child
of the dull-faced mother may, as you know, be the most capable child in
the state. . . . Several of the strongest personalities that were ever born
in North Carolina were men whose very fathers were unknown. We have all
known two such, who held high places in Church and State. President
Eliot said a little while ago that the ablest man that he had known in
his many years' connection with Harvard University was the son of a
brick mason."

In place of the ecclesiastical creed that had guided North Carolina for
so many generations Page proposed his creed of democracy. He advised
that North Carolina commit this to memory and teach it to its children.
It was as follows:

     "I believe in the free public training of both the hands and the
     mind of every child born of woman.

     "I believe that by the right training of men we add to the wealth
     of the world. All wealth is the creation of man, and he creates it
     only in proportion to the trained uses of the community; and the
     more men we train the more wealth everyone may create.

     "I believe in the perpetual regeneration of society, and in the
     immortality of democracy and in growth everlasting."

Thus Page nailed his theses upon the door of his native state, and
mighty was the reverberation. In a few weeks Page's Greensboro address
had made its way all over the Southern States, and his melancholy
figure, "the forgotten man" had become part of the indelible imagery of
the Southern people. The portrait etched itself deeply into the popular
consciousness for the very good reason that its truth was pretty
generally recognized. The higher type of newspaper, though it winced
somewhat at Page's strictures, manfully recognized that the best way of
meeting his charge was by setting to work and improving conditions. The
fact is that the better conscience of North Carolina welcomed this
eloquent description of unquestioned evils; but the gentlemen whom Page
used to stigmatize as "professional Southerners"--the men who
commercialized class and sectional prejudice to their own political and
financial or ecclesiastical profit--fell foul of this "renegade," this
"Southern Yankee" this sacrilegious "intruder" who had dared to visit
his old home and desecrate its traditions and its religion. This
clerical wrath was kindled into fresh flame when Page, in an editorial
in his magazine, declared that these same preachers, ignoring their real
duties, were content "to herd their women and children around the
stagnant pools of theology." For real religion Page had the deepest
reverence, and he had great respect also for the robust evangelical
preachers whose efforts had contributed so much to the opening up of the
frontier. In his Greensboro address Page had given these men high
praise. But for the assiduous idolaters of stratified dogma he
entertained a contempt which he was seldom at pains to conceal. North
Carolina had many clergymen of the more progressive type; these men
chuckled at Page's vigorous characterization of the brethren, but those
against whom it had been aimed raged with a fervour that was almost
unchristian. This clerical excitement, however, did not greatly disturb
the philosophic Page. The hubbub lasted for several years--for Page's
Greensboro speech was only the first of many pronouncements of the same
kind--but he never publicly referred to the attacks upon him.
Occasionally in letters to his friends he would good-naturedly discuss
them. "I have had several letters," he wrote to Professor Edwin Mims, of
Trinity College, North Carolina, "about an 'excoriation' (Great Heavens!
What a word!) that somebody in North Carolina has been giving me. I
never read these things and I don't know what it's all about--nor do I
care. But perhaps you'll be interested in a letter that I wrote an old
friend (a lady) who is concerned about it. I enclose a copy of it. I
shall never notice any 'excoriator.' But if you wish to add to the
gaiety of nations, give this copy to some newspaper and let it loose in
the state--if you care to do so. We must have patience with these puny
and peevish brethren. They've been trained to a false view of life.
Heaven knows I bear them no ill-will."

The letter to which Page referred follows:

     MY DEAR FRIEND:

     I have your letter saying that some of the papers in North Carolina
     are again "jumping on" me. I do not know which they are, and I am
     glad that you did not tell me. I had heard of it before. A preacher
     wrote me the other day that he approved of every word of an
     "excoriation" that some religious editor had given me. A kindly
     Christian act--wasn't it, to send a stranger word that you were
     glad that he had been abused by a religious editor? I wrote him a
     gentle letter, telling him that I hoped he'd have a long and happy
     life preaching a gospel of friendliness and neighbourliness and
     good-will, and that I cared nothing about "excoriations." Why
     should he, then, forsake his calling and take delight in
     disseminating personal abuse?

     And why do you not write me about things that I really care for in
     the good old country--the budding trees, the pleasant weather, news
     of old friends, gossip of good people--cheerful things? I pray you,
     don't be concerned about what any poor whining soul may write about
     me. I don't care for myself: I care only for him; for the writer of
     personal abuse always suffers from it--never the man abused.

     I haven't read what my kindly clerical correspondent calls an
     "excoriation" for ten years, and I never shall read one if I know
     what it is beforehand. Why should I or anybody read such stuff? I
     can't find time to do half the positive things that I should like
     to do for the broadening of my own character and for the
     encouragement of others. Why should I waste a single minute in such
     a negative and cheerless way as reading anybody's personal abuse of
     anybody else--least of all myself?

     These silly outbursts never reach me and they never can; and they,
     therefore, utterly fail, and always will fail, of their aim; yet,
     my dear friend, there is nevertheless a serious side to such folly.
     For it shows the need of education, education, education. The
     religious editor and the preacher who took joy in his abuse of me
     have such a starved view of life that they cannot themselves,
     perhaps, ever be educated into kindliness and dignity of thought.
     But their children may be--must be. Think of beautiful children
     growing up in a home where "excoriating" people who differ with you
     is regarded as a manly Christian exercise! It is pitiful beyond
     words. There is no way to lift up life that is on so low a level
     except by the free education of all the people. Let us work for
     that and, when the growlers are done growling and forgotten, better
     men will remember us with gratitude.

     I felt greatly complimented and pleased to receive an invitation
     the other day to attend the North Carolina Teachers' Assembly in
     June. I have many things to do in June, but I am going--going with
     great pleasure. I hope to see you there. I know of no other company
     of people that I should be so glad to meet. They are doing noble
     work--the most devoted and useful work in this whole wide world.
     They are the true leaders of the people. I often wish that I were
     one of them. They inspire me as nobody else does. They are the army
     of our salvation.

     Write me what they are doing. Write me about the wonderful
     educational progress. And write me about the peach trees and the
     budding imminence of spring; and about the children who now live
     all day outdoors and grow brown and plump. And never mind that
     queer sect, "The Excoriators." They and their stage thunder will be
     forgotten to-morrow. Meantime let us live and work for things
     nobler than any controversies, for things that are larger than the
     poor mission of any sect; and let us have charity and a patient
     pity for those that think they serve God by abusing their
     fellow-men. I wish I saw some way to help them to a broader and a
     higher life.

     Faithfully yours,

     WALTER H. PAGE.


III

That Page should have little interest in "excoriators" at the time this
letter was written--in April, 1902--was not surprising, for his
educational campaign and that of his friends was now bearing fruit.
"Write me about the wonderful educational progress," he says to this
correspondent; and, indeed, the change that was coming over North
Carolina and the South generally seemed to be tinged with the
miraculous. The "Forgotten Man" and the "Forgotten Woman" were rapidly
coming into their own. Two years after the delivery of Page's Greensboro
address, a small group of educational enthusiasts met at Capon Springs,
West Virginia, to discuss the general situation in the South. The leader
of this little gathering was Robert C. Ogden, a great New York merchant
who for many years had been President of the Board of Hampton Institute.
Out of this meeting grew the Southern Educational Conference, which was
little more than an annual meeting for advertising broadcast the
educational needs of the South. Each year Mr. Ogden chartered a railroad
train; a hundred or so of the leading editors, lawyers, bankers, and the
like became his guests; the train moved through the Southern States,
pausing now and then to investigate some particular institution or
locality; and at some Southern city, such as Birmingham or Atlanta or
Winston-Salem, a stop of several days would be made, a public building
engaged, and long meetings held. In all these proceedings Page was an
active figure, as he became in the Southern Education Board, which
directly resulted from Mr. Ogden's public spirited excursions. Like the
Conference, the Southern Education Board was a purely missionary
organization, and its most active worker was Page himself. He was
constantly speaking and writing on his favourite subject; he printed
article after article, not only in his own magazine, but in the
_Atlantic_, in the _Outlook_, and in a multitude of newspapers, such as
the Boston _Transcript_, the New York _Times_, and the Kansas City
_Star_. And always through his writings, and, indeed, through his life,
there ran, like the motif of an opera, that same perpetual plea for "the
forgotten man"--the need of uplifting the backward masses through
training, both of the mind and of the hand.

The day came when this loyal group had other things to work with than
their voices and their pens; their efforts had attracted the attention
of Mr. John D. Rockefeller, who brought assistance of an extremely
substantial character. In 1902 Mr. Rockefeller organized the General
Education Board. Of the ten members six were taken from the Southern
Education Board; other members represented general educational interests
and especially the Baptist interests to which Mr. Rockefeller had been
contributing for years. In a large sense, therefore, especially in its
membership, the General Education Board was a development of the Ogden
organization; but it was much broader in its sweep, taking under its
view the entire nation and all forms of educational effort. It
immediately began to interest itself in the needs of the South. In 1902
Mr. Rockefeller gave this new corporation $1,000,000; in 1905 he gave it
$10,000,000; in 1907 he astonished the Nation by giving $32,000,000,
and, in 1909, another $10,000,000; the whole making a total of
$53,000,000, the largest sum ever given by a single man, up to that
time, for social or philanthropic purposes. The General Education Board
now became the chief outside interest of Page's life. He was made a
member of the Executive Committee, faithfully attended all its sessions,
and participated intimately in every important plan. All such bodies
have their decorative members and their working members; Page belonged
emphatically in the latter class. Not only was he fertile in
suggestions, but his ready mind could give almost any proposal its
proper emphasis and clearly set forth its essential details. Between
Page and Dr. Buttrick, Secretary and now President of the Board, a close
personal intimacy grew up. Dr. Buttrick moved to Teaneck Road,
Englewood, where Page had his home, and many a long evening did the two
men spend together, many a long walk did they take in the surrounding
country, always discussing education, especially Southern education. A
letter to the present writer from Dr. Abraham Flexner, the present
Secretary of the Board, perhaps sums up the matter. "Page was one of the
real educational statesmen of this country," says Dr. Flexner, "probably
the greatest that we have had since the Civil War."

And this Rockefeller support came at a time when that movement known as
the "educational awakening" had started in the South. In 1900 North
Carolina elected its greatest governor since the Civil War--Charles B.
Aycock. A much repeated anecdote attributes Lincoln's detestation of
slavery to a slave auction that he witnessed as a small boy; Aycock's
first zeal as an educational reformer had an origin that was even more
pathetic, for he always carried in his mind his recollection of his own
mother signing an important legal document with a cross. As a young man
fresh from the university Aycock also came under the influence of Page.
An old letter, preserved among Page's papers, dated February 26, 1886,
discloses that he was a sympathizing reader of the "mummy" controversy;
when the brickbats began flying in Page's direction Aycock wrote,
telling Page that "fully three fourths of the people are with you and
wish you Godspeed in your effort to awaken better work, greater
activity, and freer opinion in the state." And now under Aycock's
governorship North Carolina began to tackle the educational problem with
a purpose. School houses started up all over the state at the rate of
one a day--many of them beautiful, commodious, modern structures, in
every way the equals of any in the North or West; high schools, normal
schools, trade schools made their appearance wherever the need was
greatest; and in other parts of the South the response was similarly
energetic. The reform is not yet complete, but the description that Page
gave of Southern education in 1897, accurate in all its details as it
was then, has now become ancient history.


IV

And in occupations of this kind Page passed his years of maturity. His
was not a spectacular life; his family for the most part still remained
his most immediate interest; the daily round of an editor has its
imaginative quality, but in the main it was for Page a quiet, even a
cloistered existence; the work that an editor does, the achievements
that he can put to his credit, are usually anonymous; and the American
public little understood the extent to which Page was influencing many
of the most vital forces of his time. The business association that he
had formed with Mr. Doubleday turned out most happily. Their publishing
house, in a short time, attained a position of great influence and
prosperity. The two men, on both the personal and the business side,
were congenial and complementary; and the love that both felt for
country life led to the establishment of a publishing and printing plant
of unusual beauty. In Garden City, Long Island, a great brick structure
was built, somewhat suggestive in its architecture of Hampton Court,
surrounded by pools and fountains, Italian gardens, green walks and
pergolas, gardens blooming in appropriate seasons with roses, peonies,
rhododendrons, chrysanthemums, and the like, and parks of evergreen,
fir, cedar, and more exotic trees and shrubs. Certainly fate could have
designed no more fitting setting for Page's favourite activities than
this. In assembling authors, in instigating the writing of books, in
watching the achievements and the tendencies of American life, in the
routine of editing his magazine--all this in association with partners
whose daily companionship was a delight and a stimulation--Page spent
his last years in America.

Page's independence as an editor, sufficiently indicated in the days of
his vivacious youth, became even more emphatic in his maturer years. In
his eyes, merely inking over so many pages of good white paper was not
journalism; conviction, zeal, honesty--these were the important points.
Almost on the very day that his appointment as Ambassador to Great
Britain was announced his magazine published an editorial from his pen,
which contained not especially complimentary references to his new
chief, Mr. Bryan, the Secretary of State; naturally the newspapers found
much amusement in these few sentences; but the thing was typical of
Page's whole career as an editor. He held to the creed that an editor
should divorce himself entirely from prejudices, animosities, and
predilections; this seems an obvious, even a trite thing to say, yet
there are so few men who can leave personal considerations aside in
writing of men and events that it is worth while pointing out that Page
was such a man. When his firm was planning to establish its magazine,
his partner, Mr. Doubleday, was approached by a New York politician of
large influence but shady reputation who wished to be assured that it
would reflect correct political principles. "You should see Mr. Page
about that," was the response. "No, this is a business matter," the
insinuating gentleman went on, and then he proceeded to show that about
twenty-five thousand subscribers could be obtained if the publication
preached orthodox standpat doctrine. "I don't think you had better see
Mr. Page," said Mr. Doubleday, dismissing his caller.

Many incidents which illustrate this independence could be given; one
will suffice. In 1907 and 1908, Page's magazine published the "Random
Reminiscences of John D. Rockefeller." While the articles were
appearing, the Hearst newspapers obtained a large number of letters
that, some years before, had passed between Mr. John D. Archbold,
President of the Standard Oil Company and one of Mr. Rockefeller's
business associates from the earliest days, and Senator Joseph B.
Foraker, of Ohio. These letters uncovered one of the gravest scandals
that had ever involved an American public man; they instantaneously
destroyed Senator Foraker's political career and hastened his death.
They showed that this brilliant man had been obtaining large sums of
money from the Standard Oil Company while he was filling the post of
United States Senator and that at the same time he was receiving
suggestions from Mr. Archbold about pending legislation. Mr. Rockefeller
was not personally involved, for he had retired from active business
many years before these things had been done; but the Standard Oil
Company, with which his name was intimately associated, was involved and
in a way that seemed to substantiate the worst charges that had been
made against it. At this time Page, as a member of the General Education
Board, was doing his part in helping to disperse the Rockefeller
millions for public purposes; his magazine was publishing Mr.
Rockefeller's reminiscences; there are editors who would have felt a
certain embarrassment in commenting on the Archbold transaction. Page,
however, did not hesitate. Mr. Archbold, hearing that he intended to
treat the subject fully, asked him to come and see him. Page replied
that he would be glad to have Mr. Archbold call upon him. The two men
were brought together by friendly intermediaries in a neutral place; but
the great oil magnate's explanation of his iniquities did not satisfy
Page. The November, 1908, issue of the magazine contained, in one
section, an interesting chapter by Mr. Rockefeller, describing the early
days of the Standard Oil Company, and, in another, ten columns by Page,
discussing the Archbold disclosures in language that was discriminating
and well tempered, but not at all complimentary to Mr. Archbold or to
the Standard Oil Company.

Occasionally Page was summoned for services of a public character. Thus
President Roosevelt, whose friendship he had enjoyed for many years,
asked him to serve upon his Country Life Commission--a group of men
called by the President to study ways of improving the surroundings and
extending the opportunities of American farmers. Page's interest in
Negro education led to his appointment to the Jeanes Board. He early
became an admirer of Booker Washington, and especially approved his plan
for uplifting the Negro by industrial training. One of the great
services that Page rendered literature was his persuasion of Washington
to write that really great autobiography, "Up from Slavery," and another
biography in a different field, for which he was responsible, was Miss
Helen Keller's "Story of My Life." And only once, amid these fine but
not showy activities, did Page's life assume anything in the nature of
the sensational. This was in 1909, when he published his one effort at
novel writing, "The Southerner." To write novels had been an early
ambition with Page; indeed his papers disclose that he had meditated
several plans of this kind; but he never seriously settled himself to
the task until the year 1906. In July of that year the _Atlantic
Monthly_ began publishing a serial entitled "The Autobiography of a
Southerner Since the Civil War," by Nicholas Worth. The literary matter
that appeared under this title most readers accepted as veracious though
anonymous autobiography. It related the life adventures of a young man,
born in the South, of parents who had had little sympathy with the
Confederate cause, attempting to carve out his career in the section of
his birth and meeting opposition and defeat from the prejudices with
which he constantly found himself in conflict. The story found its main
theme and background in the fact that the Southern States were so
exclusively living in the memories of the Civil War that it was
impossible for modern ideas to obtain a foothold. "I have sometimes
thought," said the author, and this passage may be taken as embodying
the leading point of the narrative, "that many of the men who survived
that unnatural war unwittingly did us a greater hurt than the war
itself. It gave everyone of them the intensest experience of his life
and ever afterward he referred every other experience to this. Thus it
stopped the thought of most of them as an earthquake stops a clock. The
fierce blow of battle paralyzed the mind. Their speech was a vocabulary
of war, their loyalties were loyalties, not to living ideas or duties,
but to old commanders and to distorted traditions. They were dead men,
most of them, moving among the living as ghosts; and yet, as ghosts in a
play, they held the stage." In another passage the writer names the
"ghosts" which are chiefly responsible for preventing Southern progress.
They are three: "The Ghost of the Confederate dead, the Ghost of
religious orthodoxy, the Ghost of Negro domination." Everywhere the hero
finds his progress blocked by these obstructive wraiths of the past. He
seeks a livelihood in educational work--becomes a local superintendent
of Public Instruction, and loses his place because his religious views
are unorthodox, because he refuses to accept the popular estimate of
Confederate statesmen, and because he hopes to educate the black child
as well as the white one. He enters politics and runs for public office
on the platform of the new day, is elected, and then finds himself
counted out by political ringsters. Still he does not lose faith, and
finally settles down in the management of a cotton mill, convinced that
the real path of salvation lies in economic effort. This mere skeleton
of a story furnishes an excuse for rehearsing again the ideas that Page
had already made familiar in his writings and in his public addresses.
This time the lesson is enlivened by the portrayal of certain typical
characters of the post-bellum South. They are all there--the several
types of Negro, ranging all the way from the faithful and philosophic
plantation retainer to the lazy "Publican" office-seeker; the political
colonel, to whom the Confederate veterans and the "fair daughters of the
South (God bless 'em)" are the mainstays of "civerlerzation" and
indispensable instrumentalities in the game of partisan politics; the
evangelical clergymen who cared more for old-fashioned creeds than for
the education of the masses; the disreputable editor who specialized in
Negro crime and constantly preached the doctrine of the "white man's
country"; the Southern woman who, innocently and sincerely and even
charmingly, upheld the ancient tradition and the ancient feud. On the
other hand, Page's book portrays the buoyant enthusiast of the new day,
the reformer who was seeking to establish a public school system and to
strengthen the position of woman; and, above all, the quiet,
hard-working industrialist who cared nothing for stump speaking but much
for cotton mills, improved methods of farming, the introduction of
diversified crops, the tidying up of cities and the country.

These chapters, extensively rewritten, were published as a book in 1909.
Probably Page was under no illusion that he had created a real romance
when he described his completed work as a "novel." The _Atlantic_
autobiography had attracted wide attention, and the identification of
the author had been immediate and accurate. Page's friends began calling
his house on the telephone and asking for "Nicholas" and certain genial
spirits addressed him in letters as "Marse Little Nick"--the name under
which the hero was known to the old Negro family servant, Uncle
Ephraim--perhaps the best drawn character in the book. Page's real
purpose in calling the book a "novel" therefore, was to inform the
public that the story, so far as its incidents and most of its
characters were concerned, was pure fiction. Certain episodes, such as
those describing the hero's early days, were, in the main, veracious
transcripts from Page's own life, but the rest of the book bears
practically no relation to his career. The fact that he spent his
mature years in the North, editing magazines and publishing, whereas
Nicholas Worth spends his in the South, engaged in educational work and
in politics and industry, settles this point. The characters, too, are
rather types than specific individuals, though one or two of them,
particularly Professor Billy Bain, who is clearly Charles D. McIver, may
be accepted as fairly accurate portraits. But as a work of fiction "The
Southerner" can hardly be considered a success; the love story is too
slight, the women not well done, most of the characters rather
personified qualities than flesh and blood people. Its strength consists
in the picture that it gives of the so-called "Southern problem," and
especially of the devastating influence of slavery. From this standpoint
the book is an autobiography, for the ideas and convictions it presents
had formed the mental life of Page from his earliest days.

And these were the things that hurt. Yet the stories of the anger caused
by "The Southerner" have been much exaggerated. It is said that a
certain distinguished Southern senator declared that, had he known that
Page was the author of "The Southerner," he would have blocked his
nomination as Ambassador to Great Britain; certain Southern newspapers
also severely denounced the volume; even some of Page's friends thought
that it was a little unkind in spots; yet as a whole the Southern people
accepted it as a fair, and certainly as an honest, treatment of a very
difficult subject. Possibly Page was a little hard upon the Confederate
veteran, and did not sufficiently portray the really pathetic aspects of
his character; any shortcomings of this sort are due, not to any failing
in sympathy, but to the fact that Page's zeal was absorbingly
concentrated upon certain glaring abuses. And as to the accuracy of his
vision in these respects there could be no question. The volume was a
welcome antidote to the sentimental Southern novels that had contented
themselves with glorifying a vanished society which, when the veil is
stripped, was not heroic in all its phases, for it was based upon an
institution so squalid as human slavery, and to those even more
pernicious books which, by luridly portraying the unquestioned vices of
reconstruction and the frightful consequences which resulted from giving
the Negro the ballot, simply aroused useless passions and made the way
out of the existing wilderness still more difficult. So the best public
opinion, North and South, regarded "The Southerner," and decided that
Page had performed a service to the section of his birth in writing it.
Indeed the fair-minded and intelligent spirit with which the best
elements in the South received "The Southerner" in itself demonstrated
that this great region had entered upon a new day.


V

Nor was Page's work for the South yet ended. In the important five years
from 1905 to 1910 he performed two services of an extremely practical
kind. In 1906 the problem of Southern education assumed a new phase. Dr.
Wallace Buttrick, the Secretary of the General Education Board, had now
decided that the fundamental difficulty was economic. By that time the
Southern people had revised their original conception that education was
a private and not a public concern; there was now a general acceptance
of the doctrine that the mental and physical training of every child,
white and black, was the responsibility of the state; Aycock's campaign
had worked such a popular revolution on this subject that no politician
who aspired to public office would dare to take a contrary view. Yet the
economic difficulty still remained. The South was poor; whatever might
be the general desire, the taxable resources were not sufficient to
support such a comprehensive system of popular instruction as existed in
the North and West. Any permanent improvement must therefore be based
upon the strengthening of the South's economic position. Essentially the
task was to build up Southern agriculture, which for generations had
been wasteful, unintelligent and consequently unproductive. Such a
far-reaching programme might well appall the most energetic reformer,
but Dr. Buttrick set to work. He saw little light until his attention
was drawn to a quaint and philosophic gentleman--a kind of bucolic Ben
Franklin--who was then obscurely working in the cotton lands of
Louisiana, making warfare on the boll weevil in a way of his own. At
that time Dr. Seaman A. Knapp had made no national reputation; yet he
had evolved a plan for redeeming country life and making American farms
more fruitful that has since worked marvellous results. There was
nothing especially sensational about its details. Dr. Knapp had made the
discovery in relation to farms that the utilitarians had long since made
with reference to other human activities: that the only way to improve
agriculture was not to talk about it, but to go and do it. During the
preceding fifty years agricultural colleges had sprung up all over the
United States--Dr. Knapp had been president of one himself; practically
every Southern state had one or more; agricultural lecturers covered
thousands of miles annually telling their yawning audiences how to farm;
these efforts had scattered broadcast much valuable information about
the subject, but the difficulty lay in inducing the farmers to apply it.
Dr. Knapp had a new method. He selected a particular farmer and
persuaded him to work his fields for a period according to methods
which he prescribed. He told his pupil how to plough, what seed to
plant, how to space his rows, what fertilizers to use, and the like. If
a selected acreage yielded a profitable crop which the farmer could sell
at an increased price Dr. Knapp had sufficient faith in human nature to
believe that that particular farmer would continue to operate his farm
on the new method and that his neighbours, having this practical example
of growing prosperity, would imitate him.

Such was the famous "Demonstration Work" of Dr. Seaman A. Knapp; this
activity is now a regular branch of the Department of Agriculture,
employing thousands of agents and spending not far from $18,000,000 a
year. Its application to the South has made practically a new and rich
country, and it has long since been extended to other regions. When Dr.
Buttrick first met Knapp, however, there were few indications of this
splendid future. He brought Dr. Knapp North and exhibited him to Page.
This was precisely the kind of man who appealed to Page's sympathies.
His mind was always keenly on the scent for the new man--the original
thinker who had some practical plan for uplifting humankind and making
life more worth while. And Dr. Knapp's mission was one that had filled
most of his thoughts for many years; its real purpose was the enrichment
of country life. Page therefore took to Dr. Knapp with a mighty zest. He
supported him on all occasions; he pled his cause with great eloquence
before the General Education Board, whose purse strings were liberally
unloosed in behalf of the Knapp work; in his writings, in speeches, in
letters, in all forms of public advocacy, he insisted that Dr. Knapp had
found the solution of the agricultural problem. The fact is that Page
regarded Knapp as one of the greatest men of the time. His feeling came
out with characteristic intensity on the occasion of the homely
reformer's funeral. "The exercises," Page once told a friend, "were held
in a rather dismal little church on the outskirts of Washington. The day
was bleak and chill, the attendants were few--chiefly officials of the
Department of Agriculture. The clergyman read the service in the most
perfunctory way. Then James Wilson, the Secretary of Agriculture, spoke
formally of Dr. Knapp as a faithful servant of the Department who always
did well what he was told to do, commending his life in an altogether
commonplace fashion. By that time my heart was pretty hot. No one seemed
to divine that in the coffin before them was the body of a really great
man, one who had hit upon a fruitful idea in American agriculture--an
idea that was destined to cover the nation and enrich rural life
immeasurably." Page was so moved by this lack of appreciation, so full
of sorrow at the loss of one of his dearest friends, that, when he rose
to speak, his appraisment took on a certain indignation. Their dead
associate, Page declared, would outrank the generals and the politicians
who received the world's plaudits, for he had devoted his life to a
really great purpose; his inspiration had been the love of the common
people, his faith, his sympathy had all been expended in an effort to
brighten the life of the too frequently neglected masses. Page's address
on this occasion was entirely extemporaneous; no record of it was ever
made, but those who heard it still carry the memory of an eloquent and
fiery outburst that placed Knapp's work in its proper relation to
American history and gave an unforgettable picture of a patient,
idealistic, achieving man whose name will loom large in the future.

During this same period Page, always on the outlook for the exceptional
man, made another discovery which has had world-wide consequences. As a
member of President Roosevelt's Country Life Commission Page became one
of the committee assigned to investigate conditions in the Southern
States. The sanitarian of this commission was Dr. Charles W. Stiles, a
man who held high rank as a zoölogist, and who, as such, had for many
years done important work with the Department of Agriculture. Page had
hardly formed Dr. Stiles's acquaintance before he discovered that, at
that time, he was a man of one idea. And this one idea had for years
brought upon his head much good-natured ridicule. For Dr. Stiles had his
own explanation for much of the mental and physical sluggishness that
prevailed in the rural sections of the Southern States. Yet he could not
mention this without exciting uproarious laughter--even in the presence
of scientific men. Several years previously Dr. Stiles had discovered
that a hitherto unclassified species of a parasite popularly known as
the hookworm prevailed to an astonishing extent in all the Southern
States. The pathological effects of this creature had long been known;
it localized in the intestines, there secreted a poison that destroyed
the red blood corpuscles, and reduced its victims to a deplorable state
of anæmia, making them constantly ill, listless, mentally dull--in every
sense of the word useless units of society. The encouraging part of this
discovery was that the patients could quickly be cured and the hookworm
eradicated by a few simple improvements in sanitation. Dr. Stiles had
long been advocating such a campaign as an indispensable preliminary to
improving Southern life. But the humorous aspect of the hookworm always
interfered with his cause; the microbe of laziness had at last been
found!

It was not until Dr. Stiles, in the course of this Southern trip,
cornered Page in a Pullman car, that he finally found an attentive
listener. Page, of course, had his preliminary laugh, but then the
hookworm began to work on his imagination. He quickly discovered that
Dr. Stiles was no fool; and before the expedition was finished, he had
become a convert and, like most converts, an extremely zealous one. The
hookworm now filled his thoughts as completely as it did those of his
friend; he studied it, he talked about it; and characteristically he set
to work to see what could be done. How much Southern history did the
thing explain? Was it not forces like this, and not statesmen and
generals, that really controlled the destinies of mankind? Page's North
Carolina country people had for generations been denounced as
"crackers," and as "hill-billies," but here was the discovery that the
great mass of them were ill--as ill as the tuberculosis patients in the
Adirondacks. Free these masses from the enervating parasite that
consumed all their energies--for Dr. Stiles had discovered that the
disease afflicted the great majority of the rural classes--and a new
generation would result. Naturally the cause strongly touched Page's
sympathies. He laid the case before the ever sympathetic Dr. Buttrick,
but here again progress was slow. By hard hammering, however, he half
converted Dr. Buttrick, who, in turn, took the case of the hookworm to
his old associate, Dr. Frederick T. Gates. What Page was determined to
obtain was a million dollars or so from Mr. John D. Rockefeller, for the
purpose of engaging in deadly warfare upon this pest. This was the
proper way to produce results: first persuade Dr. Buttrick, then induce
him to persuade Dr. Gates, who, if convinced, had ready access to the
great treasure house. But Dr. Gates also began to smile; even the
combined eloquence of Page and Dr. Buttrick could not move him. So the
reform marked time until one day Dr. Buttrick, Dr. Gates, and Dr. Simon
Flexner, the Director of the Rockefeller institute, happened to be
fellow travellers--again on a Pullman car.

"Dr. Flexner," said Dr. Buttrick--this for the benefit of his
incredulous friend--"what is the scientific standing of Dr. Charles W.
Stiles?"

"Very, very high," came the immediate response, and at this Dr. Gates
pricked up his ears. Yet the subsequent conversation disclosed that Dr.
Flexner was unfamiliar with the Stiles hookworm work. He, too, smiled at
the idea, but, like Page his smile was not one of ridicule.

"If Dr. Stiles believes this," was his dictum, "it is something to be
taken most seriously."

As Dr. Flexner is probably the leading medical scientist in the United
States, his judgment at once lifted the hookworm issue to a new plane.
Dr. Gates ceased laughing and events now moved rapidly. Mr. Rockefeller
gave a million dollars to a sanitary commission for the eradication of
the hookworm in the Southern States, and of this Page became a charter
member. In this way an enterprise that is the greatest sanitary and
health reform of modern times had its beginnings. So great was the
success of the Hookworm Commission in the South, so many thousands were
almost daily restored to health and usefulness, that Mr. Rockefeller
extended its work all over the world--to India, Egypt, China, Australia,
to all sections that fall within the now accurately located "hookworm
belt." Out of it grew the great International Health Commission, also
endowed with unlimited millions of Rockefeller money, which is engaged
in stamping out disease and promoting medical education in all quarters
of the globe. Dr. Stiles and Page's associates on the General Education
Board attribute the origin of this work to the simple fact that Page,
great humourist that he was, could temper his humour with
intelligence, and could therefore perceive the point at which a joke
ceased to be a joke and actually concealed a truth of the most
far-reaching importance to mankind.

[Illustration: Walter H. Page (1899), from a photograph taken when he
was editor of the _Atlantic Monthly_]

[Illustration: Dr. Wallace Buttrick, President of the General Education
Board]

Page enjoyed the full results of this labour one night in the autumn of
1913, when Dr. Wickliffe Rose, the head of the International Health
Board, came to London to discuss the possibility of beginning hookworm
work in the British Empire, especially in Egypt and India. Page, as
Ambassador, arranged a dinner at the Marlborough Club, attended by the
leading medical scientists of the kingdom and several members of the
Cabinet. Dr. Rose's description of his work made a deep impression. He
was informed that the British Government was only too ready to coöperate
with the Health Board. When the discussion was ended the Right
Honourable Lewis Harcourt, the Secretary of State for the Colonies,
concluded an eloquent address with these words:

"The time will come when we shall look back on this evening as the
beginning of a new era in British colonial administration."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: A memorandum of an old _Atlantic_ balance sheet discloses
that James Russell Lowell's salary as editor was $1,500 a year.]

[Footnote 6: A member of the firm of Houghton, Mifflin & Company.]




CHAPTER IV

THE WILSONIAN ERA BEGINS

I


It was Page's interest in the material and spiritual elevation of the
masses that first directed his attention to the Presidential aspirations
of Woodrow Wilson. So much history has been made since 1912 that the
public questions which then stirred the popular mind have largely passed
out of recollection. Yet the great rallying cry of that era was
democracy, spelled with a small "d." In the fifty years since the Civil
War only one Democratic President had occupied the White House. The
Republicans' long lease of power had produced certain symptoms which
their political foes now proceeded to describe as great public abuses.
The truth of the matter, of course, is that neither political virtue nor
political depravity was the exclusive possession of either of the great
national organizations. The Republican party, especially under the
enlightened autocracy of Roosevelt, had started such reforms as
conservation, the improvement of country life, the regulation of the
railroads, and the warfare on the trusts, and had shown successful
interest in such evidences of the new day as child labour laws,
employer's liability laws, corrupt practice acts, direct primaries and
the popular election of United States Senators--not all perhaps wise as
methods, but all certainly inspired with a new conception of democratic
government. Roosevelt also had led in the onslaught on that corporation
influence which, after all, constituted the great problem of American
politics. But Mr. Taft's administration had impressed many men, and
especially Page, as a discouraging slump back into the ancient system.
Page was never blind to the inadequacies of his own party; the three
campaigns of Bryan and his extensive influence with the Democratic
masses at times caused him deep despair; that even the corporations had
extended their tentacles into the ranks of Jefferson was all too obvious
a fact; yet the Democratic party at that time Page regarded as the most
available instrument for embodying in legislation and practice the new
things in which he most believed. Above all, the Democratic party in
1912 possessed one asset to which the Republicans could lay no claim--a
new man, a new leader, the first statesman who had crossed its threshold
since Grover Cleveland.

Like many scholarly Americans, Page had been charmed by the intellectual
brilliancy of Woodrow Wilson. The utter commonplaceness of much of what
passes for political thinking in this country had for years discouraged
him. American political life may have possessed energy, character, even
greatness; but it was certainly lacking in distinction. It was this new
quality that Wilson brought, and it was this that attracted thousands of
cultivated Americans to his standard, irrespective of party. The man was
an original thinker; he exercised the priceless possession of literary
style. He entertained; he did not weary; even his temperamental
deficiencies, which were apparent to many observers in 1912, had at
least the advantage that attaches to the interesting and the unusual.

What Page and thousands of other public-spirited men saw in Wilson was a
leader of fine intellectual gifts who was prepared to devote his
splendid energies to making life more attractive and profitable to the
"Forgotten Man." Here was the opportunity then, to embody in one
imaginative statesman all the interest which for a generation had been
accumulating in favour of the democratic revival. At any rate, after
thirty years of Republican half-success and half-failure, here was the
chance for a new deal. Amid a mob of shopworn public men, here was one
who had at least the charm of novelty.

Page had known Mr. Wilson for thirty years, and all this time the
Princeton scholar had seemed to him to be one of the most helpful
influences at work in the United States. As already noted Page had met
the future President when he was serving a journalistic apprenticeship
in Atlanta, Georgia. Wilson was then spending his days in a dingy law
office and was putting to good use the time consumed in waiting for the
clients who never came by writing that famous book on "Congressional
Government" which first lifted his name out of obscurity. This work, the
product of a man of twenty-nine, was perhaps the first searching
examination to which the American Congressional system had ever been
subjected. It brought Wilson a professorship at the newly established
Bryn Mawr College and drew to him other growing minds like Page's.
"Watch that man!" was Page's admonition to his friends. Wilson then went
into academic work and Page plunged into the exactions of daily and
periodical journalism, but Page's papers show that the two men had kept
in touch with each other during the succeeding thirty years. These
papers include a collection of letters from Woodrow Wilson, the earliest
of which is dated October 30, 1885, when the future President was
beginning his career at Bryn Mawr. He was eager to come to New York,
Wilson said, and discuss with Page "half a hundred topics" suggested by
"Congressional Government." The atmosphere at Bryn Mawr was evidently
not stimulating. "Such a talk would give me a chance to let off some of
the enthusiasm I am just now painfully stirring up in enforced silence."
The _Forum_ and the _Atlantic Monthly_, when Page was editor, showed
many traces of his interest in Wilson, who was one of his most frequent
contributors. When Wilson became President of Princeton, he occasionally
called upon his old _Atlantic_ friend for advice. He writes to Page on
various matters--to ask for suggestions about filling a professorship or
a lectureship; and there are also references to the difficulties Wilson
is having with the Princeton trustees.

Page's letters also portray the new hopes with which Wilson inspired
him. One of his best loved correspondents was Henry Wallace, editor of
_Wallace's Farmer_, a homely and genial Rooseveltian. Page was one of
those who immensely admired Roosevelt's career; but he regarded him as a
man who had finished his work, at least in domestic affairs, and whose
great claim upon posterity would be as the stimulator of the American
conscience. "I see you are coming around to Wilson," Page writes, "and
in pretty rapid fashion. I assure you that that is the solution of the
problem. I have known him since we were boys, and I have been studying
him lately with a great deal of care. I haven't any doubt but that is
the way out. The old labels 'Democrat' and 'Republican' have ceased to
have any meaning, not only in my mind and in yours, but I think in the
minds of nearly all the people. Don't you feel that way?"

The campaign of 1912 was approaching its end when this letter was
written; and no proceeding in American politics had so aroused Page's
energies. He had himself played a part in Wilson's nomination. He was
one of the first to urge the Princeton President to seize the great
opportunity that was rising before him. These suggestions were coming
from many sources in the summer of 1910; Mr. Wilson was about to retire
from the Presidency of Princeton; the movement had started to make him
Governor of New Jersey, and it was well understood that this was merely
intended as the first step to the White House. But Mr. Wilson was
himself undecided; to escape the excitement of the moment he had retired
to a country house at Lyme, Connecticut. In this place, in response to a
letter, Page now sought him out. His visit was a plea that Mr. Wilson
should accept his proffered fate; the Governorship of New Jersey, then
the Presidency, and the opportunity to promote the causes in which both
men believed.

"But do you think I can do it, Page?" asked the hesitating Wilson.

"I am sure you can": and then Page again, with his customary gusto,
launched into his persuasive argument. His host at one moment would
assent; at another present the difficulties; it was apparent that he was
having trouble in reaching a decision. To what extent Page's
conversation converted him the record does not disclose; it is apparent,
however, that when, in the next two years, difficulties came, his mind
seemed naturally to turn in Page's direction. Especially noticeable is
it that he appeals to Page for help against his fool friends. An
indiscreet person in New Jersey is booming Mr. Wilson for the
Presidency; the activity of such a man inevitably brings ridicule upon
the object of his attention; cannot Page find some kindly way of calling
him off? Mr. Wilson asks Page's advice about a campaign manager, and
incidentally expresses his own aversion to a man of "large calibre" for
this engagement. There were occasional conferences with Mr. Wilson on
his Presidential prospects, one of which took place at Page's New York
apartment. Page was also the man who brought Mr. Wilson and Colonel
House together; this had the immediate result of placing the important
state of Texas on the Wilson side, and, as its ultimate consequence,
brought about one of the most important associations in the history of
American politics. Page had known Colonel House for many years and was
the advocate who convinced the sagacious Texan that Woodrow Wilson was
the man. Wilson also acquired the habit of referring to Page men who
offered themselves to him as volunteer workers in his cause. "Go and see
Walter Page" was his usual answer to this kind of an approach. But Page
was not a collector of delegates to nominating conventions; not his the
art of manipulating these assemblages in the interest of a favoured man;
yet his services to the Wilson cause, while less demonstrative, were
almost as practical. His talent lay in exposition; and he now took upon
himself the task of spreading Wilson's fame. In his own magazine and in
books published by his firm, in letters to friends, in personal
conferences, he set forth Wilson's achievements. Page also persuaded
Wilson to make his famous speechmaking trip through the Western States
in 1911 and this was perhaps his largest definite contribution to the
Wilson campaign. It was in the course of this historic pilgrimage that
the American masses obtained their first view of a previously too-much
hidden figure.

On election day Page wrote the President-elect a letter of
congratulation which contains one item of the greatest interest. When
the time came for the new President to deliver his first message to
Congress, he surprised the country by abandoning the usual practice of
sending a long written communication to be droned out by a reading
clerk to a yawning company of legislators. He appeared in person and
read the document himself. As President Harding has followed his example
it seems likely that this innovation, which certainly represents a great
improvement over the old routine, has become the established custom. The
origin of the idea therefore has historic value.

     _To Woodrow Wilson_
           Garden City, N.Y.
        Election Day, 1912. [Nov. 5]

     MY DEAR MR. PRESIDENT-ELECT:

     Before going into town to hear the returns, I write you my
     congratulations. Even if you were defeated, I should still
     congratulate you on putting a Presidential campaign on a higher
     level than it has ever before reached since Washington's time. Your
     grip became firmer and your sweep wider every week. It was
     inspiring to watch the unfolding of the deep meaning of it and to
     see the people's grasp of the main idea. It was fairly, highly,
     freely, won, and now we enter the Era of Great Opportunity. It is
     hard to measure the extent or the thrill of the new interest in
     public affairs and the new hope that you have aroused in thousands
     of men who were becoming hopeless under the long-drawn-out reign of
     privilege.

     To the big burden of suggestions that you are receiving, may I add
     these small ones?

     1. Call Congress in extra session mainly to revise the tariff and
     incidentally to prepare the way for rural credit societies.

     Mr. Taft set the stage admirably in 1909 when he promptly called an
     extra session; but then he let the villain run the play. To get the
     main job in hand at once will be both dramatic and effective and it
     will save time. Moreover, it will give you this great tactical
     advantage--you can the better keep in line those who have debts or
     doubts before you have answered their importunities for offices and
     for favours.

     The time is come when the land must be developed by the new
     agriculture and farming made a business. This calls for money.
     Every acre will repay a reasonable loan on long time at a fair
     interest rate, and group-borrowing develops the men quite as much
     as the men will develop the soil. It saved the German Empire and is
     remaking Italy. And this is the proper use of much of the money
     that now flows into the reach of the credit barons. This building
     up of farm life will restore the equilibrium of our civilization
     and, besides, will prove to be one half the solution of our
     currency and credit problem. . . .

     2. Set your trusted friends immediately to work, every man in the
     field he knows best, to prepare briefs for you on such great
     subjects and departments as the Currency, the Post Office,
     Conservation, Rural Credit, the Agricultural Department, which has
     the most direct power for good to the most people--to make our
     farmers as independent as Denmark's and to give our best country
     folk the dignity of the old-time English gentleman--this expert,
     independent information to compare with your own knowledge and with
     official reports.

     3. The President reads (or speaks) his Inaugural to the people. Why
     not go back to the old custom of himself delivering his Messages to
     Congress? Would that not restore a feeling of comradeship in
     responsibility and make the Legislative branch feel nearer to the
     Executive? Every President of our time has sooner or later got away
     with Congress.

     I cannot keep from saying what a new thrill of hope and tingle of
     expectancy I feel--as of a great event about to happen for our
     country and for the restoration of popular government; for you will
     keep your rudder true.

               Most heartily yours,
                       WALTER H. PAGE.

     To Governor Wilson,
     Princeton, N.J.

Page was one of the first of Mr. Wilson's friends to discuss with the
President-elect the new legislative programme. The memorandum which he
made of this interview shows how little any one, in 1912, appreciated
the tremendous problems that Mr. Wilson would have to face. Only
domestic matters then seemed to have the slightest importance.
Especially significant is the fact that even at this early date, Page
was chiefly impressed by Mr. Wilson's "loneliness."


_Memorandum dated November 15, 1912_

To use the Government, especially the Department of Agriculture and the
Bureau of Education, to help actively in the restoration of country
life--that's the great chance for Woodrow Wilson, ten days ago elected
President. Precisely how well he understands this chance, how well, for
example, he understands the grave difference between the Knapp
Demonstration method of teaching farmers and the usual Agricultural
College method of lecturing to them, and what he knows about the rising
movement for country schools of the right sort, and agricultural credit
societies--how all this great constructive problem of Country Life lies
in his mind, who knows? I do not. If I do not know, who does know? The
political managers who have surrounded him these six months have now
done their task. _They_ know nothing of this Big Chance and Great
Outlook. And for the moment they have left him alone. In two days he
will go to Bermuda for a month to rest and to meditate. He ought to
meditate on this Constructive programme. It seemed my duty to go and
tell him about it. I asked for an interview and he telegraphed to go
to-day at five o'clock.

Arthur and I drove in the car and reached Princeton just before five--a
beautiful drive of something less than four hours from New York.
Presently we arrived at the Wilson house.

"The Governor is engaged," I was informed by the man who opened the
door. "He can see nobody. He is going away to-morrow."

"I have an appointment with him," said I, and I gave him my card.

"I know he can't see anybody."

"Will you send my card in?"

We waited at the door till the maid took it in and returned to say the
Governor would presently come down.

The reception room had a desk in the corner, and on a row of chairs
across the whole side of the room were piles of unopened letters. It is
a plain, modestly but decently furnished room, such as you would expect
to find in the modest house of a professor at Princeton. During his
presidency of the college, he had lived in the President's house in the
college yard. This was his own house of his professorial days.

"Hello, Page, come out here: I am glad to see you." There he stood in a
door at the back of the room, which led to his library and work room.
"Come back here."

"In the best of all possible worlds, the right thing does sometimes
happen," said I.

"Yes."

"And a great opportunity."

He smiled and was cordial and said some pleasant words. But he was
weary. "I have cobwebs in my head." He was not depressed but
oppressed--rather shy, I thought, and I should say rather lonely. The
campaign noise and the little campaigners were hushed and gone. There
were no men of companionable size about him, and the Great Task lay
before him. The Democratic party has not brought forward large men in
public life during its long term of exclusion from the Government; and
the newly elected President has had few opportunities and a very short
time to make acquaintances of a continental kind. This little college
town, this little hitherto corrupt state, are both small.

I went at my business without delay. The big country-life idea, the
working of great economic forces to put its vitalization within sight,
the coming equilibrium by the restoration of country life--all
coincident with his coming into the Presidency. His Administration must
fall in with it, guide it, further it. The chief instruments are the
Agricultural Department, the Bureau of Education, and the power of the
President himself to bring about Rural Credit Societies and similar
organized helps. He quickly saw the difference between Demonstration
Work by the Agricultural Department and the plan to vote large sums to
agricultural colleges and to the states to build up schools.

"Who is the best man for Secretary of Agriculture?"

I ought to have known, but I didn't. For who is?

"May I look about and answer your question later?"

"Yes, I will thank you."

"I wish to find the very best men for my Cabinet, regardless of
consequences. I do not forget the party as an instrument of government,
and I do not wish to do violence to it. But I must have the best men in
the Nation"--with a very solemn tone as he sat bolt upright, with a
stern look on his face, and a lonely look.

I told him my idea of the country school that must be and talked of the
Bureau of Education. He saw quickly and assented to all my propositions.

And then we talked somewhat more conservatively of Conservation, about
which he knows less.

I asked if he would care to have me make briefs about the Agricultural
Department, the Bureau of Education, the Rural Credit Societies, and
Conservation. "I shall be very grateful, if it be not too great a
sacrifice."

I had gained that permission, which (if he respect my opinion) ought to
guide him somewhat toward a real understanding of how the Government may
help toward our Great Constructive Problem.

I gained also the impression that he has no sympathy with the idea of
giving government grants to schools and agricultural colleges--a very
distinct impression.

I had been with him an hour and had talked (I fear) too much. But he
seemed hearty in his thanks. He came to the front door with me, insisted
on helping me on with my coat, envied me the motor-car drive in the
night back to New York, spoke to eight or ten reporters who had crowded
into the hall for their interview--a most undignified method, it seemed
to me, for a President-elect to reach the public; I stepped out on the
muddy street, and, as I walked to the Inn, I had the feeling of the
man's oppressive loneliness as he faced his great task. There is no pomp
of circumstance, nor hardly dignity in this setting, except the dignity
of his seriousness and his loneliness.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was a general expectation that Page would become a member of
President Wilson's Cabinet, and the place for which he seemed
particularly suited was the Secretaryship of Agriculture. The smoke of
battle had hardly passed away, therefore, when Page's admirers began
bringing pressure to bear upon the President-elect. There was probably
no man in the United States who had such completely developed views
about this Department as Page; and it is not improbable that, had
circumstances combined to offer him this position, he would have
accepted it. But fate in matters of this sort is sometimes kinder than a
man's friends. Page had a great horror of anything which suggested
office-seeking, and the campaign which now was started in his interest
greatly embarrassed him. He wrote Mr. Wilson, disclaiming all
responsibility and begging him to ignore these misguided efforts. As the
best way of checking the movement, Page now definitely answered Mr.
Wilson's question: Who was the best man for the Agricultural Department?
It is interesting to note that the candidate whom Page nominated in this
letter--a man who had been his friend for many years and an associate on
the Southern Education Board--was the man whom Mr. Wilson chose.


_To Woodrow Wilson_

     Garden City, N.Y.
     November 27, 1912.

     MY DEAR WILSON:

     I send you (wrongly, perhaps, when you are trying to rest) the
     shortest statement that I could make about the demonstration
     field-work of the Department of Agriculture. This is the best tool
     yet invented to shape country life. Other (and shorter) briefs will
     be ready in a little while.

     You asked me who I thought was the best man for Secretary of
     Agriculture. Houston[7], I should say, of the men that I know. You
     will find my estimate of him in the little packet of memoranda. Van
     Hise[8] may be as good or even better if he be young in mind and
     adaptable enough. But he seems to me a man who may already have
     done his big job.

     I answer the other questions you asked at Princeton and I have
     taken the liberty to send some memoranda about a few other men--on
     the theory that every friend of yours ought now to tell you with
     the utmost frankness about the men he knows, of whom you may be
     thinking.

     The building up of the countryman is the big constructive job of
     our time. When the countryman comes to his own, the town man will
     no longer be able to tax, and to concentrate power, and to bully
     the world.

     Very heartily yours,
     WALTER H. PAGE.


_To Henry Wallace_

     Garden City, N.Y.
     11 March, 1913.

     MY DEAR UNCLE HENRY:

     What a letter yours is! By George! we must get on the job, you and
     I, of steering the world--get on it a little more actively. Else it
     may run amuck. We have frightful responsibilities in this matter.
     The subject weighs the more deeply and heavily on me because I am
     just back from a month's vacation in North Carolina, where I am
     going to build me a winter and old-age bungalow. No; you would be
     disappointed if you went out of your way to see my boys. Moreover,
     they are now merely clearing land. They sold out the farm they put
     in shape, after two years' work, for just ten times what it had
     cost, and they are now starting another one _de novo_. About a year
     hence, they'll have something to show. And next winter, when my
     house is built down there, I want you to come and see me and see
     that country. I'll show you one of the most remarkable farmers'
     clubs you ever saw and many other interesting things as well--many,
     very many. I'm getting into this farm business in dead earnest.
     That's the dickens of it: how can I do my share in our partnership
     to run the universe if I give my time to cotton-growing problems?
     It's a tangled world.

     Well, bless your soul! You and the younger Wallaces (my regards to
     every one of them) and Poe[9]--you are all very kind to think of me
     for that difficult place--too difficult by far, for me. Besides, it
     would have cost me my life. If I were to go into public life, I
     should have had to sell my whole interest here. This would have
     meant that I could never make another dollar. More than that, I'd
     have thrown away a trade that I've learned and gone at another one
     that I know little about--a bad change, surely. So, you see, there
     never was anything serious in this either in my mind or in the
     President's. Arthur hit it off right one day when somebody asked
     him:

     "Is your father going to take the Secretaryship of Agriculture?"

     He replied: "Not seriously."

     Besides, the President didn't ask me! He knew too much for that.

     [Illustration: Charles D. McIver of Greensboro, North Caroline, a
     leader in the cause of Southern Education]

     [Illustration: Woodrow Wilson in 1912]

     But he did ask me who would be a good man and I said "Houston." You
     are not quite fair to him in your editorial. He does know--knows
     much and well and is the strongest man in the Cabinet--in promise.
     The farmers don't yet know him: that's the only trouble. Give him a
     chance.

     I've "put it up" to the new President and to the new Secretary to
     get on the job immediately of _organizing country life_. I've drawn
     up a scheme (a darned good one, too) which they have. I have good
     hope that they'll get to it soon and to the thing that we have all
     been working toward. I'm very hopeful about this. I told them both
     last week to get their minds on this before the wolves devour them.
     Don't you think it better to work with the Government and to try to
     steer it right than to go off organizing other agencies?

     God pity our new masters! The President is all right. He's sound,
     earnest, courageous. But his party! I still have some muscular
     strength. In certain remote regions they still break stones in the
     road by hand. Now I'll break stones before I'd have a job at
     Washington now. I spent four days with them last week--the new
     crowd. They'll try their best. I think they'll succeed. But, if
     they do succeed and survive, they'll come out of the scrimmage
     bleeding and torn. We've got to stand off and run 'em, Uncle Henry.
     That's the only hope I see for the country. Don't damn Houston,
     then, beforehand. He's a real man. Let's get on the job and tell
     'em how.

     Now, when you come East, come before you need to get any of your
     meetings and strike a bee-line for Garden City; and don't be in a
     hurry when you get here. If a Presbyterian meeting be necessary for
     your happiness, I'll drum up one on the Island for you. And, of
     course, you must come to my house and pack up right and get your
     legs steady sometime before you sail--you and Mrs. Wallace: will
     she not go with you?

     In the meantime, don't be disgruntled. We can steer the old world
     right, if you'll just keep your shoulder to the wheel. We'll work
     it all out here in the summer and verify it all (including your job
     of setting the effete kingdoms of Europe all right)--we'll verify
     it all next winter down in North Carolina. I think things have got
     such a start that they'll keep going in some fashion, till we check
     up the several items, political, ethical, agricultural,
     journalistic, and international. God bless us all!

     Most heartily always yours,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

Though Mr. Wilson did not offer Page the Agricultural Department, he
much desired to have him in his Cabinet, and had already decided upon
him for a post which the new President probably regarded as more
important--the Interior. The narrow margin with which Page escaped this
responsibility illustrates again the slender threads upon which history
is constructed. The episode is also not without its humorous side. For
there was only one reason why Page did not enter the Cabinet as
Secretary of the Interior; and that is revealed in the above letter to
"Uncle Henry"; he was so busy planning his new house in the sandhills of
North Carolina that, while cabinets were being formed and great
decisions taken, he was absent from New York. A short time before the
inauguration, Mr. Wilson asked Colonel House to arrange a meeting with
Page in the latter's apartment. Mr. Wilson wished to see him on a
Saturday; the purpose was to offer him the Secretaryship of the
Interior. Colonel House called up Page's office at Garden City and was
informed that he was in North Carolina. Colonel House then telegraphed
asking Page to start north immediately, and suggesting the succeeding
Monday as a good time for the interview. A reply was at once received
from Page that he was on his way.

Meanwhile certain of Mr. Wilson's advisers had heard of the plan and
were raising objections. Page was a Southerner; the Interior Department
has supervision over the pension bureau, with its hundreds of thousands
of Civil War veterans as pensioners; moreover, Page was an outspoken
enemy of the whole pension system and had led several "campaigns"
against it. The appointment would never do! Mr. Wilson himself was
persuaded that it would be a mistake.

"But what are we going to do about Page?" asked Colonel House. "I have
summoned him from North Carolina on important business. What excuse
shall I give for bringing him way up here?"

But the President-elect was equal to the emergency.

"Here's the cabinet list," he drily replied. "Show it to Page. Tell him
these are the people I have about decided to appoint and ask him what he
thinks of them. Then he will assume that we summoned him to get his
advice."

When Page made his appearance, therefore, Colonel House gave him the
list of names and solemnly asked him what he thought of them. The first
name that attracted Page's attention was that of Josephus Daniels, as
Secretary of the Navy. Page at once expressed his energetic dissent.

"Why, don't you think he is Cabinet timber?" asked Colonel House.

"Timber!" Page fairly shouted. "He isn't a splinter! Have you got a time
table? When does the next train leave for Princeton?"

In a couple of hours Page was sitting with Mr. Wilson, earnestly
protesting against Mr. Daniels's appointment. But Mr. Wilson said that
he had already offered Mr. Daniels the place.


II

About the time of Wilson's election a great calamity befell one of
Page's dearest friends. Dr. Edwin A. Alderman, the President of the
University of Virginia, one of the pioneer educational forces in the
Southern States, and for years an associate of Page on the General
Education Board, was stricken with tuberculosis. He was taken to
Saranac, and here a patient course of treatment happily restored him to
health. One of the dreariest aspects of such an experience is its
tediousness and loneliness. Yet the maintenance of one's good spirits
and optimism is an essential part of the treatment. And it was in this
work that Page now proved an indispensable aid to the medical men. As
soon as Dr. Alderman found himself stretched out, a weak and isolated
figure, cut off from those activities and interests which had been his
inspiration for forty years, with no companions except his own thoughts
and a few sufferers like himself, letters began to arrive with weekly
regularity from the man whom he always refers to as "dear old Page." The
gayety and optimism of these letters, the lively comments which they
passed upon men and things, and their wholesome and genial philosophy,
were largely instrumental, Dr. Alderman has always believed, in his
recovery. Their effect was so instant and beneficial that the physicians
asked to have them read to the other patients, who also derived
abounding comfort and joy from them. The whole episode was one of the
most beautiful in Page's life, and brings out again that gift for
friendship which was perhaps his finest quality. For this reason it is
a calamity that most of these letters have not been preserved. The few
that have survived are interesting not only in themselves; they reveal
Page's innermost thoughts on the subject of Woodrow Wilson. That he
admired the new President is evident, yet these letters make it clear
that, even in 1912 and 1913, there was something about Mr. Wilson that
caused him to hesitate, to entertain doubts, to wonder how, after all,
the experiment was to end.

     To Edwin A. Alderman

     Garden City, L.I.
     December 31, 1912.

     MY DEAR ED ALDERMAN:

     I have a new amusement, a new excitement, a new study, as you have
     and as we all have who really believe in democracy--a new study, a
     new hope, and sometimes a new fear; and its name is Wilson. I have
     for many years regarded myself as an interested, but always a
     somewhat detached, outsider, believing that the democratic idea was
     real and safe and lifting, if we could ever get it put into action,
     contenting myself ever with such patches of it as time and accident
     and occasion now and then sewed on our gilded or tattered garments.
     But now it is come--the real thing; at any rate a man somewhat like
     us, whose thought and aim and dream are our thought and aim and
     dream. That's enormously exciting! I didn't suppose I'd ever become
     so interested in a general proposition or in a governmental hope.

     Will he do it? Can he do it? Can anybody do it? How can we help him
     do it? Now that the task is on him, does he really understand? Do I
     understand him and he me? There's a certain unreality about it.

     The man himself--I find that nobody quite knows him now. Alas! I
     wonder if he quite knows himself. Temperamentally very shy, having
     lived too much alone and far too much with women (how I wish two of
     his daughters were sons!) this Big Thing having descended on him
     before he knew or was quite prepared for it, thrust into a whirl of
     self-seeking men even while he is trying to think out the theory of
     the duties that press, knowing the necessity of silence, surrounded
     by small people--well, I made up my mind that his real friends owed
     it to him and to what we all hope for, to break over his reserve
     and to volunteer help. He asks for conferences with official
     folk--only, I think. So I began to write memoranda about those
     subjects of government about which I know something and have
     opinions and about men who are or who may be related to them. It
     has been great sport to set down in words without any reserve
     precisely what you think. It is imprudent, of course, as most
     things worth doing are. But what have I to lose, I who have my life
     now planned and laid out and have got far beyond the reach of
     gratitude or hatred or praise or blame or fear of any man? I sent
     him some such memoranda. Here came forthwith a note of almost
     abject thanks. I sent more. Again, such a note--written in his own
     hand. Yet not a word of what he thinks. The Sphinx was garrulous in
     comparison. Then here comes a mob of my good friends crying for
     office for me. So I sent a ten-line note, by the hand of my
     secretary, saying that this should not disturb my perfect frankness
     nor (I knew it would not) his confidence. Again, a note in his own
     hand, of perfect understanding and with the very glow of gratitude.
     And he talks--generalities to the public. Perhaps that's all he can
     talk now. Wise? Yes. But does he know the men about him? Does he
     really know men? Nobody knows. Thus 'twixt fear and hope I
     see--suspense. I'll swear I can't doubt, I can't believe. Whether
     it is going to work out or not--whether he or anybody can work it
     out of the haze of theory--nobody knows; and nobody's speculation
     is better than mine and mine is worthless.

     This is the game, this is the excitement, this is the doubthope and
     the hopedoubt. I send this word about it to you (I could and would
     to nobody else: you're snowbound, you see, and don't write much and
     don't see many people: restrain your natural loquacity!) But for
     the love of heaven tell me if you see any way _very clearly_. It's
     a kind of misty dream to me.

     I ask myself why should I concern myself about it? Of course the
     answer's easy and I think creditable: I do profoundly hold this
     democratic faith and believe that it can be worked into action
     among men; and it may be I shall yet see it done. That's the secret
     of my interest. But when this awful office descends on a man, it
     oppresses him, changes him, you are not quite so sure of him, you
     doubt whether he knows himself or you in the old way.

     And I find among men the very crudest ideas of government or of
     democracy. They have not thought the thing out. They hold no
     ordered creed of human organization or advancement. They leave all
     to chance and think, when they think at all, that chance determines
     it. And yet the Great Hope persists, and I think I have grown an
     inch by it.

     I wonder how it seems, looked at from the cold mountains of Lake
     Saranac?

     It's the end of the year. Mrs. Page and I (alone!) have been
     talking of democracy, of these very things I've written. The
     bell-ringing and the dancing and the feasting are not, on this
     particular year, to our liking. We see all our children gone--half
     of them to nests of their own building, the rest on errands of
     their own pleasure, and we are left, young yet, but the main job of
     life behind us! We're going down to a cottage in southern North
     Carolina (with our own cook and motor car, praise God!) for
     February, still further to think this thing out and incidentally to
     build us a library, in which we'll live when we can. That, for
     convention's sake, we call a Vacation.

     Your brave note came to-day. Of course, you'll "get" 'em--those
     small enemies. The gain of twelve pounds tells the story. The
     danger is, your season of philosophy and reverie will be too soon
     ended. Don't fret; the work and the friends will be here when you
     come down. There's many a long day ahead; and there may not be so
     many seasons of rest and meditation. You are the only man I know
     who has time enough to think out a clear answer to this: "What
     ought to be done with Bryan?" What _can_ be done with Bryan? When
     you find the answer, telegraph it to me.

     I've a book or two more to send you. If they interest you, praise
     the gods. If they bore you, fling 'em in the snow and think no
     worse of me. You can't tell what a given book may be worth to a
     given man in an unknown mood. They've become such a commodity to me
     that I thank my stars for a month away from them when I may come at
     'em at a different angle and really need a few old
     ones--Wordsworth, for instance. When you get old enough, you'll
     wake up some day with the feeling that the world is much more
     beautiful than it was when you were young, that a landscape has a
     closer meaning, that the sky is more companionable, that outdoor
     colour and motion are more splendidly audacious and beautifully
     rhythmical than you had ever thought. That's true. The gently
     snow-clad little pines out my window are more to me than the whole
     Taft Administration. They'll soon be better than the year's
     dividends. And the few great craftsmen in words who can confirm
     this feeling--they are the masters you become grateful for. Then
     the sordidness of the world lies far beneath you and your great
     democracy is truly come--the democracy of Nature. To be akin to a
     tree, in this sense, is as good as to be akin to a man. I have a
     grove of little long-leaf pines down in the old country and I know
     they'll have some consciousness of me after all men have forgotten
     me: I've saved 'em, and they'll sing a century of gratitude if I
     can keep 'em saved. Joe Holmes gave me a dissertation on them the
     other day. He was down there "on a little Sunday jaunt" of forty
     miles--the best legs and the best brain that ever worked together
     in one anatomy.

     A conquering New Year--that's what you'll find, begun before this
     reaches you, carrying all good wishes from

     Yours affectionately,

     W.H.P.

     To Edwin A. Alderman

     Garden City, New York,

     January 26, 1913.

     MY DEAR ED ALDERMAN:

     This has been "Board" [10] week, as you know. The men came from all
     quarters of the land, and we had a good time. New work is opening;
     old work is going well; the fellowship ran in good tide--except
     that everybody asked everybody else: "What do you know about
     Alderman?" Everybody who had late news of you gave a good report.
     The Southern Board formally passed a resolution to send
     affectionate greetings to you and high hope and expectation, and I
     was commissioned to frame the message. This is it. I shall write no
     formal resolution, for that wasn't the spirit of it. The fellows
     all asked me, singly and collectively, to send their love. And we
     don't put that sort of a message under _whereases_ and
     _wherefores_. There they were, every one of them, except Peabody
     and Bowie. Mr. Ogden in particular was anxious for his emphatic
     remembrance and good wishes to go. The dear old man is fast passing
     into the last stage of his illness and he knows it and he soon
     expects the end, in a mood as brave and as game as he ever was. I
     am sorry to tell you he suffers a good deal of pain.

     What a fine thing to look back over--this Southern Board's work!
     Here was a fine, zealous merchant twenty years ago, then
     fifty-seven years old, who saw this big job as a modest layman. If
     he had known more about "Education" or more about "the South,
     bygawd, sir!" he'd never have had the courage to tackle the job.
     But with the bravery of ignorance, he turned out to be the wisest
     man on that task in our generation. He has united every real, good
     force, and he showed what can be done in a democracy even by one
     zealous man. I've sometimes thought that this is possibly the
     wisest single piece of work that I have ever seen done--_wisest_,
     not smartest. I don't know what can be done when he's gone. His
     phase of it is really done. But, if another real leader arise,
     there will doubtless be another phase.

     The General Board doesn't find much more college-endowing to do. We
     made only one or two gifts. But we are trying to get the country
     school task rightly focussed. We haven't done it yet; but we will.
     Buttrick and Rose will work it out. I wish to God I could throw
     down my practical job and go at it with 'em. Darned if I couldn't
     get it going! though _I_ say it, as shouldn't. And we are going
     pretty soon to begin with the medical colleges; that, I think, is
     good--very.

     But the most efficient workmanlike piece of organization that my
     mortal eyes have ever seen is Rose's hookworm worm work. We're
     going soon to organize country life in a sanitary way, the county
     health officer being the biggest man on the horizon. Stiles has
     moved his marine hospital and his staff to Wilmington, North
     Carolina, and he and the local health men are quietly going to make
     New Hanover the model county for sanitary condition and efficiency.
     You'll know what a vast revolution that denotes!--And Congress
     seems likely to charter the big Rockefeller Foundation, which will
     at once make five millions available for chasing the hookworm off
     the face of the earth. Rose will spread himself over Honduras,
     etc., etc., and China, and India! This does literally beat the
     devil; for, if the hookworm isn't the devil, what is?

     I'm going to farming. I've two brothers and two sons, all young and
     strong, who believe in the game. We have land without end,
     thousands of acres; engines to pull stumps, to plough, to plant, to
     reap. The nigger go hang! A white boy with an engine can outdo a
     dozen of 'em. Cotton and corn for staple crops; peaches, figs,
     scuppernongs, vegetables, melons for incidental crops; God's good
     air in North Carolina; good roads, too--why, man, Moore County has
     authorized the laying out of a strip of land along all highways to
     be planted in shrubbery and fruit trees and kept as a park, so that
     you will motor for 100 miles through odorous bloom in spring!--I
     mean I am going down there to-morrow for a month, one day for golf
     at Pinehurst, the next day for clearing land with an oil
     locomotive, ripping up stumps! Every day for life out-of-doors and
     every night, too. I'm going to grow dasheens. You know what a
     dasheen is? It's a Trinidad potato, which keeps and tastes like a
     sweet potato stuffed with chestnuts. There are lots of things to
     learn in this world.

     God bless us all, old man. It's a pretty good world, whether seen
     from the petty excitements of reforming the world and dreaming of a
     diseaseless earth in New York, or from the stump-pulling recreation
     of a North Carolina wilderness.

     Health be with you!

     W.H.P.

     To Edwin A. Alderman

     Garden City, L.I.

     March 10, 1913.

     MY DEAR ED ALDERMAN:

     I'm home from a month of perfect climate in the sandhills of North
     Carolina, where I am preparing a farm and building a home at least
     for winter use; and I had the most instructive and interesting
     month of my life there. I believe I see, even in my life-time, the
     coming of a kind of man and a kind of life that shall come pretty
     near to being the model American citizen and the model American way
     to live. Half of it is climate; a fourth of it occupation; the
     other fourth, companionship. And the climate (with what it does) is
     three fourths companionship.

     Then I came to Washington and saw Wilson made President--a very
     impressive experience indeed. The future--God knows; but I believe
     in Wilson very thoroughly. Men fool him yet. Men fool us all. He
     has already made some mistakes. But he's sound. And, if we have
     moral courage enough to beat back the grafters, little and big--I
     mean if we, the people, will vote two years and four years hence,
     to keep them back, I think that we shall now really work toward a
     democratic government. I have a stronger confidence in government
     now as an instrument of human progress than I have ever had before.
     And I find it an exhilarating and exciting experience.

     I have seen many of your good friends in North Carolina, Virginia,
     and Washington. How we all do love you, old man! Don't forget that,
     in your successful fight. And, with my affectionate greetings to
     Mrs. Alderman, ask her to send me the news of your progress.

     Always affectionately yours,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

     _To Edwin A. Alderman_

     On the _Baltic_, New York to Liverpool,

     May 19, 1913.

     MY DEAR ED ALDERMAN:

     It was the best kind of news I heard of you during my last weeks at
     home--every day of which I wished to go to Briarcliff to see you.
     At a distance, it seems absurd to say that it was impossible to go.
     But it was. I set down five different days in my calendar for this
     use; and somehow every one of them was taken. Two were taken by
     unexpected calls to Washington. Another was taken by my partners
     who arranged a little good-bye dinner. Another was taken by the
     British Ambassador--and so on. Absurd--of course it was absurd, and
     I feel now as if it approached the criminal. But every stolen day I
     said, "Well, I'll find another." But another never came.

     But good news of you came by many hands and mouths. My
     congratulations, my cheers, my love, old man. Now when you do take
     up work again, don't take up all the work. Show the fine virtue
     called self-restraint. We work too much and too hard and do too
     many things even when we are well. There are three titled
     Englishmen who sit at the table with me on this ship--one a former
     Lord Mayor of London, another a peer, and the third an M.P. Damn
     their self-sufficiencies! They do excite my envy. _They_ don't
     shoulder the work of the world: they shoulder the world and leave
     the work to be done by somebody else. Three days' stories and
     political discussion with them have made me wonder why the devil
     I've been so industrious all my life. They know more than I know;
     they are richer than I am; they have been about the world more than
     I have; they are far more influential than I am; and yet one of
     them asked me to-day if George Washington was a born American! I
     said to him, "Where the devil do you suppose he came from--Hades?"
     And he laughed at himself as heartily as the rest of us laughed at
     him, and didn't care a hang!

     If that's British, I've a mind to become British; and, the point
     is, you must, too. Work is a curse. There was some truth in that
     old doctrine. At any rate a little of it must henceforth go a long
     way with you.

     A sermon? Yes. But, since it's a good one, I know you'll forgive
     me; for it is preached in love, my dear boy, and accompanied with
     the hearty and insistent hope that you'll write to me.

     Affectionately,
     WALTER PAGE.

This last letter apparently anticipates the story. A few weeks before it
was written President Wilson had succeeded in carrying out his
determination to make Page an important part of his Administration. One
morning Page's telephone rang and Colonel House's well-known and
well-modulated voice came over the wire.

"Good morning, Your Excellency," was his greeting.

"What the devil are you talking about?" asked Page.

Then Colonel House explained himself. The night before, he said, he had
dined at the White House. In a pause of the conversation the President
had quietly remarked:

"I've about made up my mind to send Walter Page to England. What do you
think of that?"

Colonel House thought very well of it indeed and the result of his
conversation was this telephone call, in which he was authorized to
offer Page the Ambassadorship to Great Britain.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 7: Mr. David F. Houston, ex-President of the University of
Texas, and in 1912 Chancellor of the Washington University of St.
Louis.]

[Footnote 8: Charles R. Van Hise, President of the University of
Wisconsin.]

[Footnote 9: Clarence Poe, editor of _The Progressive Farmer_.]

[Footnote 10: The reference is to the meeting of the Southern and the
General Education Boards.]




CHAPTER V

ENGLAND BEFORE THE WAR


The London Embassy is the greatest diplomatic gift at the disposal of
the President, and, in the minds of the American people, it possesses a
glamour and an historic importance all its own. Page came to the
position, as his predecessors had come, with a sense of awe; the great
traditions of the office; the long line of distinguished men, from
Thomas Pinckney to Whitelaw Reid, who had filled it; the peculiar
delicacy of the problems that then existed between the two countries;
the reverent respect which Page had always entertained for English
history, English literature, and English public men--all these
considerations naturally quickened the new ambassador's imagination and,
at the same time, made his arrival in England a rather solemn event. Yet
his first days in London had their grotesque side as well. He himself
has recorded his impressions, and, since they contain an important
lesson for the citizens of the world's richest and most powerful
Republic, they should be preserved. When the ambassador of practically
any other country reaches London, he finds waiting for him a spacious
and beautiful embassy, filled with a large corps of secretaries and
servants--everything ready, to the minutest detail, for the beginning of
his labours. He simply enters these elaborate state-owned and
state-supported quarters and starts work. How differently the mighty
United States welcomes its ambassadors let Page's memorandum tell:

The boat touched at Queenstown, and a mass of Irish reporters came
aboard and wished to know what I thought of Ireland. Some of them
printed the important announcement that I was quite friendly to Ireland!
At Liverpool was Mr. Laughlin[11], Chargé d'Affaires in London since Mr.
Reid's death, to meet me, and of course the consul, Mr. Washington. . . .
On our arrival in London, Laughlin explained that he had taken quarters
for me at the Coburg Hotel, whither we drove, after having fought my way
through a mob of reporters at the station. One fellow told me that since
I left New York the papers had published a declaration by me that I
meant to be very "democratic" and would under no conditions wear "knee
breeches"; and he asked me about that report. I was foolish enough to
reply that the existence of an ass in the United States ought not
necessarily to require the existence of a corresponding ass in London.
He printed that! I never knew the origin of this "knee breeches" story.

That residence at the Coburg Hotel for three months was a crowded and
uncomfortable nightmare. The indignity and inconvenience--even the
humiliation--of an ambassador beginning his career in an hotel,
especially during the Court season, and a green ambassador at that! I
hope I may not die before our Government does the conventional duty to
provide ambassadors' residences.

The next morning I went to the Chancery (123, Victoria Street) and my
heart sank. I had never in my life been in an American Embassy. I had
had no business with them in Paris or in London on my previous visits.
In fact I had never been in any embassy except the British Embassy at
Washington. But the moment I entered that dark and dingy hall at 123,
Victoria Street, between two cheap stores--the same entrance that the
dwellers in the cheap flats above used--I knew that Uncle Sam had no fit
dwelling there. And the Ambassador's room greatly depressed me--dingy
with twenty-nine years of dirt and darkness, and utterly undignified.
And the rooms for the secretaries and attachés were the little bedrooms,
kitchen, etc., of that cheap flat; that's all it was. For the place we
paid $1,500 a year. I did not understand then and I do not understand
yet how Lowell, Bayard, Phelps, Hay, Choate, and Reid endured that cheap
hole. Of course they stayed there only about an hour a day; but they
sometimes saw important people there. And, whether they ever saw anybody
there or not, the offices of the United States Government in London
ought at least to be as good as a common lawyer's office in a country
town in a rural state of our Union. Nobody asked for anything for an
embassy: nobody got anything for an embassy. I made up my mind in ten
minutes that I'd get out of this place[12].

At the Coburg Hotel, we were very well situated; but the hotel became
intolerably tiresome. Harold Fowler and Frank and I were there until
W.A.W.P.[13] and Kitty[14] came (and Frances Clark came with them). Then
we were just a little too big a hotel party. Every morning I drove down
to the old hole of a Chancery and remained about two hours. There wasn't
very much work to do; and my main business was to become acquainted with
the work and with people--to find myself with reference to this task,
with reference to official life and to London life in general.

Every afternoon people came to the hotel to see me--some to pay their
respects and to make life pleasant, some out of mere curiosity, and many
for ends of their own. I confess that on many days nightfall found me
completely worn out. But the evenings seldom brought a chance to rest.
The social season was going at its full gait; and the new ambassador
(any new ambassador) would have been invited to many functions. A very
few days after my arrival, the Duchess of X invited Frank and me to
dinner. The powdered footmen were the chief novelty of the occasion for
us. But I was much confused because nobody introduced anybody to anybody
else. If a juxtaposition, as at the dinner table, made an introduction
imperative, the name of the lady next you was so slurred that you
couldn't possibly understand it.

Party succeeded party. I went to them because they gave me a chance to
become acquainted with people.

But very early after my arrival, I was of course summoned by the King. I
had presented a copy of my credentials to the Foreign Secretary (Sir
Edward Grey) and the real credentials--the original in a sealed
envelope--I must present to His Majesty. One morning the King's Master
of the Ceremonies, Sir Arthur Walsh, came to the hotel with the royal
coaches, four or five of them, and the richly caparisoned grooms. The
whole staff of the Embassy must go with me. We drove to Buckingham
Palace, and, after waiting a few moments, I was ushered into the King's
presence. He stood in one of the drawing rooms on the ground floor
looking out on the garden. There stood with him in uniform Sir Edward
Grey. I entered and bowed. He shook my hand, and I spoke my little piece
of three or four sentences.

He replied, welcoming me and immediately proceeded to express his
surprise and regret that a great and rich country like the United States
had not provided a residence for its ambassadors. "It is not fair to an
ambassador," said he; and he spoke most earnestly.

I reminded him that, although the lack of a home was an inconvenience,
the trouble or discomfort that fell on an ambassador was not so bad as
the wrong impression which I feared was produced about the United States
and its Government, and I explained that we had had so many absorbing
domestic tasks and, in general, so few absorbing foreign relations, that
we had only begun to develop what might be called an international
consciousness.

Sir Edward was kind enough the next time I saw him to remark that I did
that very well and made a good impression on the King.

I could now begin my ambassadorial career proper--call on the other
ambassadors and accept invitations to dinners and the like.

I was told after I came from the King's presence that the Queen would
receive me in a few minutes. I was shown upstairs, the door opened, and
there in a small drawing room, stood the Queen alone--a pleasant woman,
very royal in appearance. The one thing that sticks in my memory out of
this first conversation with her Majesty was her remark that she had
seen only one man who had been President of the United States--Mr.
Roosevelt. She hoped he was well. I felt moved to remark that she was
not likely to see many former Presidents because the office was so hard
a task that most of them did not long survive.

"I'm hoping that office will not soon kill the King," she said.

In time Page obtained an entirely adequate and dignified house at 6
Grosvenor Square, and soon found that the American Ambassadorship had
compensations which were hardly suggested by his first glimpse of the
lugubrious Chancery. He brought to this new existence his plastic and
inquisitive mind, and his mighty gusto for the interesting and the
unusual; he immensely enjoyed his meetings with the most important
representatives of all types of British life. The period of his arrival
marked a crisis in British history; Mr. Lloyd George was supposed to be
taxing the aristocracy out of existence; Mr. Asquith was accused of
plotting the destruction of the House of Lords; the tide of liberalism,
even of radicalism, was running high, and, in the judgment of the
conservative forces, England was tottering to its fall; the gathering
mob was about to submerge everything that had made it great. And the
Irish question had reached another crisis with the passage of the Home
Rule Bill, which Sir Edward Carson was preparing to resist with his
Irish "volunteers."

All these matters formed the staple of talk at dinner tables, at country
houses and at the clubs; and Page found constant entertainment in the
variegated pageant. There were important American matters to discuss
with the Foreign Office--more important than any that had arisen in
recent years--particularly Mexico and the Panama Tolls. Before these
questions are considered, however, it may be profitable to print a
selection from the many letters which Page wrote during his first year,
giving his impressions of this England which he had always loved and
which a closer view made him love and admire still more. These letters
have the advantage of presenting a frank and yet sympathetic picture of
British society and British life as it was just before the war.

     _To Frank N Doubleday_

     The Coburg Hotel,
     Carlos Place, Grosvenor Square,
     London, W.

     DEAR EFFENDI:[15]

     You can't imagine the intensity of the party feeling here. I dined
     to-night in an old Tory family. They had just had a "division" an
     hour or two before in the House of Lords on the Home Rule Bill. Six
     Lords were at the dinner and their wives. One was a Duke, two were
     Bishops, and the other three were Earls. They expect a general
     "bust-up." If the King does so and so, off with the King! That's
     what they fear the Liberals will do. It sounds very silly to me;
     but you can't exaggerate their fear. The Great Lady, who was our
     hostess, told me, with tears in her voice, that she had suspended
     all social relations with the Liberal leaders.

     At lunch--just five or six hours before--we were at the Prime
     Minister's, where the talk was precisely on the other side.
     Gladstone's granddaughter was there and several members of the
     Cabinet.

     Somehow it reminds me of the tense days of the slavery controversy
     just before the Civil War.

     Yet in the everyday life of the people, you hear nothing about it.
     It is impossible to believe that the ordinary man cares a fig!

     Good-night. You don't care a fig for this. But I'll get time to
     write you something interesting in a little while.

     Yours,
     W.H.P.

     _To Herbert S. Houston_

     American Embassy
     London
     Sunday, 24 Aug., 1913.

     DEAR H.S.H.:

     . . . You know there's been much discussion of the decadence of the
     English people. I don't believe a word of it. They have an awful
     slum, I hear, as everybody knows, and they have an idle class.
     Worse, from an equal-opportunity point-of-view, they have a very
     large servant-class, and a large class that depends on the nobility
     and the rich. All these are economic and social drawbacks. But they
     have always had all these--except that the slum has become larger
     in modern years. And I don't see or find any reason to believe in
     the theory of decadence. The world never saw a finer lot of men
     than the best of their ruling class. You may search the world and
     you may search history for finer men than Lord Morley, Sir Edward
     Grey, Mr. Harcourt, and other members of the present Cabinet. And I
     meet such men everywhere--gently bred, high-minded, physically fit,
     intellectually cultivated, patriotic. If the devotion to old forms
     and the inertia which makes any change almost impossible strike an
     American as out-of-date, you must remember that in the grand old
     times of England, they had all these things and had them worse than
     they are now. I can't see that the race is breaking down or giving
     out. Consider how their political morals have been pulled up since
     the days of the rotten boroughs; consider how their court-life is
     now high and decent, and think what it once was. British trade is
     larger this year than it ever was, Englishmen are richer then they
     ever were and more of them are rich. They write and speak and play
     cricket, and govern, and fight as well as they have ever
     done--excepting, of course, the writing of Shakespeare.

     Another conclusion that is confirmed the more you see of English
     life is their high art of living. When they make their money, they
     stop money-making and cultivate their minds and their gardens and
     entertain their friends and do all the high arts of living--to
     perfection. Three days ago a retired soldier gave a garden-party in
     my honour, twenty-five miles out of London. There was his historic
     house, a part of it 500 years old; there were his ten acres of
     garden, his lawn, his trees; and they walk with you over it all;
     they sit out-of-doors; they serve tea; they take life rationally;
     they talk pleasantly (not jocularly, nor story-telling); they abhor
     the smart in talk or in conduct; they have gentleness, cultivation,
     the best manners in the world; and they are genuine. The hostess
     has me take a basket and go with her while she cuts it full of
     flowers for us to bring home; and, as we walk, she tells the story
     of the place. She is a tenant-for-life; it is entailed. Her husband
     was wounded in South Africa. Her heir is her nephew. The home, of
     course, will remain in the family forever. No, they don't go to
     London much in recent years: why should they? But they travel a
     month or more. They give three big tea-parties--one when the
     rhododendrons bloom and the others at stated times. They have
     friends to stay with them half the time, perhaps--sometimes parties
     of a dozen. England never had a finer lot of folk than these. And
     you see them everywhere. The art of living sanely they have
     developed to as high a level, I think, as you will find at any time
     in any land.

     The present political battle is fiercer than you would ever guess.
     The Lords feel that they are sure to be robbed: they see the end
     of the ordered world. Chaos and confiscation lie before them. Yet
     that, too, has nearly always been so. It was so in the Reform Bill
     days. Lord Morley said to me the other day that when all the
     abolitions had been done, there would be fewer things abolished
     than anybody hopes or fears, and that there would be the same
     problems in some form for many generations. I'm beginning to
     believe that the Englishman has always been afraid of the
     future--that's what's keeps him so alert. They say to me: "You have
     frightful things happen in the United States--your Governor of New
     York[16], your Thaw case, your corruption, etc., etc.; and yet you
     seem sure and tell us that your countrymen feel sure of the safety
     of your government." In the newspaper comments on my
     Southampton[17] speech the other day, this same feeling cropped up;
     the American Ambassador assures us that the note of hope is the
     dominant note of the Republic--etc., etc. Yes, they are dull, _in a
     way_--not dull, so much as steady; and yet they have more solid
     sense than any other people.

     It's an interesting study--the most interesting in the world. The
     genuineness of the courtesy, the real kindness and the hospitality
     of the English are beyond praise and without limit. In this they
     show a strange contradiction to their dickering habits in trade and
     their "unctuous rectitude" in stealing continents. I know a place
     in the world now where they are steadily moving their boundary line
     into other people's territory. I guess they really believe that the
     earth belongs to them.

     Sincerely,
     W.H.P.

     To Arthur W. Page[18]

     Gordon Arms Hotel, Elgin, Scotland.
     September 6, 1913.

     Dear Arthur:

     Your mother and Kitty[19] and I are on our way to see Andy[20]. Had
     you any idea that to motor from London to Skibo means driving more
     than eight hundred miles? Our speedometer now shows more than seven
     hundred and we've another day to go--at least one hundred and
     thirty miles. And we haven't even had a tire accident. We're having
     a delightful journey--only this country yields neither vegetables
     nor fruits, and I have to live on oatmeal. They spell it
     p-o-r-r-i-d-g-e, and they call it puruge. But they beat all
     creation as carnivorous folk. We stayed last night at a beautiful
     mountain hotel at Braemar (the same town whereat Stevenson wrote
     "Treasure Island") and they had nine kinds of meat for dinner and
     eggs in three ways, and no vegetables but potatoes. But this
     morning we struck the same thin oatbread that you ate at
     Grandfather Mountain.

     I've never understood the Scotch. I think they are, without doubt,
     the most capable race in the world--away from home. But how they
     came to be so and how they keep up their character and supremacy
     and keep breeding true needs explanation. As you come through the
     country, you see the most monotonous and dingy little houses and
     thousands of robust children, all dirtier than niggers. In the
     fertile parts of the country, the fields are beautifully
     cultivated--for Lord This-and-T'Other who lives in London and comes
     up here in summer to collect his rents and to shoot. The country
     people seem desperately poor. But they don't lose their robustness.
     In the solid cities--the solidest you ever saw, all being of
     granite--such as Edinburgh and Aberdeen, where you see the
     prosperous class, they look the sturdiest and most independent
     fellows you ever saw. As they grow old they all look like
     blue-bellied Presbyterian elders. Scotch to the marrow--everybody
     and everything seem--bare knees alike on the street and in the
     hotel with dress coats on, bagpipes--there's no sense in these
     things, yet being Scotch they live forever. The first men I saw
     early this morning on the street in front of the hotel were two
     weather-beaten old chaps, with gray beards under their chins.
     "Guddddd Murrrrninggggg, Andy," said one. "Guddddd murrninggggg,
     Sandy," said the other; and they trudged on. They'd dethrone kings
     before they'd shave differently or drop their burrs and gutturals
     or cover their knees or cease lying about the bagpipe. And you
     can't get it out of the blood. Your mother[21] becomes provoked
     when I say these things, and I shouldn't wonder if you yourself
     resent them and break out quoting Burns. Now the Highlands can't
     support a population larger than the mountain counties of Kentucky.
     Now your Kentucky feud is a mere disgrace to civilization. But your
     Highland feud is celebrated in song and story. Every clan keeps
     itself together to this day by its history and by its plaid. At a
     turn in the road in the mountains yesterday, there stood a statue
     of Rob Roy painted every stripe to life. We saw his sword and purse
     in Sir Walter's house at Abbotsford. The King himself wore the kilt
     and one of the plaids at the last court ball at Buckingham Palace,
     and there is a man who writes his name and is called "The
     Macintosh of Macintosh," and that's a prouder title than the
     King's. A little handful of sheep-stealing bandits got themselves
     immortalized and heroized, and they are now all Presbyterian
     elders. They got _their_ church "established" in Scotland, and when
     the King comes to Scotland, by Jehoshaphat! he is obliged to become
     a Presbyterian. Yet your Kentucky feudist--poor devil--he comes too
     late. The Scotchman has pre-empted that particular field of glory.
     And all such comparisons make your mother fighting mad. . . .

     Affectionately,
     W.H.P.

     _To the President_

     American Embassy, London.
     October 25, 1913.

     Dear Mr. President:

     I am moved once in a while to write you privately, not about any
     specific piece of public business, but only, if I can, to transmit
     something of the atmosphere of the work here. And, since this is
     meant quite as much for your amusement as for any information it
     may carry, don't read it "in office hours."

     The future of the world belongs to us. A man needs to live here,
     with two economic eyes in his head, a very little time to become
     very sure of this. Everybody will see it presently. These English
     are spending their capital, and it is their capital that continues
     to give them their vast power. Now what are we going to do with the
     leadership of the world presently when it clearly falls into our
     hands[22]? And how can we use the English for the highest uses of
     democracy?

     You see their fear of an on-sweeping democracy in their social
     treatment of party opponents. A Tory lady told me with tears that
     she could no longer invite her Liberal friends to her house: "I
     have lost them--they are robbing us, you know." I made the mistake
     of saying a word in praise of Sir Edward Grey to a duke. "Yes, yes,
     no doubt an able man; but you must understand, sir, that I don't
     train with that gang." A bishop explained to me at elaborate length
     why the very monarchy is doomed unless something befalls Lloyd
     George and his programme. Every dinner party is made up with strict
     reference to the party politics of the guests. Sometimes you
     imagine you see something like civil war; and money is flowing out
     of the Kingdom into Canada in the greatest volume ever known and I
     am told that a number of old families are investing their fortunes
     in African lands.

     These and such things are, of course, mere chips which show the
     direction the slow stream runs. The great economic tide of the
     century flows our way. _We_ shall have the big world questions to
     decide presently. Then we shall need world policies; and it will be
     these old-time world leaders that we shall then have to work with,
     more closely than now.

     The English make a sharp distinction between the American people
     and the American Government--a distinction that they are conscious
     of and that they themselves talk about. They do not think of our
     _people_ as foreigners. I have a club book on my table wherein the
     members are classified as British, Colonial, American, and
     Foreign--quite unconsciously. But they do think of our Government
     as foreign, and as a frontier sort of thing without good manners or
     good faith. This distinction presents the big task of implanting
     here a real respect for our Government. People often think to
     compliment the American Ambassador by assuming that he is better
     than his Government and must at times be ashamed of it. Of course
     the Government never does this--never--but persons in unofficial
     life; and I have sometimes hit some hard blows under this
     condescending provocation. This is the one experience that I have
     found irritating. They commiserate me on having a Government that
     will not provide an Ambassador's residence--from the King to my
     servants. They talk about American lynchings. Even the _Spectator,_
     in an early editorial about you, said that we should now see what
     stuff there is in the new President by watching whether you would
     stop lynchings. They forever quote Bryce on the badness of our
     municipal government. They pretend to think that the impeachment of
     governors is common and ought to be commoner. One delicious M.P.
     asked me: "Now, since the Governor of New York is impeached, who
     becomes Vice-President[23]?" Ignorance, unfathomable ignorance, is
     at the bottom of much of it; if the Town Treasurer of Yuba Dam gets
     a $100 "rake off" on a paving contract, our city government is a
     failure.

     I am about to conclude that our yellow press does us more harm
     abroad than at home, and many of the American correspondents of the
     English papers send exactly the wrong news. The whole governing
     class of England has a possibly exaggerated admiration for the
     American people and something very like contempt for the American
     Government.

     If I make it out right two causes (in addition to their ignorance)
     of their dislike of our Government are (1) its lack of manners in
     the past, and (2) its indiscretions of publicity about foreign
     affairs. We ostentatiously stand aloof from their polite ways and
     courteous manners in many of the every-day, ordinary, unimportant
     dealings with them--aloof from the common amenities of
     long-organized political life. . . .

     Not one of these things is worth mentioning or remembering. But
     generations of them have caused our Government to be regarded as
     thoughtless of the fine little acts of life--as rude. The more I
     find out about diplomatic customs and the more I hear of the
     little-big troubles of others, the more need I find to be careful
     about details of courtesy.

     Thus we are making as brave a show as becomes us. I no longer
     dismiss a princess after supper or keep the whole diplomatic corps
     waiting while I talk to an interesting man till the Master of
     Ceremonies comes up and whispers: "Your Excellency, I think they
     are waiting for you to move." But I am both young and green, and
     even these folk forgive much to green youth, if it show a
     willingness to learn.

     But our Government, though green, isn't young enough to plead its
     youth. It is time that it, too, were learning Old World manners in
     dealing with Old World peoples. I do not know whether we need a
     Bureau, or a Major-Domo, or a Master of Ceremonies at Washington,
     but we need somebody to prompt us to act as polite as we really
     are, somebody to think of those gentler touches that we naturally
     forget. Some other governments have such officers--perhaps all. The
     Japanese, for instance, are newcomers in world politics. But this
     Japanese Ambassador and his wife here never miss a trick; and they
     come across the square and ask us how to do it! All the other
     governments, too, play the game of small courtesies to
     perfection--the French, of course, and the Spanish and--even the
     old Turk.

     Another reason for the English distrust of our Government is its
     indiscretions in the past of this sort: one of our Ministers to
     Germany, you will recall, was obliged to resign because the
     Government at Washington inadvertently published one of his
     confidential despatches; Griscom saved his neck only by the skin,
     when he was in Japan, for a similar reason. These things travel all
     round the world from one chancery to another and all governments
     know them. Yesterday somebody in Washington talked about my
     despatch summarizing my talk with Sir Edward Grey about Mexico, and
     it appeared in the papers here this morning that Sir Edward had
     told me that the big business interests were pushing him hard. This
     I sent as only _my_ inference. I had at once to disclaim it. This
     leaves in his mind a doubt about our care for secrecy. They have
     monstrous big doors and silent men in Downing Street; and, I am
     told, a stenographer sits behind a big screen in Sir Edward's room
     while an Ambassador talks[24]! I wonder if my comments on certain
     poets, which I have poured forth there to provoke his, are
     preserved in the archives of the British Empire. The British Empire
     is surely very welcome to them. I have twice found it useful, by
     the way, to bring up Wordsworth when he has begun to talk about
     Panama tolls. Then your friend Canon Rawnsley[25] has, without
     suspecting it, done good service in diplomacy.

     The newspaper men here, by the way, both English and American, are
     disposed to treat us fairly and to be helpful. The London _Times_,
     on most subjects, is very friendly, and I find its editors worth
     cultivating for their own sakes and because of their position. It
     is still the greatest English newspaper. Its general friendliness
     to the United States, by the way, has started a rumour that I hear
     once in a while--that it is really owned by Americans--nonsense yet
     awhile. To the fairness and helpfulness of the newspaper men there
     are one or two exceptions, for instance, a certain sneaking whelp
     who writes for several papers. He went to the Navy League dinner
     last night at which I made a little speech. When I sat down, he
     remarked to his neighbour, with a yawn, "Well, nothing in it for
     me. The Ambassador, I am afraid, said nothing for which I can
     demand his recall." They, of course, don't care thrippence about
     me; it's you they hope to annoy.

     Then after beating them at their own game of daily little
     courtesies, we want a fight with them--a good stiff fight about
     something wherein we are dead right, to remind them sharply that we
     have sand in our craw[26]. I pray every night for such a fight; for
     they like fighting men. Then they'll respect our Government as they
     already respect us--if we are dead right.

     But I've little hope for a fight of the right kind with Sir Edward
     Grey. He is the very reverse of insolent--fair, frank,
     sympathetic, and he has so clear an understanding of our real
     character that he'd yield anything that his party and Parliament
     would permit. He'd make a good American with the use of very little
     sandpaper. Of course I know him better than I know any other member
     of the Cabinet, but he seems to me the best-balanced man of them
     all.

     I can assure you emphatically that the tariff act[27] does command
     their respect and is already having an amazing influence on their
     opinion of our Government. Lord Mersey, a distinguished law lord
     and a fine old fellow of the very best type of Englishman, said to
     me last Sunday, "I wish to thank you for stopping half-way in
     reducing your tariff; that will only half ruin us." A lady of a
     political family (Liberal) next whom I sat at dinner the other
     night (and these women know their politics as no class of women
     among us do) said: "Tell me something about your great President.
     We hadn't heard much about him nor felt his hand till your tariff
     bill passed. He seems to have real power in the Government. You
     know we do not always know who has power in your Government." Lord
     Grey, the one-time Governor-General of Canada, stopped looking at
     the royal wedding presents the other evening long enough to say:
     "The United States Government is waking up--waking up."

     I sum up these atmospheric conditions--I do not presume to call
     them by so definite a name as recommendations:

     We are in the international game--not in its Old World intrigues
     and burdens and sorrows and melancholy, but in the inevitable way
     to leadership and to cheerful mastery in the future; and everybody
     knows that we are in it but us. It is a sheer blind habit that
     causes us to continue to try to think of ourselves as aloof. They
     think in terms of races here, and we are of their race, and we
     shall become the strongest and the happiest branch of it.

     While we play the game with them, we shall play it better by
     playing it under their long-wrought-out rules of courtesy in
     everyday affairs.

     We shall play it better, too, if our Government play it
     quietly--except when the subject demands publicity. I have heard
     that in past years the foreign representatives of our Government
     have reported too few things and much too meagrely. I have heard
     since I have been here that these representatives become timid
     because Washington has for many a year conducted its foreign
     business too much in the newspapers; and the foreign governments
     themselves are always afraid of this.

     Meantime I hardly need tell you of my appreciation of such a chance
     to make so interesting a study and to enjoy so greatly the most
     interesting experience, I really believe, in the whole world. I
     only hope that in time I may see how to shape the constant
     progression of incidents into a constructive course of events; for
     we are soon coming into a time of big changes.

     Most heartily yours,
     WALTER H. PAGE.

     _To David F. Houston_[28]
     American Embassy, London [undated].

     DEAR HOUSTON:

     You're doing the bigger job: as the world now is, there is no other
     job so big as yours or so well worth doing; but I'm having more
     fun. I'm having more fun than anybody else anywhere. It's a large
     window you look through on the big world--here in London; and,
     while I am for the moment missing many of the things that I've most
     cared about hitherto (such as working for the countryman, guessing
     at American public opinion, coffee that's fit to drink, corn bread,
     sunshine, and old faces) big new things come on the horizon. Yet a
     man's personal experiences are nothing in comparison with the large
     job that our Government has to do in its Foreign Relations. I'm
     beginning to begin to see what it is. The American people are taken
     most seriously here. I'm sometimes almost afraid of the respect and
     even awe in which they hold us. But the American Government is a
     mere joke to them. They don't even believe that we ourselves
     believe in it. We've had no foreign policy, no continuity of plan,
     no matured scheme, no settled way of doing things and we seem
     afraid of Irishmen or Germans or some "element" when a chance for
     real action comes. I'm writing to the President about this and
     telling him stories to show how it works.

     We needn't talk any longer about keeping aloof. If Cecil Spring
     Rice would tell you the complaints he has already presented and if
     you saw the work that goes on here--more than in all the other
     posts in Europe--you'd see that all the old talk about keeping
     aloof is Missouri buncombe. We're very much "in," but not frankly
     in.

     I wish you'd keep your eye on these things in cabinet meetings. The
     English and the whole English world are ours, if we have the
     courtesy to take them--fleet and trade and all; and we go on
     pretending we are afraid of "entangling alliances." What about
     disentangling alliances?

     We're in the game. There's no use in letting a few wild Irish or
     cocky Germans scare us. We need courtesy and frankness, and the
     destinies of the world will be in our hands. They'll fall there
     anyhow after we are dead; but I wish to see them come, while my own
     eyes last. Don't you?

     Heartily yours,

     W.H.P.

     _To Robert N. Page_[29]

     London, December 22, 1913.

     MY DEAR BOB:

     . . . We have a splendid, big old house--not in any way
     pretentious--a commonplace house in fact for fashionable London and
     the least showy and costly of the Embassies. But it does very
     well--it's big and elegantly plain and dignified. We have fifteen
     servants in the house. They do just about what seven good ones
     would do in the United States, but they do it a great deal better.
     They pretty nearly run themselves and the place. The servant
     question is admirably solved here. They divide the work according
     to a fixed and unchangeable system and they do it remarkably
     well--in their own slow English way. We simply let them alone,
     unless something important happens to go wrong. Katharine simply
     tells the butler that we'll have twenty-four people to dinner
     to-morrow night and gives him a list of them. As they come in, the
     men at the door address every one correctly--Your Lordship or Your
     Grace, or what not. When they are all in, the butler comes to the
     reception room and announces dinner. We do the rest. As every man
     goes out, the butler asks him if he'll have a glass of water or of
     grog or a cigar; he calls his car, puts him in it, and that's the
     end of it. Bully good plan. But in the United States that butler,
     whose wages are less than the ramshackle nigger I had at Garden
     City to keep the place neat, would have a business of his own. But
     here he is a sort of duke downstairs. He sits at the head of the
     servants' table and orders them around and that's worth more than
     money to an Old World servile mind.

     The "season" doesn't begin till the King comes back and Parliament
     opens, in February. But every kind of club and patriotic and
     educational organization is giving its annual dinner now. I've been
     going to them and making after-dinner speeches to get acquainted
     and also to preach into them some little knowledge of American ways
     and ideals. They are very nice--very. You could not suggest or
     imagine any improvement in their kindness and courtesy. They do all
     these things in some ways better than we. They have more courtesy.
     They make far shorter speeches. But they do them all too much
     alike. Still they do get much pleasure out of them and much
     instruction too.

     Then we are invited to twice as many private dinners and luncheons
     as we can attend. At these, these people are at their best. But it
     is yet quite confusing. A sea of friendly faces greets you--you
     can't remember the names. Nobody ever introduces anybody to
     anybody; and if by accident anybody ever tries, he simply says
     "Uh-o-oh-Lord Xzwwxkmpt." You couldn't understand it if you had to
     be hanged.

     But we are untangling some of this confusion and coming to make
     very real and very charming friends.

     About December 20, everybody who is anybody leaves London. They go
     to their country places for about a fortnight or they go to the
     continent. Almost everything stops. It has been the only dull time
     at the Embassy that I've had. Nothing is going on now. But up to
     two days ago, it kept a furious gait. I'm glad of a little rest.

     Dealing with the Government doesn't present the difficulties that
     I feared. Sir Edward Grey is in the main responsible for the ease
     with which it is done. He is a frank and fair and truthful man. You
     will find him the day after to-morrow precisely where you left him
     the day before yesterday. We get along very well indeed. I think we
     should get along if we had harder tasks one with the other. And the
     English people are even more friendly than the Government. You have
     no idea of their respect for the American Nation. Of course there
     is much ignorance, sometimes of a surprising sort. Very many
     people, for instance, think that all the Americans are rich. A lady
     told me the other night how poor she is--she is worth only
     $1,250,000--"nothing like all you Americans." She was quite
     sincere. In fact the wealth of the world (and the poverty, too) is
     centred here in an amazing way. You can't easily take it in--how
     rich or how many rich English families there are. They have had
     wealth for generation after generation, and the surprising thing
     is, they take care of it. They spend enormously--seldom
     ostentatiously--but they are more than likely to add some of their
     income every year to their principal. They have better houses in
     town and in the country than I had imagined. They spend vast
     fortunes in making homes in which they expect to live
     forever--generation after generation.

     To an American democrat the sad thing is the servile class. Before
     the law the chimney sweep and the peer have exactly the same
     standing. They have worked that out with absolute justice. But
     there it stops. The serving class is what we should call abject. It
     does not occur to them that they might ever become--or that their
     descendants might ever become--ladies and gentlemen.

     The "courts" are a very fine sight. The diplomatic ladies sit on a
     row of seats on one side the throne room, the Duchesses on a row
     opposite. The King and Queen sit on a raised platform with the
     royal family. The Ambassadors come in first and bow and the King
     shakes hands with them. Then come the forty or more Ministers--no
     shake for them. In front of the King are a few officers in gaudy
     uniform, some Indians of high rank (from India) and the court
     officials are all round about, with pages who hold up the Queen's
     train. Whenever the Queen and King move, two court officials back
     before them, one carrying a gold stick and the other a silver
     stick.

     The ladies to be presented come along. They curtsy to the King,
     then to the Queen, and disappear in the rooms farther on. The
     Ambassadors (all in gaudy uniforms but me) stand near the
     throne--stand through the whole performance. One night after an
     hour or two of ladies coming along and curtsying and disappearing,
     I whispered to the Spanish Ambassador, "There must be five hundred
     of these ladies." "U-m," said he, as he shifted his weight to the
     other foot, "I'm sure there are five thousand!" When they've all
     been presented, the King and Queen go into a room where a stand-up
     supper is served. The royalty and the diplomatic folks go into that
     room, too; and their Majesties walk around and talk with whom they
     please. Into another and bigger room everybody else goes and gets
     supper. Then we all flock back to the throne room; and preceded by
     the backing courtiers, their Majesties come out into the floor and
     bow to the Ambassadors, then to the Duchesses, then to the general
     diplomatic group and they go out. The show is ended. We come
     downstairs and wait an hour for our car and come home about
     midnight. The uniforms on the men and the jewels on the ladies (by
     the ton) and their trains--all this makes a very brilliant
     spectacle. The American Ambassador and his Secretaries and the
     Swiss and the Portuguese are the only ones dressed in citizens'
     clothes.

     At a levee, the King receives only gentlemen. Here they come in all
     kinds of uniforms. If you are not entitled to wear a uniform, you
     have a dark suit, knee breeches, and a funny little tin sword. I'm
     going to adopt the knee breeches part of it for good when I go
     home--golf breeches in the day time and knee breeches at night.
     You've no idea how nice and comfortable they are--though it is a
     devil of a lot of trouble to put 'em on. Of course every sort of
     man here but the Americans wears some sort of decorations around
     his neck or on his stomach, at these functions. For my part, I like
     it--here. The women sparkle with diamonds, the men strut; the King
     is a fine man with a big bass voice and he talks very well and is
     most agreeable; the Queen is very gracious; the royal ladies (Queen
     Victoria's daughters, chiefly) are nice; you see all the big
     Generals and all the big Admirals and the great folk of every
     sort--fine show.

     You've no idea how much time and money they spend on shooting. The
     King has been shooting most of the time for three months. He's said
     to be a very good shot. He has sent me, on different occasions,
     grouse, a haunch of venison, and pheasants.

     But except on these occasions, you never think about the King. The
     people go about their business as if he didn't exist, of course.
     They begin work much later than we do. You'll not find any of the
     shops open till about ten o'clock. The sun doesn't shine except
     once in a while and you don't know it's daylight till about ten.
     You know the House of Commons has night sessions always. Nobody is
     in the Government offices, except clerks and secretaries, till the
     afternoon. We dine at eight, and, when we have a big dinner, at
     eight thirty.

     I like these people (most of 'em) immensely. They are very genuine
     and frank, good fighters and folk of our own sort--after you come
     to know them. At first they have no manners and don't know what to
     do. But they warm up to you later. They have abundant wit, but much
     less humour than we. And they know how to live.

     Except that part of life which is ministered to in mechanical ways,
     they resist conveniences. They don't really like bathrooms yet.
     They prefer great tin tubs, and they use bowls and pitchers when a
     bathroom is next door. The telephone--Lord deliver us!--I've given
     it up. They know nothing about it. (It is a government concern, but
     so is the telegraph and the post-office, and they are remarkably
     good and swift.) You can't buy a newspaper on the street, except in
     the afternoon. Cigar-stores are as scarce as hen's teeth.
     Barber-shops are all "hairdressers"--dirty and wretched beyond
     description. You can't get a decent pen; their newspapers are as
     big as tablecloths. In this aquarium in which we live (it rains
     every day) they have only three vegetables and two of them are
     cabbages. They grow all kinds of fruit in hothouses, and (I can't
     explain this) good land in admirable cultivation thirty miles from
     London sells for about half what good corn land in Iowa brings.
     Lloyd George has scared the land-owners to death.

     Party politics runs so high that many Tories will not invite
     Liberals to dinner. They are almost at the point of civil war. I
     asked the Prime Minister the other day how he was going to prevent
     war. He didn't give any clear answer. During this recess of
     Parliament, though there's no election pending, all the Cabinet are
     all the time going about making speeches on Ireland. They talk to
     me about it.

     "What would you do?"

     "Send 'em all to the United States," say I.

     "No, no."

     They have had the Irish question three hundred years and they
     wouldn't be happy without it. One old Tory talked me deaf abusing
     the Liberal Government.

     "You do this way in the United States--hate one another, don't
     you?"

     "No," said I, "we live like angels in perfect harmony except a few
     weeks before election."

     "The devil you do! You don't hate one another? What do you do for
     enemies? I couldn't get along without enemies to swear at."

     If you think it's all play, you fool yourself; I mean this job.
     There's no end of the work. It consists of these parts: Receiving
     people for two hours every day, some on some sort of business, some
     merely "to pay respects," attending to a large (and exceedingly
     miscellaneous) mail; going to the Foreign Office on all sorts of
     errands; looking up the oddest assortment of information that you
     ever heard of; making reports to Washington on all sorts of things;
     then the so-called social duties--giving dinners, receptions, etc.,
     and attending them. I hear the most important news I get at
     so-called social functions. Then the court functions; and the
     meetings and speeches! The American Ambassador must go all over
     England and explain every American thing. You'd never recover from
     the shock if you could hear me speaking about Education,
     Agriculture, the observance of Christmas, the Navy, the
     Anglo-Saxon, Mexico, the Monroe Doctrine, Co-education, Woman
     Suffrage, Medicine, Law, Radio-Activity, Flying, the Supreme Court,
     the President as a Man of letters, Hookworm, the Negro--just get
     down the Encyclopædia and continue the list. I've done this every
     week-night for a month, hand running, with a few afternoon
     performances thrown in! I have missed only one engagement in these
     seven months; and that was merely a private luncheon. I have been
     late only once. I have the best chauffeur in the world--he deserves
     credit for much of that. Of course, I don't get time to read a
     book. In fact, I can't keep up with what goes on at home. To read a
     newspaper eight or ten days old, when they come in bundles of three
     or four--is impossible. What isn't telegraphed here, I miss; and
     that means I miss most things.

     I forgot, there are a dozen other kinds of activities, such as
     American marriages, which they always want the Ambassador to
     attend; getting them out of jail, when they are jugged (I have an
     American woman on my hands now, whose four children come to see me
     every day); looking after the American insane; helping Americans
     move the bones of their ancestors; interpreting the income-tax law;
     receiving medals for Americans; hearing American fiddlers,
     pianists, players; sitting for American sculptors and
     photographers; sending telegrams for property owners in Mexico;
     reading letters from thousands of people who have shares in estates
     here; writing letters of introduction; getting tickets to the House
     Gallery; getting seats in the Abbey; going with people to this and
     that and t'other; getting tickets to the races, the art-galleries,
     the House of Lords; answering fool questions about the United
     States put by Englishmen. With a military attaché, a naval attaché,
     three secretaries, a private secretary, two automobiles, Alice's
     private secretary, a veterinarian, an immigration agent, consuls
     everywhere, a despatch agent, lawyers, doctors, messengers--they
     keep us all busy. A woman turned up dying the other day. I sent
     for a big doctor. She got well. As if that wasn't enough, both the
     woman and the doctor had to come and thank me (fifteen minutes
     each). Then each wrote a letter! Then there are people who are
     going to have a Fair here; others who have a Fair coming on at San
     Francisco; others at San Diego; secretaries and returning and
     outgoing diplomats come and go (lunch for 'em all); niggers come up
     from Liberia; Rhodes Scholars from Oxford; Presidential candidates
     to succeed Huerta; people who present books; women who wish to go
     to court; Jews who are excited about Rumania; passports, passports
     to sign; peace committees about the hundred years of peace; opera
     singers going to the United States; artists who have painted some
     American's portrait--don't you see? I haven't said a word about
     reporters and editors: the city's full of them.

     A Happy New Year.

     Affectionately,
     WAT.

     _To Ralph W. Page_[30]
     London, December 23, 1913.

     DEAR RALPH:

     . . . The game is pretty much as it has been. I can't think of any
     new kinds of things to write you. The old kinds simply multiply and
     repeat themselves. But we are beginning now really to become
     acquainted, and some life friendships will grow out of our
     experience. And there's no doubt about its being instructive. I get
     glimpses of the way in which great governments deal with one
     another, in ways that our isolated, and, therefore, safe government
     seldom has any experience of. For instance, one of the Lords of the
     Admiralty told me the other night that he never gets out of
     telephone reach of the office--not even half an hour. "The
     Admiralty," said he, "never sleeps." He has a telephone by his bed
     which he can hear at any moment in the night. I don't believe that
     they really expect the German fleet to attack them any day or
     night. But they would not be at all surprised if it did so
     to-night. They talk all the time of the danger and of the
     probability of war; they don't expect it; but most wars have come
     without warning, and they are all the time prepared to begin a
     fight in an hour.

     They talk about how much Germany must do to strengthen her frontier
     against Russia and her new frontier on the Balkan States. They now
     have these problems in hand and therefore they are for the moment
     not likely to provoke a fight. But they might.

     It is all pitiful to see them thinking forever about danger and
     defense. The controversy about training boys for the army never
     ends. We don't know in the United States what we owe to the
     Atlantic Ocean--safe separation from all these troubles. . . .

     But I've often asked both Englishmen and Americans in a dining room
     where there were many men of each country, whether they could look
     over the company and say which were English and which were
     Americans. Nobody can tell till--they begin to talk.

     The ignorance of the two countries, each of the other, is beyond
     all belief. A friend of Kitty's--an American--received a letter
     from the United States yesterday. The maid noticed the stamp, which
     had the head of George Washington on it. Every stamp in this
     kingdom bears the image of King George. She asked if the American
     stamp had on it the head of the American Ambassador! I've known far
     wiser people to ask far more foolish questions.

     Affectionately,
     W.H.P.

     _To Mrs. Ralph W. Page_

     London, Christmas-is-coming, 1913.

     MY DEAR LEILA:

     . . . Her work [Mrs. Walter H. Page's] is all the work of going and
     receiving and--of reading. She reads incessantly and enormously;
     and, when she gets tired, she goes to bed. That's all there is
     about it. Lord! I wish I could. But, when I get tired, I have to go
     and make another speech. They think the American Ambassador has
     omniscience for a foible and oratory as a pastime.

     In some ways my duties are very instructive. We get different
     points of view on many things, some better than we had before had,
     some worse. For instance, life is pretty well laid out here in
     water-tight compartments; and you can't let a stream in from one to
     another without danger of sinking the ship. Four reporters have
     been here to-day because Mr. and Mrs. Sayre[31] arrived this
     morning. Every one of 'em asked the same question, "Who met them at
     the station?" That's the chief thing they wished to know. When I
     said "I did"--that fixed the whole thing on the highest peg of
     dignity. They could classify the whole proceeding properly, and
     they went off happy. Again: You've got to go in to dinner in the
     exact order prescribed by the constitution; and, if you avoid that
     or confuse that, you'll never be able to live it down. And so about
     Government, Literature, Art--everything. Don't you forget your
     water-tight compartments. If you do, you are gone! They have the
     same toasts at every public dinner. One is to "the guests." Now you
     needn't say a word about the guests when you respond. But they've
     been having toasts to the guests since the time of James I and they
     can't change it. They had me speak to "the guests" at a club last
     night, when they wanted me to talk about Mexico! The winter has
     come--the winter months at least. But they have had no cold
     weather--not so cold as you have in Pinehurst. But the sun has gone
     out to sea--clean gone. We never see it. A damp darkness
     (semi-darkness at least) hangs over us all the time. But we manage
     to feel our way about.

     A poor photograph goes to you for Xmas--a poor thing enough surely.
     But you get Uncle Bob[32] busy on the job of paying for an
     Ambassador's house. Then we'll bring Christmas presents home for
     you. What a game we are playing, we poor folks here, along with
     Ambassadors whose governments pay them four times what ours pays.
     But we don't give the game away, you bet! We throw the bluff with a
     fine, straight poker face.

     Affectionately,
     W.H.P.

     _To Frank N. Doubleday and Others_

     London, Sunday, December 28, 1913.

     MY DEAR COMRADES:

     I was never one of those abnormal creatures who got Christmas all
     ready by the Fourth of July. The true spirit of the celebration has
     just now begun to work on me--three days late. In this respect the
     spirit is very like Christmas plum-pudding. Moreover, we've just
     got the patriotic fervour flowing at high tide this morning. This
     is the President's birthday. We've put up the Stars and Stripes on
     the roof; and half an hour ago the King's Master of Ceremonies
     drove up in a huge motor car and, being shown into my presence in
     the state drawing room, held his hat in his hand and (said he):

     "Your Excellency: I am commanded by the King to express to you His
     Majesty's congratulations on the birthday of the President, to wish
     him a successful administration and good health and long life and
     to convey His Majesty's greetings to Your Excellency: and His
     Majesty commands me to express the hope that you will acquaint the
     President with His Majesty's good wishes."

     Whereto I made just as pretty a little speech as your 'umble
     sarvant could. Then we sat down, I called in Mrs. Page and my
     secretary and we talked like human beings.

     Having worked like the devil, upon whom, I imagine, at this
     bibulous season many heavy duties fall--having thus toiled for two
     months--the international docket is clean, I've got done a round of
     twenty-five speeches (O Lord!) I've slept three whole nights, I've
     made my dinner-calls--you see I'm feeling pretty well, in this
     first period of quiet life I've yet found in this Babylon. Praise
     Heaven! they go off for Christmas. Everything's shut up tight. The
     streets of London are as lonely and as quiet as the road to Oyster
     Bay while the Oyster is in South America. It's about as mild here
     as with you in October and as damp as Sheepshead's Bay in an autumn
     storm. But such people as you meet complain of the c-o-l-d--the
     c-o-l-d; and they run into their heatless houses and put on extra
     waistcoats and furs and throw shawls over their knees and curse
     Lloyd George and enjoy themselves. They are a great people--even
     without mint juleps in summer or eggnog in winter; and I like them.
     The old gouty Lords curse the Americans for the decline of
     drinking. And you can't live among them without laughing yourself
     to death and admiring them, too. It's a fine race to be sprung
     from.

     All this field of international relations--you fellows regard it as
     a bore. So it used to be before my entrance into the game! But it's
     everlastingly interesting. Just to give him a shock, I asked the
     Foreign Secretary the other day what difference it would make if
     the Foreign Offices were all to go out of business and all the
     Ambassadors were to be hanged. He thought a minute and said:
     "Suppose war kept on in the Balkans, the Russians killed all their
     Jews, Germany took Holland and sent an air-fleet over London, the
     Japanese landed in California, the English took all the oil-wells
     in Central and South America and--"

     "Good Lord!" said I, "do you and I prevent all these calamities? If
     so, we don't get half the credit that is due us--do we?"

     You could ask the same question about any group or profession of
     men in the world; and on a scratch, I imagine that any of them
     would be missed less than they think. But the realness and the
     bigness of the job here in London is simply oppressive. We don't
     even know what it is in the United States and, of course, we don't
     go about doing it right. If we did, we shouldn't pick up a green
     fellow on the plain of Long Island and send him here: we'd train
     the most capable male babies we have from the cradle. But this
     leads a long way.

     As I look back over these six or seven months, from the pause that
     has come this week, I'm bound to say (being frank, not to say vain)
     that I had the good fortune to do one piece of work that was worth
     the effort and worth coming to do--about that infernal Mexican
     situation. An abler man would have done it better; but, as it was,
     I did it; and I have a most appreciative letter about it from the
     President.

     By thunder, he's doing _his_ job, isn't he? Whether you like the
     job or not, you've got to grant that. When I first came over here,
     I found a mild curiosity about Wilson--only mild. But now they sit
     up and listen and ask most eager questions. He has pressed his
     personality most strongly on the governing class here.

     Yours heartily,
     W.H.P.

     _To the President_

     American Embassy, London
     [May 11, 1914.]

     DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

     The King of Denmark (I always think of Hamlet) having come to make
     his royal kinsman of these Isles a visit, his royal kinsman
     to-night gave a state dinner at the palace whereto the Ambassadors
     of the eight Great Powers were, of course, invited. Now I don't
     know how other kings do, but I'm willing to swear by King George
     for a job of this sort. The splendour of the thing is truly regal
     and the friendliness of it very real and human; and the company
     most uncommon. Of course the Ambassadors and their wives were
     there, the chief rulers of the Empire and men and women of
     distinction and most of the royal family. The dinner and the music
     and the plate and the decorations and the jewels and the
     uniforms--all these were regal; but there is a human touch about it
     that seems almost democratic.

     All for His Majesty of Denmark, a country with fewer people and
     less wealth than New Jersey. This whole royal game is most
     interesting. Lloyd George and H.H. Asquith and John Morley were
     there, all in white knee breeches of silk, and swords and most
     gaudy coats--these that are the radicals of the Kingdom, in
     literature and in action. Veterans of Indian and South African wars
     stood on either side of every door and of every stairway, dressed
     as Sir Walter Raleigh dressed, like so many statues, never blinking
     an eye. Every person in the company is printed, in all the papers,
     with every title he bears. Crowds lined the streets in front of the
     palace to see the carriages go in and to guess who was in each.
     To-morrow the Diplomatic Corps calls on King Christian and
     to-morrow night King George commands us to attend the opera as his
     guests.

     Whether it's the court, or the honours and the orders and all the
     social and imperial spoils, that keep the illusion up, or whether
     it is the Old World inability to change anything, you can't ever
     quite decide. In Defoe's time they put pots of herbs on the desks
     of every court in London to keep the plague off. The pots of herbs
     are yet put on every desk in every court room in London. Several
     centuries ago somebody tried to break into the Bank of England. A
     special guard was detached--a little company of soldiers--to stand
     watch at night. The bank has twice been moved and is now housed in
     a building that would stand a siege; but that guard, in the same
     uniform goes on duty every night. Nothing is ever abolished,
     nothing ever changed. On the anniversary of King Charles's
     execution, his statue in Trafalgar Square is covered with flowers.
     Every month, too, new books appear about the mistresses of old
     kings--as if they, too, were of more than usual interest: I mean
     serious, historical books. From the King's palace to the humblest
     house I've been in, there are pictures of kings and queens. In
     every house, too (to show how nothing ever changes), the towels are
     folded in the same peculiar way. In every grate in the kingdom the
     coal fire is laid in precisely the same way. There is not a
     salesman in any shop on Piccadilly who does not, in the season,
     wear a long-tail coat. Everywhere they say a second grace at
     dinner--not at the end--but before the dessert, because two hundred
     years ago they dared not wait longer lest the parson be under the
     table: the grace is said to-day _before_ dessert! I tried three
     months to persuade my "Boots" to leave off blacking the soles of my
     shoes under the instep. He simply couldn't do it. Every "Boots" in
     the Kingdom does it. A man of learning had an article in an
     afternoon paper a few weeks ago which began thus: "It is now
     universally conceded by the French and the Americans that the
     decimal system is a failure," and he went on to concoct a scheme
     for our money that would be more "rational" and "historical." In
     this hot debate about Ulster a frequent phrase used is, "Let us see
     if we can't find the right formula to solve the difficulty"; their
     whole lives are formulas. Now may not all the honours and garters
     and thistles and O.M.'s and K.C.B.'s and all manner of gaudy
     sinecures be secure, only because they can't abolish anything? My
     servants sit at table in a certain order, and Mrs. Page's maid
     wouldn't yield her precedence to a mere housemaid for any mortal
     consideration--any more than a royal person of a certain rank would
     yield to one of a lower rank. A real democracy is as far off as
     doomsday. So you argue, till you remember that it is these same
     people who made human liberty possible--to a degree--and till you
     sit day after day and hear them in the House of Commons,
     mercilessly pounding one another. Then you are puzzled. Do they
     keep all these outworn things because they are incapable of
     changing anything, or do these outworn burdens keep them from
     becoming able to change anything? I daresay it works both ways.
     Every venerable ruin, every outworn custom, makes the King more
     secure; and the King gives veneration to every ruin and keeps
     respect for every outworn custom.

     Praise God for the Atlantic Ocean! It is the geographical
     foundation of our liberties. Yet, as I've often written, there are
     men here, real men, ruling men, mighty men, and a vigorous stock.

     A civilization, especially an old civilization, isn't an easy nut
     to crack. But I notice that the men of vision keep their thought on
     us. They never forget that we are 100 million strong and that we
     dare do new things; and they dearly love to ask questions
     about--Rockefeller! Our power, our adaptability, our potential
     wealth they never forget. They'll hold fast to our favour for
     reasons of prudence as well as for reasons of kinship. And,
     whenever we choose to assume the leadership of the world, they'll
     grant it--gradually--and follow loyally. They cannot become French,
     and they dislike the Germans. They must keep in our boat for safety
     as well as for comfort.

     Yours heartily,
     WALTER H. PAGE.

The following extracts are made from other letters written at this time:

       *       *       *       *       *

. . . To-night I had a long talk with the Duchess of X, a kindly woman who
spends much time and money in the most helpful "uplift" work; that's the
kind of woman she is.

Now she and the Duke are invited to dine at the French Ambassador's
to-morrow night. "If the Duke went into any house where there was any
member of this Government," said she, "he'd turn and walk out again. We
thought we'd better find out who the French Ambassador's guests are. We
didn't wish to ask him nor to have correspondence about it. Therefore
the Duke sent his Secretary quietly to ask the Ambassador's
Secretary--before we accepted."

This is now a common occurrence. We had Sir Edward Grey to dinner a
little while ago and we had to make sure we had no Tory guests that
night.

This same Duchess of X sat in the Peeresses' gallery of the House of
Lords to-night till 7 o'clock. "I had to sit in plain sight of the wives
of two members of the Cabinet and of the wife and daughter of the Prime
Minister. I used to know them," she said, "and it was embarrassing."

Thus the revolution proceeds. For that's what it is.

       *       *       *       *       *

. . . On the other hand the existing order is the most skilfully devised
machinery for perpetuating itself that has ever grown up among civilized
men. Did you ever see a London directory? It hasn't names
alphabetically; but one section is "Tradesmen," another "The City,"
etc., etc., and another "The Court." Any one who has ever been presented
at Court is in the "Court" section, and you must sometimes look in
several sections to find a man. Yet everybody so values these
distinctions that nobody complains of the inconvenience. When the
Liberal party makes Liberals Peers in order to have Liberals in the
House of Lords, lo! they soon turn Conservative after they get there.
The system perpetuates itself and stifles the natural desire for change
that most men in a state of nature instinctively desire in order to
assert their own personalities. . . .

       *       *       *       *       *

. . . All this social life which engages us at this particular season,
sets a man to thinking. The mass of the people are very slow--almost
dull; and the privileged are most firmly entrenched. The really alert
people are the aristocracy. They see the drift of events. "What is the
pleasantest part of your country to live in?" Dowager Lady X asked me on
Sunday, more than half in earnest. "My husband's ancestors sat in the
House of Lords for six hundred years. My son sits there now--a dummy.
They have taken all power from the Lords; they are taxing us out of our
lands; they are saving the monarchy for destruction last. England is of
the past--all is going. God knows what is coming." . . .

       *       *       *       *       *

. . . And presently the presentations come. Lord! how sensible American
women scramble for this privilege! It royally fits a few of them. Well,
I've made some rules about presentations myself, since it's really a
sort of personal perquisite of the Ambassador. One rule is, I don't
present any but handsome women. Pretty girls: that's what you want when
you are getting up a show. Far too many of ours come here and marry
Englishmen. I think I shall make another rule and exact a promise that
after presentation they shall go home. But the American women do enliven
London. . . .

       *       *       *       *       *

That triumph with the tariff is historic. I wrote to the President:
"Score one!" And I have been telling the London writers on big subjects,
notably the editor of the _Economist_, that this event, so quiet and
undramatic, will mark a new epoch in the trade history of the world. . . .
This island is a good breeding place for men whose children find
themselves and develop into real men in freer lands. All that is needed
to show the whole world that the future is ours is just this sort of an
act of self-confidence. You know the old story of the Negro who saw a
ghost--"Git outen de way, Mr. Rabbit, and let somebody come who _kin_
run!" Score one! We're making History, and these people here know it.
The trade of the world, or as much of it as is profitable, we may take
as we will. The over-taxed, under-productive, army-burdened men of the
Old World--alas! I read a settled melancholy in much of their
statesmanship and in more of their literature. The most cheerful men in
official life here are the High Commissioners of Canada, Australia, New
Zealand, and such fellows who know what the English race is doing and
can do freed from uniforms and heavy taxes and class feeling and such
like. . . .

       *       *       *       *       *

. . . The two things that this island has of eternal value are its gardens
and its men. Nature sprinkles it almost every day and holds its moisture
down so that every inch of it is forever green; and somehow men thrive
as the lawns do--the most excellent of all races for progenitors. You
and I[33] can never be thankful enough that our ancestors came of this
stock. Even those that have stayed have cut a wide swath, and they wield
good scythes yet. But I have moods when I pity them--for their
dependence, for instance, on a navy (2 keels to 1) for their very bread
and meat. They frantically resent conveniences. They build their great
law court building (the architecture ecclesiastical) so as to provide an
entrance hall of imposing proportions which they use once a year; and to
get this fine hall they have to make their court rooms, which they must
use all the time, dark and small and inaccessible. They think as much of
that once-a-year ceremony of opening their courts as they think of the
even justice that they dispense; somehow they feel that the justice
depends on the ceremony.

This moss that has grown all over their lives (some of it very pretty
and most of it very comfortable--it's soft and warm) is of no great
consequence--except that they think they'd die if it were removed. And
this state of mind gives us a good key to their character and habits.

What are we going to do with this England and this Empire, presently,
when economic forces unmistakably put the leadership of the race in our
hands? How can we lead it and use it for the highest purposes of the
world and of democracy? We can do what we like if we go about it
heartily and with good manners (any man prefers to yield to a gentleman
rather than to a rustic) and throw away--gradually--our isolating fears
and alternate boasting and bashfulness. "What do we most need to learn
from you?" I asked a gentle and bejewelled nobleman the other Sunday, in
a country garden that invited confidences. "If I may speak without
offence, modesty." A commoner in the company, who had seen the Rocky
Mountains, laughed, and said: "No; see your chance and take it: that's
what we did in the years when we made the world's history." . . .

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 11: Mr. Irwin Laughlin, first secretary of the American
Embassy in London.]

[Footnote 12: In about a year Page moved the Chancery to the present
satisfactory quarters at No. 4 Grosvenor Gardens.]

[Footnote 13: Mrs. Walter H. Page.]

[Footnote 14: Miss Katharine A. Page, the Ambassador's daughter.]

[Footnote 15: "Effendi" is the name by which Mr. F.N. Doubleday, Page's
partner, is known to his intimates. It is obviously suggested by the
initials of his name.]

[Footnote 16: A reference to William Sulzer, Governor of New York, who
at this time was undergoing impeachment.]

[Footnote 17: See Chapter VIII, page 258.]

[Footnote 18: The Ambassador's son.]

[Footnote 19: Miss Katharine A. Page.]

[Footnote 20: Mr. Andrew Carnegie.]

[Footnote 21: Mrs. Walter H. Page is the daughter of a Scotchman from
Ayrshire.]

[Footnote 22: The astonishing thing about Page's comment on the
leadership of the United States--if it would only take this
leadership--is that these letters were written in 1913, a year before
the outbreak of the war, and eight years before the Washington
Disarmament Conference of 1921-22.]

[Footnote 23: Just what this critical Briton had in mind, in thinking
that the removal of a New York governor created a vacancy in the
Vice-Presidency, is not clear. Possibly, however, he had a cloudy
recollection of the fact that Theodore Roosevelt, after serving as
Governor of New York State, became Vice-President, and may have
concluded from this that the two offices were held by the same man.]

[Footnote 24: For years this idea of the stenographer back of a screen
in the Foreign Office has been abroad, but it is entirely unfounded.
Several years ago a Foreign Secretary, perhaps Lord Salisbury, put a
screen behind his desk to keep off the draughts and from this precaution
the myth arose that it shielded a stenographer who took a complete
record of ambassadorial conversations. After an ambassador leaves, the
Foreign Secretary, however, does write out the important points in the
conversation. Copies are made and printed, and sent to the King, the
Prime Minister, the British Ambassador in the country to which the
interview relates, and occasionally to others. All these records are, of
course, carefully preserved in the archives of the Foreign Office.]

[Footnote 25: The Rev. Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley, the well-known Vicar
of Crosthwaite, Keswick, poet and student of Wordsworth. President
Wilson, who used occasionally to spend his vacation in the Lake region,
was one of his friends.]

[Footnote 26: It is perhaps unnecessary to say that the Ambassador was
thinking only of a diplomatic "fight."]

[Footnote 27: The Underwood Bill revising the tariff "downward" became a
law October, 1913. It was one of the first important measures of the new
Wilson Administration.]

[Footnote 28: Secretary of Agriculture in President Wilson's Cabinet.]

[Footnote 29: Of Aberdeen, North Carolina, the Ambassador's brother.]

[Footnote 30: Of Pinehurst, North Carolina, the Ambassador's eldest
son.]

[Footnote 31: Mr. and Mrs. Francis B. Sayre, son-in-law and daughter of
President Wilson, at that time on their honeymoon trip in Europe.]

[Footnote 32: Mr. Robert N. Page, the Ambassador's brother, was at this
time a Congressman from North Carolina.]

[Footnote 33: This is from a letter to President Wilson.]




CHAPTER VI

"POLICY" AND "PRINCIPLE" IN MEXICO

I


The last days of February, 1913, witnessed one of those sanguinary
scenes in Mexico which for generations had accompanied changes in the
government of that distracted country. A group of revolutionists
assailed the feeble power of Francisco Madero and virtually imprisoned
that executive and his forces in the Presidential Palace. The Mexican
army, whose most influential officers were General Blanquet and General
Victoriano Huerta, was hastily summoned to the rescue of the Government;
instead of relieving the besieged officials, however, these generals
turned their guns upon them, and so assured the success of the uprising.
The speedy outcome of these transactions was the assassination of
President Madero and the seizure of the Presidency by General Huerta.
Another outcome was the presentation to Page of one of the most delicate
problems in the history of Anglo-American relations.

At almost any other time this change in the Mexican succession would
have caused only a momentary disturbance. There was nothing new in the
violent overthrow of government in Latin-America; in Mexico itself no
president had ever risen to power except by revolution. The career of
Porfirio Diaz, who had maintained his authority for a third of a
century, had somewhat obscured this fundamental fact in Mexican
politics, but Diaz had dominated Mexico for seven presidential terms,
not because his methods differed from the accepted methods of his
country, but because he was himself an executive of great force and a
statesman of genius, and could successfully hold his own against any
aspiring antagonist. The civilized world, including the United States,
had long since become reconciled to this situation as almost a normal
one. In recognizing momentarily successful adventurers, Great Britain
and the United States had never considered such details as justice or
constitutionalism: the legality of the presidential title had never been
the point at issue; the only question involved was whether the
successful aspirant actually controlled the country, whether he had
established a state of affairs that approximately represented order, and
whether he could be depended upon to protect life and property. During
the long dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz, however, certain events had
taken place which had awakened the minds of Americans to the possibility
of a new international relationship with all backward peoples. The
consequences of the Spanish War had profoundly impressed Page. This
conflict had left the United States a new problem in Cuba and the
Philippines. Under the principles that for generations had governed the
Old World there would have been no particular difficulty in meeting this
problem. The United States would have candidly annexed the islands, and
exploited their resources and their peoples; we should have concerned
ourselves little about any duties that might be owed to the several
millions of human beings who inhabited them. Indeed, what other
alternatives were there?

One was to hand the possessions back to Spain, who in a four hundred
years' experiment had demonstrated her unfitness to govern them; another
was to give the islands their independence, which would have meant
merely an indefinite continuance of anarchy. It is one of the greatest
triumphs of American statesmanship that it discovered a more
satisfactory solution. Essentially, the new plan was to establish in
these undeveloped and politically undisciplined regions the fundamental
conditions that may make possible the ultimate creation of democratic,
self-governing states. It was recognized that constitutions and election
ballots in themselves did not necessarily imply a democratic order.
Before these there must come other things that were far more important,
such as popular education, scientific agriculture, sanitation, public
highways, railroads, and the development of the resources of nature. If
the backward peoples of the world could be schooled in such a
preliminary apprenticeship, the time might come when the intelligence
and the conscience of the masses would be so enlightened that they could
be trusted with independence. The labour of Leonard Wood in Cuba, and of
other Americans in the Philippines, had apparently pointed the way to
the only treatment of such peoples that was just to them and safe for
mankind.

With the experience of Cuba and the Philippines as a guide, it is not
surprising that the situation in Mexico appealed to many Americans as
opening a similar opportunity to the United States. The two facts that
outstood all others were that Mexico, in her existing condition of
popular ignorance, could not govern herself, and that the twentieth
century could not accept indefinitely a condition of disorder and
bloodshed that had apparently satisfied the nineteenth. The basic
difficulty in this American republic was one of race and of national
character. The fact that was constantly overlooked was that Mexico was
not a Caucasian country: it was a great shambling Indian Republic. Of
its 15,000,000 people less than 3,000,000 were of unmixed white blood,
about 35 per cent. were pure Indian, and the rest represented varying
mixtures of white and aboriginal stock. The masses had advanced little
in civilization since the days of Cortez. Eighty per cent. were
illiterate; their lives for the most part were a dull and squalid
routine; protection against disease was unknown; the agricultural
methods were most primitive; the larger number still spoke the native
dialects which had been used in the days of Montezuma; and over good
stretches of the country the old tribal régime still represented the
only form of political organization. The one encouraging feature was
that these Mexican Indians, backward as they might be, were far superior
to the other native tribes of the North American Continent; in ancient
times, they had developed a state of society far superior to that of the
traditional Redskin. Nevertheless, it was true that the progress of
Mexico in the preceding fifty years had been due almost entirely to
foreign enterprise. By 1913, about 75,000 Americans were living in
Mexico as miners, engineers, merchants, and agriculturists; American
investments amounted to about $1,200,000,000--a larger sum than that of
all the other foreigners combined. Though the work of European
countries, particularly Great Britain, was important, yet Mexico was
practically an economic colony of the United States. Most observers
agree that these foreign activities had not only profited the
foreigners, but that they had greatly benefited the Mexicans themselves.
The enterprise of Americans had disclosed enormous riches, had given
hundreds of thousands employment at very high wages, had built up new
Mexican towns on modern American lines, had extended the American
railway system over a large part of the land, and had developed street
railways, electric lighting, and other modern necessities in all
sections of the Republic. The opening up of Mexican oil resources was
perhaps the most typical of these achievements, as it was certainly the
most adventurous. Americans had created this, perhaps the greatest of
Mexican industries, and in 1913, these Americans owned nearly 80 per
cent. of Mexican oil. Their success had persuaded several Englishmen,
the best known of whom was Lord Cowdray, to enter this same field. The
activities of the Americans and the British in oil had an historic
significance which was not foreseen in 1913, but which assumed the
greatest importance in the World War; for the oil drawn from these
Mexican fields largely supplied the Allied fleets and thus became an
important element in the defeat of the Central Powers. In 1913, however,
American and British oil operators were objects of general suspicion in
both continents. They were accused of participating too actively in
Mexican politics and there were those who even held them responsible for
the revolutionary condition of the country. One picturesque legend
insisted that the American oil interests looked with jealous hostility
upon the great favours shown by the Diaz Administration to Lord
Cowdray's company, and that they had instigated the Madero revolution in
order to put in power politicians who would be more friendly to
themselves. The inevitable complement to this interpretation of events
was a prevailing suspicion that the Cowdray interests had promoted the
Huerta revolt in order to turn the tables on "Standard Oil," to make
safe the "concessions" already obtained from Diaz and to obtain still
more from the new Mexican dictator.

To determine the truth in all these allegations, which were freely
printed in the American press of the time, would demand more facts than
are at present available; yet it is clear that these oil and other
"concessions" presented the perpetual Mexican problem in a new and
difficult light. The Wilson Administration came into power a few days
after Huerta had seized the Mexican Government. The first difficulty
presented to the State Department was to determine its attitude toward
this usurper.

A few days after President Wilson's inauguration Mr. Irwin Laughlin,
then Chargé d'Affaires in London--this was several weeks before Page's
arrival--was instructed to ask the British Foreign Office what its
attitude would be in regard to the recognition of President Huerta. Mr.
Laughlin informed the Foreign Office that he was not instructed that the
United States had decided on any policy, but that he felt sure it would
be to the advantage of both countries to follow the same line. The query
was not an informal one; it was made in definite obedience to
instructions and was intended to elicit a formal commitment. The
unequivocal answer that Mr. Laughlin received was that the British
Government would not recognize Huerta, either formally or tacitly.

Mr. Laughlin sent his message immediately to Washington, where it
apparently made a favourable impression. The Administration then let it
be known that the United States would not recognize the new Mexican
régime. Whether Mr. Wilson would at this time have taken such a
position, irrespective of the British attitude, is not known, but at
this stage of the proceedings Great Britain and the United States were
standing side by side.

About three weeks afterward Mr. Laughlin heard that the British Foreign
Office was about to recognize Huerta. Naturally the report astonished
him; he at once called again on the Foreign Office, taking with him the
despatch that he had recently sent to Washington. Why had the British
Government recognized Huerta when it had given definite assurances to
Washington that it had no intention of doing so? The outcome of the
affair was that Sir Cecil Spring Rice, British Ambassador in Washington,
was instructed to inform the State Department that Great Britain had
changed its mind. France, Germany, Spain, and most other governments
followed the British example in recognizing the new President of Mexico.

It is thus apparent that the initial mistake in the Huerta affair was
made by Great Britain. Its action produced the most unpleasant
impression upon the new Administration. Mr. Wilson, Mr. Bryan, and their
associates in the cabinet easily found an explanation that was
satisfactory to themselves and to the political enthusiasms upon which
they had come into power. They believed that the sudden change in the
British attitude was the result of pressure from British commercial
interests which hoped to profit from the Huerta influence. Lord Cowdray
was a rich and powerful Liberal; he had great concessions in Mexico
which had been obtained from President Diaz; it was known that Huerta
aimed to make his dictatorship a continuation of that of Diaz, to rule
Mexico as Diaz had ruled it, that is, by force, and to extend a
welcoming hand to foreign capitalists. An important consideration was
that the British Navy had a contract with the Cowdray Company for oil,
which was rapidly becoming indispensable as a fuel for warships, and
this fact necessarily made the British Government almost a champion of
the Cowdray interests. It was not necessary to believe all the rumours
that were then afloat in the American press to conclude that a Huerta
administration would be far more acceptable to the Cowdray Company than
any headed by one of the military chieftains who were then disputing the
control of Mexico. Mr. Wilson and Mr. Bryan believed that these events
proved that certain "interests," similar to the "interests" which, in
their view, had exercised so baleful an influence on American politics,
were also active in Great Britain. The Wilson election in 1912 had been
a protest against the dominance of "Wall Street" in American politics;
Mr. Bryan's political stock-in-trade for a generation had consisted of
little except a campaign against these forces; naturally, therefore, the
suspicion that Great Britain was giving way to a British "Standard Oil"
was enough to arm these statesmen against the Huerta policy, and to
intensify that profound dislike of Huerta himself that was soon to
become almost an obsession.

With this as a starting point President Wilson presently formulated an
entirely new principle for dealing with Latin-American republics. There
could be no permanent order in these turbulent countries and nothing
approaching a democratic system until the habit of revolution should he
checked. One of the greatest encouragements to revolution, said the
President, was the willingness of foreign governments to recognize any
politician who succeeded in seizing the executive power. He therefore
believed that a refusal to recognize any government "founded upon
violence" would exercise a wholesome influence in checking this national
habit; if Great Britain and the United States and the other powers would
set the example by refusing to have any diplomatic dealings with General
Huerta, such an unfriendly attitude would discourage other forceful
intriguers from attempting to repeat his experiment. The result would be
that the decent elements in Mexico and other Latin-American countries
would at last assert themselves, establish a constitutional system, and
select their governments by constitutional means. At the bottom of the
whole business were, in the President's and Mr. Bryan's opinion, the
"concession" seekers, the "exploiters," who were constantly obtaining
advantages at the hands of these corrupt governments and constantly
stirring up revolutions for their financial profit. The time had now
come to end the whole miserable business. "We are closing one chapter in
the history of the world," said Mr. Wilson, "and opening another of
unimaginable significance. . . . It is a very perilous thing to determine
the foreign policy of a nation in the terms of material interests. . . . We
have seen such material interests threaten constitutional freedom in the
United States. Therefore we will now know how to sympathize with those
in the rest of America who have to contend with such powers, not only
within their borders, but from outside their borders."

In this way General Huerta, who, in his own eyes, was merely another in
the long succession of Mexican revolutionary chieftains, was translated
into an epochal figure in the history of American foreign policy; he
became a symbol in Mr. Wilson's new scheme of things--the representative
of the order which was to come to an end, the man who, all unwittingly,
was to point the new way not only in Mexico, but in all Latin-American
countries. The first diplomatic task imposed upon Page therefore was one
that would have dismayed a more experienced ambassador. This was to
persuade Great Britain to retrace its steps, to withdraw its recognition
of Huerta, and to join hands with the United States in bringing about
his downfall. The new ambassador sympathized with Mr. Wilson's ideas to
a certain extent; the point at which he parted company with the
President's Mexican policy will appear in due course. He therefore began
zealously to preach the new Latin-American doctrine to the British
Foreign Office, with results that appear in his letters of this period.

_To the President_

     6 Grosvenor Square, London,
     Friday night, October 24, 1913.

     DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

     In this wretched Mexican business, about which I have read columns
     and columns and columns of comment these two days and turned every
     conceivable proposition back and forth in my mind--in this whole
     wretched waste of comment, I have not seen even an allusion to any
     moral principle involved nor a word of concern about the Mexican
     people. It is all about who is the stronger, Huerta or some other
     bandit, and about the necessity of order for the sake of financial
     interests. Nobody recalls our action in giving Cuba to the Cubans
     or our pledge to the people of the Philippine Islands. But there is
     reference to the influence of Standard Oil in the American policy.
     This illustrates the complete divorce of European politics from
     fundamental morals, and it shocks even a man who before knew of
     this divorce.

     In my last talk with Sir Edward Grey I drove this home by
     emphasizing strongly the impossibility of your playing primary heed
     to any American business interest in Mexico--even the immorality of
     your doing so; there are many things that come before business and
     there are some things that come before order. I used American
     business interests because I couldn't speak openly of British
     business interests and his Government. I am sure he saw the obvious
     inference. But not even from him came a word about the moral
     foundation of government or about the welfare of the Mexican
     people. These are not in the European governing vocabulary.

     I have been trying to find a way to help this Government to wake up
     to the effect of its pro-Huerta position and to give them a chance
     to refrain from repeating that mistake--and to save their faces;
     and I have telegraphed one plan to Mr. Bryan to-day. I think they
     ought now to be forced to show their hand without the possibility
     of evasion. They will not risk losing our good-will--if it seem
     wise to you to put them to a square test.

     It's a wretched business, and the sordid level of European
     statecraft is sad.

     I ran across the Prime Minister at the royal wedding reception[34]
     the other day.

     "What do you infer from the latest news from Mexico?" he asked.

     "Several things."

     "Tell me the most important inference you draw."

     "Well, the danger of prematurely making up one's mind about a
     Mexican adventurer."

     "Ah!" and he moved on.

     Very heartily yours,
     WALTER H. PAGE.

     _To the President_

     London, Sunday, Nov. 16, 1913.

     . . . About the obligations and inferences of democracy, they are
     dense. They don't really believe in it; and they are slow to see
     what good will come of ousting Huerta unless we know beforehand who
     will succeed him. Sir Edward Grey is not dense, but in this matter
     even he is slow fully to understand. The Lord knows I've told him
     plainly over and over again and, I fear, even preached to him. At
     first he couldn't see the practical nature of so "idealistic" a
     programme. I explained to him how the immemorial "policy" that we
     all followed of recognizing momentarily successful adventurers in
     Latin-America had put a premium on revolution; that you had found
     something better than a policy, namely, a principle; that policies
     change, but principles do not; that he need not he greatly
     concerned about the successor to Huerta; that this is primarily and
     ultimately an American problem; that Great Britain's interest being
     only commercial is far less than the interest of the United States,
     which is commercial and also ethical; and so on and so on. His
     sympathies and his friendliness are all right. But Egypt and India
     were in his mind. He confessed to me that he was much
     impressed--"if you can carry it through." Many men are seeing the
     new idea (I wonder if you are conscious how new it is and how
     incredible to the Old World mind?) and they express the greatest
     and sincerest admiration for "your brave new President"; and a wave
     of friendliness to the United States swept over the Kingdom when
     the Government took its open stand. At the annual dinner of the
     oldest and richest of the merchants' guilds at which they invited
     me to respond to a toast the other night they proposed your health
     most heartily and, when I arose, they cheered longer and louder
     than I had before heard men cheer in this kingdom. There is, I am
     sure, more enthusiasm for the United States here, by far, than for
     England in the United States. They are simply dense about any sort
     of government but their own--particularly dense about the
     application of democracy to "dependencies" and inferior peoples. I
     have a neighbour who spent many years as an administrator in India.
     He has talked me deaf about the inevitable failure of this
     "idealistic" Mexican programme. He is wholly friendly, and wholly
     incredulous. And for old-time Toryism gone to seed commend me to
     the _Spectator_. Not a glimmering of the idea has entered
     Strachey's head. The _Times_, however, now sees it pretty clearly.
     I spent Sunday a few weeks ago with two of its editors in the
     country, and they have come to see me several times since and
     written fairly good "leaders" out of my conversation with them. So
     much for this head. For the moment at least that is satisfactory.
     You must not forget that they can't all at once take it in, for
     they do not really know what democracy is or whither it leads and
     at bottom they do not really believe in it as a scheme of
     government--not even this Liberal Cabinet.

     The British concern for commercial interests, which never sleeps,
     will, I fear, come up continuously. But we shall simply do justice
     and stand firm, when this phase of the subject comes forward.

     It's amusing, when you forget its sadness, that their first impulse
     is to regard an unselfish international act as what Cecil Rhodes
     called the English "unctuous rectitude." But this experience that
     we are having with them will be worth much in future dealings. They
     already feel very clearly that a different hand has the helm in
     Washington; and we can drive them hard, if need be, for they will
     not forfeit our friendship.

     It is worth something to discover that Downing Street makes many
     mistakes. Infallibility dwells a long way from them. In this matter
     they have made two terrible blunders--the recognition of Huerta
     (they know that now) and the sending of Carden (they may already
     suspect that: they'll know it presently).

     Yours always faithfully,
     WALTER H. PAGE.

     P.S. By Jove, I didn't know that I'd ever have to put the British
     Government through an elementary course in Democracy!

     To the President.

Occasionally Page discussed with Sir Edward Grey an alternative
American policy which was in the minds of most people at that time:

     _To the President_

     . . . The foregoing I wrote before this Mexican business took its
     present place. I can't get away from the feeling that the English
     simply do not and will not believe in any unselfish public
     action--further than the keeping of order. They have a mania for
     order, sheer order, order for the sake of order. They can't see how
     anything can come in any one's thought before order or how anything
     need come afterward. Even Sir Edward Grey jocularly ran me across
     our history with questions like this:

     "Suppose you have to intervene, what then?"

     "Make 'em vote and live by their decisions."

     "But suppose they will not so live?"

     "We'll go in again and make 'em vote again."

     "And keep this up 200 years?" asked he.

     "Yes," said I. "The United States will he here two hundred years
     and it can continue to shoot men for that little space till they
     learn to vote and to rule themselves."

     I have never seen him laugh so heartily. Shooting men into
     self-government! Shooting them into orderliness--he comprehends
     that; and that's all right. But that's as far as his habit of mind
     goes. At Sheffield last night, when I had to make a speech, I
     explained "idealism" (they always quote it) in Government. They
     listened attentively and even eagerly. Then they came up and asked
     if I really meant that Government should concern itself with
     idealistic things--beyond keeping order. Ought they to do so in
     India?--I assure you they don't think beyond order. A nigger
     lynched in Mississippi offends them more than a tyrant in Mexico.

     _To Edward M. House_

     London, November 2, 1913.

     DEAR HOUSE:

     I've been writing to the President that the Englishman has a mania
     for order, order for order's sake, and for--trade. He has reduced a
     large part of the world to order. He is the best policeman in
     creation; and--he has the policeman's ethics! Talk to him about
     character as a basis of government or about a moral basis of
     government in any outlying country, he'll think you daft. Bah! what
     matter who governs or how he governs or where he got his authority
     or how, so long as he keeps order. He won't see anything else. The
     lesson of our dealing with Cuba is lost on him. He doesn't believe
     _that_. We may bring this Government in line with us on Mexico. But
     in this case and in general, the moral uplift of government must be
     forced by us--I mean government in outlying countries.

     Mexico is only part of Central America, and the only way we can
     ever forge a Central and South American policy that will endure is
     _this_ way, precisely, by saying that your momentarily successful
     adventurer can't count on us anywhere; the man that rules must
     govern for the governed. Then we have a policy; and nobody else has
     that policy. This Mexican business is worth worlds to us--to
     establish this.

     We may have a diplomatic fight here; and I'm ready! Very ready on
     this, for its own sake and for reasons that follow, to wit:

     Extraordinary and sincere and profound as is the respect of the
     English for the American people, they hold the American Government
     in contempt. It shifts and doesn't keep its treaty, etc.,
     etc.--They are right, too. But they need to feel the hand that now
     has the helm.

     But one or two things have first to be got out of the way. That
     Panama tolls is the worst. We are dead wrong in that, as we are
     dead right on the Mexican matter. If it were possible (I don't know
     that it is) for the President to say (quietly, not openly) that he
     agrees with us--if he do--then the field would be open for a fight
     on Mexico; and the reënforcement of our position would he
     incalculable.

     Then we need in Washington some sort of Bureau or Master of
     Courtesies for the Government, to do and to permit us to do those
     little courtesies that the English spend half their time in
     doing--this in the course of our everyday life and intercourse. For
     example: When I was instructed to inform this Government that our
     fleet would go to the Mediterranean, I was instructed also to say
     that they mustn't trouble to welcome us--don't pay no 'tention to
     us! Well, that's what they live for in times of peace--ceremonies.
     We come along and say, "We're comin' but, hell! don't kick up no
     fuss over us, we're from Missouri, we are!" And the Briton shrugs
     his shoulders and says, "Boor!" These things are happening all the
     time. Of course no one nor a dozen nor a hundred count; but
     generations of 'em have counted badly. A Government without
     manners.

     If I could outdo these folk at their game of courtesy, and could
     keep our treaty faith with 'em, then I could lick 'em into the next
     century on the moral aspects of the Mexican Government, and make
     'em look up and salute every time the American Government is
     mentioned. See?--Is there any hope?--Such is the job exactly. And
     you know what it would lead to--even in our lifetime--_to the
     leadership of the world_: and we should presently be considering
     how we may best use the British fleet, the British Empire, and the
     English race for the betterment of mankind.

     Yours eagerly,
     W.H.P.

A word of caution is necessary to understand Page's references to the
British democracy. That the parliamentary system is democratic in the
sense that it is responsive to public opinion he would have been the
first to admit. That Great Britain is a democracy in the sense that the
suffrage is general is also apparent. But, in these reflections on the
British commonwealth, the Ambassador was thinking of his old familiar
figure, the "Forgotten Man"--the neglected man, woman, and child of the
masses. In an address delivered, in June, 1914, before the Royal
Institution of Great Britain, Page gave what he regarded as the
definition of the American ideal. "The fundamental article in the creed
of the American democracy--you may call it the fundamental dogma if you
like--is the unchanging and unchangeable resolve that every human being
shall have his opportunity for his utmost development--his chance to
become and to do the best that he can." Democracy is not only a system
of government--"it is a scheme of society." Every citizen must have not
only the suffrage, he must likewise enjoy the same advantages as his
neighbour for education, for social opportunity, for good health, for
success in agriculture, manufacture, finance, and business and
professional life. The country that most successfully opened all these
avenues to every boy or girl, exclusively on individual merit, was in
Page's view the most democratic. He believed that the United States did
this more completely than Great Britain or any other country; and
therefore he believed that we were far more democratic. He had not found
in other countries the splendid phenomenon presented by America's great
agricultural region. "The most striking single fact about the United
States is, I think, this spectacle, which, so far as I know, is new in
the world: On that great agricultural area are about seven million farms
of an average size of about 140 acres, most of which are tilled by the
owners themselves, a population that varies greatly, of course, in its
thrift and efficiency, but most of which is well housed, in houses they
themselves own, well clad, well fed, and a population that trains
practically all its children in schools maintained by public taxation."
It was some such vision as this that Page hoped to see realized
ultimately in Mexico. And some such development as this would make
Mexico a democracy. It was his difficulty in making the British see the
Mexican problem in this light that persuaded him that, in this
comprehensive meaning of the word, the democratic ideal had made an
inappreciable progress in Europe--and even in Great Britain itself.


II

These letters are printed somewhat out of their chronological order
because they picture definitely the two opposing viewpoints of Great
Britain and the United States on Mexico and Latin-America generally.
Here, then, was the sharp issue drawn between the Old World and the
New--on one side the dreary conception of outlying countries as fields
to be exploited for the benefit of "investors," successful
revolutionists to be recognized in so far as they promoted such ends,
and no consideration to be shown to the victims of their rapacity; and
the new American idea, the idea which had been made reality in Cuba and
the Philippines, that the enlightened and successful nations stood
something in the position of trustees to such unfortunate lands and that
it was their duty to lead them along the slow pathway of progress and
democracy. So far the Wilsonian principle could be joyfully supported by
the Ambassador. Page disagreed with the President, however, in that he
accepted the logical consequences of this programme. His formula of
"shooting people into self-government," which had so entertained the
British Foreign Secretary, was a characteristically breezy description
of the alternative that Page, in the last resort, was ready to adopt,
but which President Wilson and Secretary Bryan persistently refused to
consider. Page was just as insistent as the Washington Administration
that Huerta should resign and that Great Britain should assist the
United States in accomplishing his dethronement, and that the Mexican
people should have a real opportunity of setting up for themselves. He
was not enough of an "idealist," however, to believe that the Mexicans,
without the assistance of their powerful neighbours, could succeed in
establishing a constitutional government. In early August, 1913,
President Wilson sent Mr. John Lind, ex-Governor of Minnesota, to Mexico
as his personal representative. His mission was to invite Huerta to
remove himself from Mexican politics, and to permit the Mexican people
to hold a presidential election at which Huerta would himself agree not
to be a candidate. Mr. Lind presented these proposals on August 15th,
and President Huerta rejected every one of them with a somewhat
disconcerting promptitude.

That Page was prepared to accept the consequences of this failure
appears in the following letter. The lack of confidence which it
discloses in Secretary Bryan was a feeling that became stronger as the
Mexican drama unfolded.

     _To Edward M. House_

     London, August 25, 1913.

     MY DEAR HOUSE:

     . . . If you find a chance, get the substance of this memorandum into
     the hands of two men: the President and the Secretary of
     Agriculture. Get 'em in Houston's at once--into the President's
     whenever the time is ripe. I send the substance to Washington and I
     send many other such things. But I never feel sure that they reach
     the President. The most confidential letter I have written was lost
     in Washington, and there is pretty good testimony that it reached
     the Secretary's desk. He does not acknowledge the important things,
     but writes me confidentially to inquire if the office of the man
     who attends to the mail pouches (the diplomatic and naval
     despatches in London[35]) is not an office into which he might put
     a Democrat.--But I keep at it. It would he a pleasure to know that
     the President knows what I am trying to do. . . .

     Yours heartily,
     WALTER H. PAGE.

Following is the memorandum:

     In October the provisional recognition of Huerta by England will
     end. Then this Government will be free. Then is the time for the
     United States to propose to England joint intervention merely to
     reduce this turbulent scandal of a country to order--on an
     agreement, of course, to preserve the territorial integrity of
     Mexico. It's a mere police duty that all great nations have to
     do--as they did in the case of the Boxer riots in China. Of course
     Germany and France, etc., ought to be invited--on the same pledge:
     the preservation of territorial integrity. If Germany should come
     in, she will thereby practically acknowledge the Monroe Doctrine,
     as England has already done. If Germany stay out, then she can't
     complain. England and the United States would have only to announce
     their intention: there'd be no need to fire a gun. Besides settling
     the Mexican trouble, we'd gain much--having had England by our side
     in a praise-worthy enterprise. That, and the President's visit[36]
     would give the world notice to whom it belongs, and cause it to be
     quiet and to go about its proper business of peaceful industry.

     Moreover, it would show all the Central and South American States
     that we don't want any of their territory, that we will not let
     anybody else have any, but that they, too, must keep orderly
     government or the great Nations of the earth, will, at our bidding,
     forcibly demand quiet in their borders. I believe a new era of
     security would come in all Spanish America. Investments would be
     safer, governments more careful and orderly. And--we would not have
     made any entangling alliance with anybody. All this would prevent
     perhaps dozens of little wars. It's merely using the English fleet
     and ours to make the world understand that the time has come for
     orderliness and peace and for the honest development of backward,
     turbulent lands and peoples.

     If you don't put this through, tell me what's the matter with it.
     I've sent it to Washington after talking and being talked to for a
     month and after the hardest kind of thinking. Isn't this
     constructive? Isn't it using the great power lying idle about the
     world, to do the thing that most needs to be done?

Colonel House presented this memorandum to the President, but events
sufficiently disclosed that it had no influence upon his Mexican policy.
Two days after it was written Mr. Wilson went before Congress, announced
that the Lind Mission had failed, and that conditions in Mexico had
grown worse. He advised all Americans to leave the country, and declared
that he would lay an embargo on the shipment of munitions--an embargo
that would affect both the Huerta forces and the revolutionary groups
that were fighting them.

Meanwhile Great Britain had taken another step that made as unpleasant
an impression on Washington as had the recognition of Huerta. Sir Lionel
Edward Gresley Carden had for several years been occupying British
diplomatic posts in Central America, in all of which he had had
disagreeable social and diplomatic relations with Americans. Sir Lionel
had always shown great zeal in promoting British commercial interests,
and, justly or unjustly, had acquired the fame of being intensely
anti-American. From 1911 to 1913 Carden had served as British Minister
to Cuba; here his anti-Americanism had shown itself in such obnoxious
ways that Mr. Knox, Secretary of State under President Taft, had
instructed Ambassador Reid to bring his behaviour to the attention of
the British Foreign Office. These representations took practically the
form of requesting Carden's removal from Cuba. Perhaps the unusual
relations that the United States bore toward Cuba warranted Mr. Knox in
making such an approach; yet the British refused to see the matter in
that light; not only did they fail to displace Carden, but they knighted
him--the traditional British way of defending a faithful public servant
who has been attacked. Sir Lionel Carden refused to mend his ways; he
continued to indulge in what Washington regarded as anti-American
propaganda; and a second time Secretary Knox intimated that his removal
would he acceptable to this country, and a second time this request was
refused. With this preliminary history of Carden as a background, and
with the British-American misunderstanding over Huerta at its most
serious stage, the emotions of Washington may well be imagined when the
news came, in July, 1913, that this same gentleman had been appointed
British Minister to Mexico. If the British Government had ransacked its
diplomatic force to find the one man who would have been most
objectionable to the United States, it could have made no better
selection. The President and Mr. Bryan were pretty well persuaded that
the "oil concessionaires" were dictating British-Mexican policy, and
this appointment translated their suspicion into a conviction. Carden
had seen much service in Mexico; he had been on the friendliest terms
with Diaz; and the newspapers openly charged that the British oil
capitalists had dictated his selection. All these assertions Carden and
the oil interests denied; yet Carden's behaviour from the day of his
appointment showed great hostility to the United States. A few days
after he had reached New York, on his way to his new post, the New York
_World_ published an interview with Carden in which he was reported as
declaring that President Wilson knew nothing about the Mexican situation
and in which he took the stand that Huerta was the man to handle Mexico
at this crisis. His appearance in the Mexican capital was accompanied by
other highly undiplomatic publications. In late October President Huerta
arrested all his enemies in the Mexican Congress, threw them into jail,
and proclaimed himself dictator. Washington was much displeased that Sir
Lionel Carden should have selected the day of these high-handed
proceedings to present to Huerta his credentials as minister; in its
sensitive condition, the State Department interpreted this act as a
reaffirmation of that recognition that had already caused so much
confusion in Mexican affairs.

Carden made things worse by giving out more newspaper interviews, a
tendency that had apparently grown into a habit. "I do not believe that
the United States recognizes the seriousness of the situation here. . . . I
see no reason why Huerta should be displaced by another man whose
abilities are yet to be tried. . . . Safety in Mexico can be secured only
by punitive and remedial methods, and a strong man;"--such were a few of
the reflections that the reporters attributed to this astonishing
diplomat. Meanwhile, the newspapers were filled with reports that the
British Minister was daily consorting with Huerta, that he was
constantly strengthening that chieftain's backbone in opposition to the
United States and that he was obtaining concessions in return for this
support. To what extent these press accounts rested on fact cannot be
ascertained definitely at this time; yet it is a truth that Carden's
general behaviour gave great encouragement to Huerta and that it had the
deplorable effect of placing Great Britain and the United States in
opposition. The interpretation of the casual reader was that Great
Britain was determined to seat Huerta in the Presidency against the
determination of the United States to keep him out. The attitude of the
Washington cabinet was almost bitter at this time against the British
Government. "There is a feeling here," wrote Secretary Lane to Page,
"that England is playing a game unworthy of her."

The British Government promptly denied the authenticity of the Carden
interview, but that helped matters little, for the American public
insisted on regarding such denials as purely diplomatic. Something of a
storm against Carden arose in England itself, where it was believed that
his conception of his duties was estranging two friendly countries.
Probably the chief difficulty was that the British Foreign Office could
see no logical sequence in the Washington policy. Put Huerta out--yes,
by all means: but what then? Page's notes of his visit to Sir Edward
Grey a few days after the latest Carden interview confirm this:

       *       *       *       *       *

I have just come from an hour's talk with Grey about Mexico. He showed
me his telegram to Carden, asking about Carden's reported interview
criticizing the United States, and Carden's flat denial. He showed me
another telegram to Carden about Huerta's reported boast that he would
have the backing of London, Paris, and Berlin against the United States,
in which Grey advised Carden that British policy should be to keep aloof
from Huerta's boasts and plans. Carden denied that Huerta made such a
boast in his statement to the Diplomatic Corps. Grey wishes the
President to know of these telegrams.

Talk then became personal and informal. I went over the whole subject
again, telling how the Press and people of the United States were
becoming critical of the British Government; that they regarded the
problem as wholly American; that they resented aid to Huerta, whom they
regarded as a mere tyrant; that they suspected British interests of
giving financial help to Huerta; that many newspapers and persons
refused to believe Carden's denial; that the President's policy was not
academic but was the only policy that would square with American ideals
and that it was unchangeable. I cited our treatment of Cuba. I explained
again that I was talking unofficially and giving him only my own
interpretation of the people's mood. He asked, if the British Government
should withdraw the recognition of Huerta, what would happen.

"In my opinion," I replied, "he would collapse."

"What would happen then--worse chaos?"

"That is impossible," I said. "There is no worse chaos than deputies in
jail, the dictatorial doubling of the tariff, the suppression of
opinion, and the practical banishment of independent men. If Huerta
should fall, there is hope that suppressed men and opinion will set up a
successful government."

"Suppose that fail," he asked--"what then?"

I replied that, in case of continued and utter failure, the United
States might feel obliged to repeat its dealings with Cuba and that the
continued excitement of opinion in the United States might precipitate
this.

Grey protested that he knew nothing of what British interests had done
or were doing, that he wished time to think the matter out and that he
was glad to await the President's communication. He thanked me cordially
for my frank statements and declared that he understood perfectly their
personal nature. I impressed him with the seriousness of American public
opinion.

       *       *       *       *       *

The last thing that the British Government desired at this time was a
serious misunderstanding with the United States, on Mexico or any other
matter. Yet the Mexican situation, in early November, 1913, clearly
demanded a complete cleaning up. The occasion soon presented itself. Sir
William Tyrrell, the private secretary of Sir Edward Grey sailed, in
late October, for the United States. The purpose of his visit was not
diplomatic, but Page evidently believed that his presence in the United
States offered too good an opportunity to be lost.

     To Edward M. House

     Newton Hall, Newton, Cambridge.

     Sunday, October 26, 1913.

     DEAR HOUSE:

     Sir William Tyrrell, the secretary of Sir Edward Grey--himself, I
     think, an M.P.--has gone to the United States to visit his friend,
     Sir Cecil Spring Rice. He sailed yesterday, going first to Dublin,
     N.H., thence with the Ambassador to Washington. He has never before
     been to the United States, and he went off in high glee, alone, to
     see it. He's a good fellow, a thoroughly good fellow, and he's an
     important man. He of course has Sir Edward's complete confidence,
     but he's also a man on his own account. I have come to reckon it
     worth while to get ideas that I want driven home into his head.
     It's a good head and a good place to put good ideas.

     The Lord knows you have far too much to do; but in this juncture I
     should count it worth your while to pay him some attention. I want
     him to get the President's ideas about Mexico, good and firm and
     hard. They are so far from altruistic in their politics here that
     it would be a good piece of work to get our ideas and aims into
     this man's head. His going gives you and the President and
     everybody a capital chance to help me keep our good
     American-English understanding.

     Whatever happen in Mexico, I'm afraid there will be a disturbance
     of the very friendly feeling between the American people and the
     English. I am delivering a series of well-thought-out discourses to
     Sir Edward--with what effect, I don't know. If the American press
     could be held in a little, that would be as good as it is
     impossible.

     I'm now giving the Foreign Office the chance to refrain from more
     premature recognizing.

     Very hastily yours,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

Sir William Tyrrell, to whom Page refers so pleasantly, was one of the
most engaging men personally in the British Foreign Office, as well as
one of the most influential. Though he came to America on no official
mission to our Government, he was exceptionally qualified to discuss
Mexico and other pending questions with the Washington Administration.
He had an excellent background, and a keen insight into the human
aspects of all problems, but perhaps his most impressive physical trait
was a twinkling eye, as his most conspicuous mental quality was
certainly a sense of humour. Constant association with Sir Edward Grey
had given his mind a cast not dissimilar to that of his chief--a belief
in ordinary decency in international relations, an enthusiasm for the
better ordering of the world, a sincere admiration for the United States
and a desire to maintain British-American friendship. In his first
encounter with official Washington Sir William needed all that sense of
the ludicrous with which he is abundantly endowed. This took the form of
a long interview with Secretary Bryan on the foreign policy of Great
Britain. The Secretary harangued Sir William on the wickedness of the
British Empire, particularly in Egypt and India and in Mexico. The
British oil men, Mr. Bryan declared, was nothing but the "paymasters" of
the British Cabinet.

"You are wrong," replied the Englishman, who saw that the only thing to
do on an occasion of this kind was to refuse to take the Secretary
seriously. "Lord Cowdray hasn't money enough. Through a long experience
with corruption the Cabinet has grown so greedy that Cowdray hasn't the
money necessary to reach their price."

"Ah," said Mr. Bryan, triumphantly, accepting Sir William's bantering
answer as made in all seriousness. "Then you admit the charge."

From this he proceeded to denounce Great Britain in still more
unmeasured terms. The British, he declared, had only one interest in
Mexico, and that was oil. The Foreign Office had simply handed its
Mexican policy over to the "oil barons" for predatory purposes.

"That's just what the Standard Oil people told me in New York," the
British diplomat replied. "Mr. Secretary, you are talking just like a
Standard Oil man. The ideas that you hold are the ones which the
Standard Oil is disseminating. You are pursuing the policy which they
have decided on. Without knowing it you are promoting the interest of
Standard Oil."

Sir William saw that it was useless to discuss Mexico with Mr.
Bryan--that the Secretary was not a thinker but an emotionalist.
However, despite their differences, the two men liked each other and had
a good time. As Sir William was leaving, he bowed deferentially to the
Secretary of State and said:

"You have stripped me naked, Mr. Secretary, but I am unashamed."

With President Wilson, however, the Englishman had a more satisfactory
experience. He was delighted by the President's courtesy, charm,
intelligence, and conversational powers. The impression which Sir
William obtained of the American President on this occasion remained
with him for several years and was itself an important element in
British-American relations after the outbreak of the World War. And the
visit was a profitable one for Mr. Wilson, since he obtained a clear
understanding of the British policy toward Mexico. Sir William succeeded
in persuading the President that the so-called oil interests were not
dictating the policy of Sir Edward Grey. That British oil men were
active in Mexico was apparent; but they were not using a statesman of so
high a character as Sir Edward Grey for their purposes and would not be
able to do so. The British Government entertained no ambitions in Mexico
that meant unfriendliness to the United States. In no way was the policy
of Great Britain hostile to our own. In fact, the British recognized the
predominant character of the American interest in Mexico and were
willing to accept any policy in which Washington would take the lead.
All it asked was that British property and British lives be protected;
once these were safeguarded Great Britain was ready to stand aside and
let the United States deal with Mexico in its own way.

The one disappointment of this visit was that Sir William Tyrrell was
unable to obtain from President Wilson any satisfactory statement of his
Mexican policy.

"When I go back to England," said the Englishman, as the interview was
approaching an end, "I shall be asked to explain your Mexican policy.
Can you tell me what it is?"

President Wilson looked at him earnestly and said, in his most decisive
manner:

"I am going to teach the South American Republics to elect good men!"

This was excellent as a purpose, but it could hardly be regarded as a
programme.

"Yes," replied Sir William, "but, Mr. President, I shall have to explain
this to Englishmen, who, as you know, lack imagination. They cannot see
what is the difference between Huerta, Carranza, and Villa."

The only answer he could obtain was that Carranza was the best of the
three and that Villa was not so bad as he had been painted. But the
phrase that remained with the British diplomat was that one so
characteristically Wilsonian: "I propose to teach the South American
Republics to elect good men." In its attitude, its phrasing, it held the
key to much Wilson history.

Additional details of this historic interview are given in Colonel
House's letters:

     From Edward M. House

     145 East 35th Street,

     New York City.

     November 4, 1913.

     DEAR PAGE:

     Your cablegram, telling me of the arrival of Sir William Tyrrell on
     the _Imperator_, was handed me on my way to the train as I left for
     Washington.

     The President talked with me about the Mexican situation and it
     looks as if something positive will be done in a few days unless
     Huerta abdicates.

     It is to be the policy of this Administration henceforth not to
     recognize any Central American government that is not formed along
     constitutional lines. Anything else would be a makeshift policy. As
     you know, revolutions and assassinations in order to obtain control
     of governments are instituted almost wholly for the purpose of loot
     and when it is found that these methods will not bring the desired
     results, they will cease.

     The President also feels strongly in regard to foreign financial
     interests seeking to control those unstable governments through
     concessions and otherwise. This, too, he is determined to
     discourage as far as it is possible to do so.

     This was a great opportunity for England and America to get
     together. You know how strongly we both feel upon this subject and
     I do not believe that the President differed greatly from us, but
     the recent actions of the British Government have produced a
     decided irritation, which to say the least is unfortunate.

     Faithfully yours,

     E.M. HOUSE.


                            145 East 35th Street,
                                     New York City.
                                    November 14, 1913.

     DEAR PAGE:

     Things have happened quickly since I last wrote to you. I went to
     Washington Monday night as the guest of the Bryans. They have been
     wanting me to come to them and I thought this a good opportunity.

     I talked the Mexican situation out thoroughly with him and one of
     your dispatches came while I was there. I found that he was
     becoming prejudiced against the British Government, believing that
     their Mexican policy was based purely upon commercialism, that they
     were backing Huerta quietly at the instance of Lord Cowdray, and
     that Cowdray had not only already obtained concessions from the
     Huerta Government, but expected to obtain others. Sir Lionel Carden
     was also all to the bad.

     I saw the President and his views were not very different from
     those of Mr. Bryan. I asked the President to permit me to see Sir
     William Tyrrell and talk to him frankly and to attempt to
     straighten the tangle out. He gave me a free hand.

     I lunched with Sir William at the British Embassy although Sir
     Cecil Spring Rice was not well enough to be present. I had a long
     talk with Sir William after lunch and found that our suspicions
     were unwarranted and that we could get together without any
     difficulty whatever.

     I told him very frankly what our purpose was in Mexico and that we
     were determined to carry it through if it was within our power to
     do so. That being so I suggested that he get his government to
     coöperate cordially with ours rather than to accept our policy
     reluctantly.

     I told him that you and I had dreamed of a sympathetic alliance
     between the two countries and that it seemed to me that this dream
     might come true very quickly because of the President and Sir
     Edward Grey. He expressed a willingness to coöperate freely and I
     told him I would arrange an early meeting with the President. I
     thought it better to bring the President into the game rather than
     Mr. Bryan. I told him of the President's attitude upon the Panama
     toll question but I touched upon that lightly and in confidence,
     preferring for the President himself to make his own statement.

     I left the Bryans in the morning of the luncheon with Sir William,
     intending to take an afternoon train for New York, but the
     President wanted me to stay with him at the White House over night
     and meet Sir William with him at half past nine the following
     morning. He was so tired that I did not have the heart to urge a
     meeting that night.

     From half past nine until half past ten the President and Sir
     William repeated to each other what they had said separately to me,
     and which I had given to each, and then the President elaborated
     upon the toll question much to the satisfaction of Sir William.

     He explained the matter in detail and assured him of his entire
     sympathy and purpose to carry out our treaty obligations, both in
     the letter and the spirit.

     Sir William was very happy after the interview and when the
     President left us he remained to talk to me and to express his
     gratification. He cleared up in the President's mind all suspicion,
     I think, in regard to concessions and as to the intentions and
     purposes of the British Government. He assured the President that
     his government would work cordially with ours and that they would
     do all that they could to bring about joint pressure through
     Germany and France for the elimination of Huerta.

     We are going to give them a chance to see what they can do with
     Huerta before moving any further. Sir William thinks that if we are
     willing to let Huerta save his face he can be got out without force
     of arms.

     Sir William said that if foreign diplomats could have heard our
     conversation they would have fallen in a faint; it was so frankly
     indiscreet and undiplomatic. I did not tell him so, but I had it in
     the back of my mind that where people wanted to do right and had
     the power to carry out their intentions there was no need to cloak
     their thoughts in diplomatic language.

     All this makes me very happy for it looks as if we are in sight of
     the promised land.

     I am pleased to tell you of the compliments that have been thrown
     at you by the President, Mr. Bryan, and Sir William. They were all
     enthusiastic over your work in London and expressed the keenest
     appreciation of the way in which you have handled matters. Sir
     William told me that he did not remember an American Ambassador
     that was your equal.

     Faithfully yours,

     E.M. HOUSE.

So far as a meeting between a British diplomat and the President of the
United States could solve the Mexican problem, that problem was
apparently solved. The dearest wish of Mr. Wilson, the elimination of
Huerta, seemed to be approaching realization, now that he had persuaded
Great Britain to support him in this enterprise. Whether Sir William
Tyrrell, or Sir Edward Grey, had really become converted to the
President's "idealistic" plans for Mexico is an entirely different
question. At this time there was another matter in which Great Britain's
interest was even greater than in Mexico. These letters have already
contained reference to tolls on the Panama Canal. Colonel House's letter
shows that the President discussed this topic with Sir William Tyrrell
and gave him assurances that this would be settled on terms satisfactory
to Great Britain. It cannot be maintained that that assurance was really
the consideration which paved the way to an understanding on Huerta. The
conversation was entirely informal; indeed, it could not be otherwise,
for Sir William Tyrrell brought no credentials; there could be no
definite bargain or agreement, but there is little question that Mr.
Wilson's friendly disposition toward British shipping through the Panama
Canal made it easy for Great Britain to give him a free hand in Mexico.

A few days after this White House interview Sir Lionel Carden performed
what must have been for him an uncongenial duty. This loquacious
minister led a procession of European diplomats to General Huerta,
formally advised that warrior to yield to the American demands and
withdraw from the Presidency of Mexico. The delegation informed the grim
dictator that their governments were supporting the American policy and
Sir Lionel brought him the unwelcome news that he could not depend upon
British support. About the same time Premier Asquith made conciliatory
remarks on Mexico at the Guildhall banquet. He denied that the British
Government had undertaken any policy "deliberately opposed to that of
the United States. There is no vestige of foundation for such a rumour."
These events changed the atmosphere at Washington, which now became
almost as cordial to Great Britain as it had for several months been
suspicious.

     _To Edward M. House_

               London, November 15, 1913.

     DEAR HOUSE:

     All's well here. The whole trouble was caused not here but in
     Mexico City; and that is to be remedied yet. And it will be! For
     the moment it is nullified. But you need give yourself no concern
     about the English Government or people, in the long run. It is
     taking them some time to see the vast difference between acting by
     a principle and acting by what they call a "policy." They and we
     ourselves too have from immemorial time been recognizing successful
     adventurers, and they didn't instantly understand this new
     "idealistic" move; they didn't know the man at the helm! I preached
     many sermons to our friend, I explained the difference to many
     private groups, I made after-dinner speeches leading right up to
     the point--as far as I dared, I inspired many newspaper articles;
     and they see it now and have said it and have made it public; and
     the British people are enthusiastic as far as they understand it.

     And anybody concerned here understands the language that the
     President speaks now. You mustn't forget that in all previous
     experiences in Latin America we ourselves have been as much to
     blame as anybody else. Now we have a clear road to travel, a policy
     based on character to follow forever--a new era. Our dealing with
     Cuba was a new chapter in the history of the world. Our dealing
     with Mexico is Chapter II of the same Revelation. Tell 'em this in
     Washington.

     The remaining task will be done too and I think pretty soon. For
     that I need well-loaded shells. I'll supply the gunpowder.

     And don't you concern yourself about the English. They're all
     right--a little slow, but all right.

     Heartily yours,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

                    _To Edward M. House_

                          Newtimber Place, Hassocks, Sussex,
                            Sunday, November 23, 1913.

     DEAR HOUSE:

     Your letter telling me about Tyrrell and the President brought me
     great joy. Tyrrell is in every way a square fellow, much like his
     Chief; and, you may depend on it, they are playing fair--in their
     slow way. They always think of India and of Egypt--never of Cuba.
     Lord! Lord! the fun I've had, the holy joy I am having (I never
     expected to have such exalted and invigorating felicity) in
     delivering elementary courses of instruction in democracy to the
     British Government. Deep down at the bottom, they don't know what
     Democracy means. Their Empire is in the way. Their centuries of
     land-stealing are in the way. Their unsleeping watchfulness of
     British commerce is in the way. "You say you'll shoot men into
     self-government," said Sir Edward. "Doesn't that strike you as
     comical?" And I answered, "It is comical only to the Briton and to
     others who have associated shooting with subjugation. We associate
     shooting with freedom." Half this blessed Sunday at this country
     house I have been ramming the idea down the throat of the Lord
     Chancellor[37]. _He_ sees it, too, being a Scotchman. I take the
     members of the Government, as I get the chance or can make it, and
     go over with them the A B C of the President's principle: no
     territorial annexation; no trafficking with tyrants; no stealing of
     American governments by concession or financial thimble-rigging.
     They'll not recognize another Huerta--they're sick of that. And
     they'll not endanger our friendship. They didn't see the idea in
     the beginning. Of course the real trouble has been in Mexico
     City--Carden. They don't know yet just what he did. But they will,
     if _I_ can find out. I haven't yet been able to make them tell me
     at Washington. Washington is a deep hole of silence toward
     ambassadors. By gradual approaches, I'm going to prove that Carden
     can do--and in a degree has already done--as much harm as Bryce did
     good--and all about a paltry few hundreds of million dollars' worth
     of oil. What the devil does the oil or the commerce of Mexico or
     the investments there amount to in comparison with the close
     friendship of the two nations? Carden can't be good long: he'll
     break out again presently. He has no political imagination. That's
     a rather common disease here, too. Few men have. It's good fun. I'm
     inviting the Central and South American Ministers to lunch with me,
     one by one, and I'm incidentally loading them up. I have all the
     boys in the Embassy full of zeal and they are tackling the
     Secretaries of the Central and South American legations. We've got
     a _principle_ now to deal by with them. They'll see after a while.

     English people are all right, too--except the Doctrinaires. They
     write much rank ignorance. But the learned men learn things last of
     all.

     I thank you heartily for your good news about Tyrrell, about the
     President (but I'm sorry he's tired: make him quit eating meat and
     play golf); about the Panama tolls; about the Currency Bill (my
     love to McAdoo); about my own little affairs.--We are looking with
     the very greatest pleasure to the coming of the young White House
     couple. I've got two big dinners for them--Sir Edward, the Lord
     Chancellor, a duchess or two, some good folk, Ruth Bryan, a couple
     of ambassadors, etc., etc., etc. Then we'll take 'em to a literary
     speaking-feast or two, have 'em invited to a few great houses; then
     we'll give 'em another dinner, and then we'll get a guide for them
     to see all the reforming institutions in London, to their hearts'
     content--lots of fun.

     Lots of fun: I got the American Society for its Thanksgiving dinner
     to invite the Lord Chancellor to respond to a toast to the
     President. He's been to the United States lately and he is greatly
     pleased. So far, so good. Then I came down here--where he, too, is
     staying. After five or six hours' talk about everything else he
     said, "By the way, your countrymen have invited me," etc., etc.
     "Now what would be appropriate to talk about?" Then I poured him
     full of the New Principle as regards Central and South America;
     for, if he will talk on that, what he says will be reported and
     read on both continents. He's a foxy Scot, and he didn't say he
     would, but he said that he'd consider it. "Consider it" means that
     he will confer with Sir Edward. I'm beginning to learn their
     vocabulary. Anyhow the Lord Chancellor is in line.

     It's good news you send always. Keep it up--keep it up. The volume
     of silence that I get is oppressive. You remember the old nigger
     that wished to pick a quarrel with another old nigger? Nigger No. 1
     swore and stormed at nigger No. 2, and kept on swearing and
     storming, hoping to provoke him. Nigger No. 2 said not a word, but
     kept at his work. Nigger No. 1 swore and stormed more. Nigger No. 2
     said not a word. Nigger No. 1 frothed still more. Nigger No. 2,
     still silent. Nigger No. 1 got desperate and said: "Look here, you
     kinky-headed, flat-nosed, slab-footed nigger, I warns you 'fore
     God, don't you keep givin' me none o' your damned silence!" I wish
     you'd tell all my friends that story.

     Always heartily yours,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 34: Prince Arthur of Connaught and the Duchess of Fife were
married in the Chapel Royal, October 16, 1913.]

[Footnote 35: See the Appendix (at end of Vol. II) for this episode in
detail.]

[Footnote 36: There was a suggestion, which the Ambassador endorsed,
that President Wilson should visit England to accept, in the name of the
United States, Sulgrave Manor, the ancestral hone, of the Washingtons.
See Chapter IX, page 274.]

[Footnote 37: Viscount Haldane, Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain
since 1912.]




CHAPTER VII

PERSONALITIES OF THE MEXICAN PROBLEM


Page's remarks about the "trouble in Mexico City" and the "remaining
task" refer, of course, to Sir Lionel Carden. "As I make Carden out," he
wrote about this time, "he's a slow-minded, unimaginative, commercial
Briton, with as much nimbleness as an elephant. British commerce is his
deity, British advantage his duty and mission; and he goes about his
work with blunt dullness and ineptitude. That's his mental calibre as I
read him--a dull, commercial man."

Although Sir Lionel Carden had been compelled to harmonize himself with
the American policy, Page regarded his continued presence in Mexico City
as a standing menace to British-American relations. He therefore set
himself to accomplish the minister's removal. The failure of President
Taft's attempt to obtain Carden's transfer from Havana, in 1912, showed
that Page's new enterprise was a delicate and difficult one; yet he did
not hesitate.

The part that the wives of diplomats and statesmen play in international
relations is one that few Americans understand. Yet in London, the
Ambassador's wife is almost as important a person as the Ambassador
himself. An event which now took place in the American Embassy
emphasized this point. A certain lady, well known in London, called upon
Mrs. Page and gave her a message on Mexican affairs for the Ambassador's
benefit. The purport was that the activities of certain British
commercial interests in Mexico, if not checked, would produce a serious
situation between Great Britain and the United States. The lady in
question was herself a sincere worker for Anglo-American amity, and this
was the motive that led her to take an unusual step.

"It's all being done for the benefit of one man," she said.

The facts were presented in the form of a memorandum, which Mrs. Page
copied and gave the Ambassador. This, in turn, Page sent to President
Wilson.

     _To Edward M. House_

     London, November 26, 1913.

     DEAR HOUSE:

     Won't you read the enclosed and get it to the President? It is
     somewhat extra-official but it is very confidential, and I have a
     special reason for wishing it to go through your hands. Perhaps it
     will interest you.

     The lady that wrote it is one of the very best-informed women I
     know, one of those active and most influential women in the high
     political society of this Kingdom, at whose table statesmen and
     diplomats meet and important things come to pass. . . .

     I am sure she has no motive but the avowed one. She has taken a
     liking to Mrs. Page and this is merely a friendly and patriotic
     act.

     I had heard most of the things before as gossip--never before as
     here put together by a responsible hand.

     Mrs. Page went to see her and, as evidence of our appreciation and
     safety, gave the original back to her. We have kept no copy, and I
     wish this burned, if you please. It would raise a riot here, if any
     breath of it were to get out, that would put bedlam to shame.

     Lord Cowdray has been to see me for four successive days. I have a
     suspicion (though I don't know) that, instead of his running the
     Government, the Government has now turned the tables and is running
     him. His government contract is becoming a bad thing to sleep with.
     He told me this morning that he (through Lord Murray) had withdrawn
     the request for any concession in Colombia[38]. I congratulated
     him. "That, Lord Cowdray, will save you as well as some other
     people I know a good deal of possible trouble." I have explained to
     him the whole New Principle _in extenso_, "so that you may see
     clearly where the line of danger runs." Lord! how he's changed!
     Several weeks ago when I ran across him accidentally he was
     humorous, almost cynical. Now he's very serious. I explained to him
     that the only thing that had kept South America from being
     parcelled out as Africa has been is the Monroe Doctrine and the
     United States behind it. He granted that.

     "In Monroe's time," said I, "the only way to take a part of South
     America was to take land. Now finance has new ways of its own!"

     "Perhaps," said he.

     "Right there," I answered, "where you put your 'perhaps,' I put a
     danger signal. That, I assure you, you will read about in the
     histories as 'The Wilson Doctrine'!"

     You don't know how easy it all is with our friend and leader in
     command. I've almost grown bold. You feel steady ground beneath
     you. They are taking to their tents.

     "What's going to happen in Mexico City?"

     "A peaceful tragedy, followed by emancipation."

     "And the great industries of Mexico?"

     "They will not have to depend on adventurers' favours!"

     "But in the meantime, what?"

     "Patience, looking towards justice!"

     Yours heartily and in health (you bet!)
     W.H.P.


     _From Edward M. House_

     145 East 35th Street,
     New York City.
     December 12, 1913.

     DEAR PAGE:

     Your budget under dates, November 15th, 23rd, and 26th came to me
     last week, just after the President had been here. I saved the
     letters until I went to Washington, from which place I have just
     returned.

     The President has been in bed for nearly a week and Doctor Grayson
     permitted no one to see him but me. Yesterday before I left he was
     feeling so well that I asked him if he did not want to feel better
     and then I read him your letters. Mrs. Wilson was present.

     I cannot tell you how pleased he was. He laughed repeatedly at the
     different comments you made and he was delighted with what you had
     to say concerning Lord Cowdray. We do not love him for we think
     that between Cowdray and Carden a large part of our troubles in
     Mexico has been made. Your description of his attitude at the
     beginning and his present one pleased us much.

     After I had read the confidential letter the President said "now
     let me see if I have the facts." He then recited them in
     consecutive order just as the English lady had written them, almost
     using the same phrases, showing the well-trained mind that he has.
     I then dropped the letter in the grate.

     He enjoyed heartily the expression "Washington is a deep hole of
     silence towards ambassadors," and again "The volume of silence that
     I get is oppressive," and of course the story apropos of this last
     remark.

     I was with him for more than an hour and he was distinctly better
     when I left. I hated to look at him in bed for I could not help
     realizing what his life means to the Democratic Party, to the
     Nation and almost to the world.

     Of course you know that I only read your letters to him. Mr. Bryan
     was my guest on Wednesday and I returned to Washington with him but
     I made no mention of our correspondence and I never have. The
     President seems to like our way of doing things and further than
     that I do not care.

     Upon my soul I do not believe the President could be better pleased
     than he is with the work you are doing.

     Faithfully yours,

     E.M. HOUSE.

From now on the Ambassador exerted a round-about pressure--the method of
"gradual approach" already referred to--upon the Foreign Office for
Carden's removal. An extract from a letter to the President gives a hint
concerning this method:

       *       *       *       *       *

I have already worked upon Sir Edward's mind about his Minister to
Mexico as far as I could. Now that the other matter is settled and while
Carden is behaving, I go at it. Two years ago Mr. Knox made a bad
blunder in protesting against Carden's "anti-Americanism" in Cuba. Mr.
Knox sent Mr. Reid no definite facts nor even accusations to base a
protest on. The result was a failure--a bad failure. I have again asked
Mr. Bryan for all the definite reports he has heard about Carden. That
man, in my judgment, has caused nine tenths of the trouble here.

       *       *       *       *       *

Naturally Page did not ask the Minister's removal directly--that would
have been an unpardonable blunder. His meetings during this period with
Sir Edward were taking place almost every day, and Carden, in one way or
another, kept coming to the front in their conversation. Sir Edward,
like Page, would sacrifice much in the cause of Anglo-American
relations; Page would occasionally express his regret that the British
Minister to Mexico was not a man who shared their enthusiasm on this
subject; in numerous other ways the impression was conveyed that the two
countries could solve the Mexican entanglement much better if a more
congenial person represented British interests in the Southern Republic.
This reasoning evidently produced the desired results. In early January,
1914, a hint was unofficially conveyed to the American Ambassador that
Carden was to be summoned to London for a "conversation" with Sir Edward
Grey, and that his return to Mexico would depend upon the outcome of
that interview. There was a likelihood that, in future, Sir Lionel
Carden would represent the British Empire in Brazil.

This news, sent in discreet cipher to Washington, delighted the
Administration. "It is fine about Carden," wrote Colonel House on
January 10th. "I knew you had done it when I saw it in the papers, but I
did not know just how. You could not have brought it about in a more
diplomatic and effectual way."

And the following came from the President:

     From President Wilson

     Pass Christian,

     January 6, 1914.

     MY DEAR PAGE:

     I have your letter of December twenty-first, which I have greatly
     enjoyed.

     Almost at the very time I was reading it, the report came through
     the Associated Press from London that Carden was to be transferred
     immediately to Brazil. If this is true, it is indeed a most
     fortunate thing and I feel sure it is to be ascribed to your
     tactful and yet very plain representations to Sir Edward Grey. I do
     not think you realize how hard we worked to get from either Lind or
     O'Shaughnessy[39] definite items of speech or conduct which we
     could furnish you as material for what you had to say to the
     Ministers about Carden. It simply was not obtainable. Everything
     that we got was at second or third hand. That he was working
     against us was too plain for denial, and yet he seems to have done
     it in a very astute way which nobody could take direct hold of. I
     congratulate you with all my heart on his transference.

     I long, as you do, for an opportunity to do constructive work all
     along the line in our foreign relations, particularly with Great
     Britain and the Latin-American states, but surely, my dear fellow,
     you are deceiving yourself in supposing that constructive work is
     not now actually going on, and going on at your hands quite as much
     as at ours. The change of attitude and the growing ability to
     understand what we are thinking about and purposing on the part of
     the official circle in London is directly attributable to what you
     have been doing, and I feel more and more grateful every day that
     you are our spokesman and interpreter there. This is the only
     possible constructive work in foreign affairs, aside from definite
     acts of policy. So far as the policy is concerned, you may be sure
     I will strive to the utmost to obtain both a repeal of the
     discrimination in the matter of tolls and a renewal of the
     arbitration treaties, and I am not without hope that I can
     accomplish both at this session. Indeed this is the session in
     which these things must be done if they are to be done at all.

     Back of the smile which came to my face when you spoke of the
     impenetrable silence of the State Department toward its foreign
     representatives lay thoughts of very serious concern. We must
     certainly manage to keep our foreign representatives properly
     informed. The real trouble is to conduct genuinely confidential
     correspondence except through private letters, but surely the thing
     can be changed and it will be if I can manage it.

     We are deeply indebted to you for your kindness and generous
     hospitality to our young folks[40] and we have learned with delight
     through your letters and theirs of their happy days in England.

     With deep regard and appreciation,

     Cordially and faithfully yours,

     WOODROW WILSON.

     HON. WALTER H. PAGE,

     American Embassy,

     London, England.

Yet for the American Ambassador the experience was not one of unmixed
satisfaction. These letters have contained references to the demoralized
condition of the State Department under Mr. Bryan and the succeeding
ones will contain more; the Carden episode portrayed the stupidity and
ignorance of that Department at their worst. By commanding Carden to
cease his anti-American tactics and to support the American policy the
Foreign Office had performed an act of the utmost courtesy and
consideration to this country. By quietly "promoting" the same minister
to another sphere, several thousand miles away from Mexico and
Washington, it was now preparing to eliminate all possible causes of
friction between the two countries. The British, that is, had met the
wishes of the United States in the two great matters that were then
making serious trouble--Huerta and Carden. Yet no government, Great
Britain least of all, wishes to be placed in the position of moving its
diplomats about at the request of another Power. The whole deplorable
story appears in the following letter.

     _To Edward M. House_

     January 8th, 1914.

     MY DEAR HOUSE:

     Two days ago I sent a telegram to the Department saying that I had
     information from a private, _unofficial_ source that the report
     that Carden would be transferred was true, and from another source
     that Marling would succeed him. The Government here has given out
     nothing. I know nothing from official sources. Of course the only
     decent thing to do at Washington was to sit still till this
     Government should see fit to make an announcement. But what do they
     do? Give my telegram to the press! It appears here almost verbatim
     in this morning's _Mail_.--I have to make an humiliating
     explanation to the Foreign Office. This is the third time I've had
     to make such an humiliating explanation to Sir Edward. It's getting
     a little monotonous. He's getting tired, and so am I. They now deny
     at the Foreign Office that anything has been decided about Carden,
     and this meddling by us (as they look at it) will surely cause a
     delay and may even cause a change of purpose.

     That's the practical result of their leaking at Washington. On a
     previous occasion they leaked the same way. When I telegraphed a
     remonstrance, they telegraphed back to me that the leak had been
     _here_! That was the end of it--except that I had to explain to Sir
     Edward the best I could. And about a lesser matter, I did the same
     thing a third time, in a conversation. Three times this sort of
     thing has happened.--On the other hand, the King's Master of
     Ceremonies called on me on the President's Birthday and requested
     for His Majesty that I send His Majesty's congratulations. Just ten
     days passed before a telegraphic answer came! The very hour it
     came, I was myself making up an answer for the President that I was
     going to send, to save our face.

     Now, I'm trying with all my might to do this job. I spend all my
     time, all my ingenuity, all my money at it. I have organized my
     staff as a sort of Cabinet. We meet every day. We go over
     everything conceivable that we may do or try to do. We do good team
     work. I am not sure but I doubt whether these secretaries have
     before been taken into just such a relation to their chief. They
     are enthusiastic and ambitious and industrious and--_safe_. There's
     no possibility of any leak. We arrange our dinners with reference
     to the possibility of getting information and of carrying points.
     Mrs. Page gives and accepts invitations with the same end in view.
     We're on the job to the very limit of our abilities.

     And I've got the Foreign Office in such a relation that they are
     frank and friendly. (I can't keep 'em so, if this sort of thing
     goes on.)

     Now the State Department seems (as it touches us) to be utterly
     chaotic--silent when it ought to respond, loquacious when it ought
     to be silent. There are questions that I have put to it at this
     Government's request to which I can get no answer.

     It's hard to keep my staff enthusiastic under these conditions.
     When I reached the Chancery this morning, they were in my room,
     with all the morning papers marked, on the table, eagerly
     discussing what we ought to do about this publication of my
     dispatch. The enthusiasm and buoyancy were all gone out of them. By
     their looks they said, "Oh! what's the use of our bestirring
     ourselves to send news to Washington when they use it to embarrass
     us?"--While we are thus at work, the only two communications from
     the Department to-day are two letters from two of the Secretaries
     about--presenting "Democratic" ladies from Texas and Oklahoma at
     court! And Bryan is now lecturing in Kansas.

     Since I began to write this letter, Lord Cowdray came here to the
     house and stayed two and a half hours, talking about possible joint
     intervention in Mexico. Possibly he came from the Foreign Office. I
     don't know whether to dare send a despatch to the State Department,
     telling what he told me, for fear they'd leak. And to leak
     this--Good Lord! Two of the Secretaries were here to dinner, and I
     asked them if I should send such a despatch. They both answered
     instantly: "No, sir, don't dare: _write_ it to the President." I
     said: "No, I have no right to bother the President with regular
     business nor with frequent letters." To that they agreed; but the
     interesting and somewhat appalling thing is, they're actually
     afraid to have a confidential despatch go to the State Department.

     I see nothing to do but to suggest to the President to put
     somebody in the Department who will stay there and give intelligent
     attention to the diplomatic telegrams and letters--some
     conscientious assistant or clerk. For I hear mutterings, somewhat
     like these mutterings of mine, from some of the continental
     embassies.--The whole thing is disorganizing and demoralizing
     beyond description.

     All these and more are _my_ troubles. I'll take care of them. But
     remember what I am going to write on the next sheet. For here may
     come a trouble for _you:_

     Mrs. Page has learned something more about Secretary Bryan's
     proposed visit here in the spring. He's coming to talk his peace
     plan which, you know, is a sort of grape-juice arbitration--a
     distinct step backward from a real arbitration treaty. Well, if he
     comes with _that_, when you come to talk about reducing armaments,
     you'll wish you'd never been born. Get your ingenuity together,
     then, and prevent that visit[41].

     Not the least funny thing in the world is--Senator X turned up
     to-day. As he danced around the room begging everybody's pardon
     (nobody knew what for) he complimented everybody in sight,
     explained the forged letter, dilated on state politics, set the
     Irish question on the right end, cleared Bacon[42] of all hostility
     to me, declined tea because he had insomnia and explained just how
     it works to keep you awake, danced more and declared himself happy
     and bowed himself out--well pleased. He's as funny a cuss as I've
     seen in many a day. Lord Cowdray, who was telling Mexican woes to
     Katharine in the corner, looked up and asked, "Who's the little
     dancing gentleman?" Suppose X had known he was dancing for--Lord
     Cowdray's amusement, what do y' suppose he'd've thought? There are
     some strange combinations in our house on Mrs. Page's days at home.
     Cowdray has, I am sure, lost (that is, failed to make) a hundred
     million dollars that he had within easy reach by this Wilson
     Doctrine, but he's game. He doesn't lie awake. He's a dead-game
     sport, and he knows he's knocked out in that quarter and he doesn't
     squeal. His experiences will serve us many a good turn in the
     future--as a warning. I rather like him. He eats out of my hand in
     the afternoon and has one of his papers jump on me in the morning.
     Some time in the twenty-four hours, he must attain about the normal
     temperature--say about noon. He admires the President
     greatly--sincerely. Force meets force, you see. With the President
     behind me I could really enjoy Cowdray centuries after X had danced
     himself into oblivion.

     By the way, Cowdray said to me to-day: "Whatever the United States
     and Great Britain agree on the world must do." He's right. (1) The
     President must come here, perhaps in his second term; (2) these two
     Governments must enter a compact for peace and for gradual
     disarmament. Then we can go about our business for (say) a hundred
     years.

     Heartily,
     W.H.P.

In spite of the continued pressure of the United States and the passive
support of its anti-Huerta policy by Great Britain, the Mexican usurper
refused to resign. President Wilson now began to espouse the interests
of Villa and Carranza. His letters to Page indicate that he took these
men at their own valuation, believed that they were sincere patriots
working for the cause of "democracy" and "constitutionalism" and that
their triumph would usher in a day of enlightenment and progress for
Mexico. It was the opinion of the Foreign Office that Villa and Carranza
were worse men than Huerta and that any recognition of their
revolutionary activities would represent no moral gain.

     _From President Wilson_

     The White House, Washington,
     May 18, 1914.

     MY DEAR PAGE:

     . . . As to the attitude of mind on that side of the water toward the
     Constitutionalists, it is based upon prejudices which cannot be
     sustained by the facts. I am enclosing a copy of an interview by a
     Mr. Reid[43] which appeared in one of the afternoon papers recently
     and which sums up as well as they could be summed up my own
     conclusions with regard to the issues and the personnel of the
     pending contest in Mexico. I can verify it from a hundred different
     sources, most of them sources not in the least touched by
     predilections for such men as our friends in London have supposed
     Carranza and Villa to be.

     Cordially and faithfully yours,
     WOODROW WILSON.

     HON. WALTER H. PAGE,
     U.S. Embassy,
     London, England.

     The White House, Washington,
     June 1, 1914.

     MY DEAR PAGE:

     . . . The fundamental thing is that they (British critics of Villa)
     are all radically mistaken. There has been less disorder and less
     danger to life where the Constitutionalists have gained control
     than there has been where Huerta is in control. I should think that
     if they are getting correct advices from Tampico, people in England
     would be very much enlightened by what has happened there. Before
     the Constitutionalists took the place there was constant danger to
     the oil properties and to foreign residents. Now there is no danger
     and the men who felt obliged to leave the oil wells to their
     Mexican employees are returning, to find, by the way, that their
     Mexican employees guarded them most faithfully without wages, and
     in some instances almost without food. I am told that the
     Constitutionalists cheered the American flag when they entered
     Tampico.

     I believe that Mexico City will be much quieter and a much safer
     place to live in after the Constitutionalists get there than it is
     now. The men who are approaching and are sure to reach it are much
     less savage and much more capable of government than Huerta.

     These, I need not tell you, are not fancies of mine but conclusions
     I have drawn from facts which are at last becoming very plain and
     palpable, at least to us on this side of the water. If they are not
     becoming plain in Great Britain, it is because their papers are not
     serving them with the truth. Our own papers were prejudiced enough
     in all conscience against Villa and Carranza and everything that
     was happening in the north of Mexico, but at last the light is
     dawning on them in spite of themselves and they are beginning to
     see things as they really are. I would be as nervous and impatient
     as your friends in London are if I feared the same things that they
     fear, but I do not. I am convinced that even Zapata would restrain
     his followers and leave, at any rate, all foreigners and all
     foreign property untouched if he were the first to enter Mexico
     City.

     Cordially and faithfully yours,
     WOODROW WILSON.

     HON. WALTER H. PAGE,
     American Embassy,
     London, England.

On this issue, however, the President and his Ambassador to Great
Britain permanently disagreed. The events which took place in April,
1914--the insult to the American flag at Tampico, the bombardment and
capture of Vera Cruz by American forces--made stronger Page's
conviction, already set forth in this correspondence, that there was
only one solution of the Mexican problem.

     _To Edward M. House_

     April 27, 1914.

     DEAR HOUSE:

     . . . And, as for war with Mexico--I confess I've had a continually
     growing fear of it for six months. I've no confidence in the
     Mexican leaders--none of 'em. We shall have to Cuba-ize the
     country, which means thrashing 'em first--I fear, I fear, I fear;
     and I feel sorry for us all, the President in particular. It's
     inexpressibly hard fortune for him. I can't tell you with what
     eager fear we look for despatches every day and twice a day hurry
     to get the newspapers. All England believes we've got to fight it
     out.

     Well, the English are with us, you see. Admiral Cradock, I
     understand, does not approve our policy, but he stands firmly with
     us whatever we do. The word to stand firmly with us has, I am very
     sure, been passed along the whole line--naval, newspaper,
     financial, diplomatic. Carden won't give us any more trouble
     during the rest of his stay in Mexico. The yellow press's abuse of
     the President and me has actually helped us here.

     Heartily yours,
     W.H.P.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 38: This was another manifestation of British friendliness.
When the American excitement was most acute, it became known that
British capitalists had secured oil concessions in Colombia. At the
demand of the British Government they gave them up.]

[Footnote 39: Mr. Nelson O'Shaughnessy, Chargé d'Affaires in Mexico.]

[Footnote 40: Mr. and Mrs. Francis B. Sayre.]

[Footnote 41: Colonel House succeeded in preventing it.]

[Footnote 42: Senator Augustus O. Bacon, of Georgia who was reported to
nourish ill-feeling toward Page for his authorship of "The Southerner."]

[Footnote 43: Probably an error for John Reed, at that time a newspaper
correspondent in Mexico--afterward well known as a champion of the
Bolshevist régime in Russia.]




CHAPTER VIII

HONOUR AND DISHONOUR IN PANAMA


In the early part of January, 1914, Colonel House wrote Page, asking
whether he would consider favourably an offer to enter President
Wilson's Cabinet, as Secretary of Agriculture. Mr. David F. Houston, who
was then most acceptably filling that position, was also an authority on
banking and finance; the plan was to make him governor of the new
Federal Reserve Board, then in process of formation, and to transfer
Page to the vacant place in the Cabinet. The proposal was not carried
through, but Page's reply took the form of a review of his
ambassadorship up to date, of his vexations, his embarrassments, his
successes, and especially of the very important task which still lay
before him. There were certain reasons, it will appear, why he would
have liked to leave London; and there was one impelling reason why he
preferred to stay. From the day of his arrival in England, Page had been
humiliated, and his work had been constantly impeded, by the almost
studied neglect with which Washington treated its diplomatic service.
The fact that the American Government provided no official residence for
its Ambassador, and no adequate financial allowance for maintaining the
office, had made his position almost an intolerable one. All Page's
predecessors for twenty-five years had been rich men who could advance
the cost of the Embassy from their own private purses; to meet these
expenses, however, Page had been obliged to encroach on the savings of a
lifetime, and such liberality on his part necessarily had its
limitations.

     _To Edward M. House_

     London, England,
     February 13, 1914.

     MY DEAR HOUSE:

     . . . Of course I am open to the criticism of having taken the place
     at all. But I was both uninformed and misinformed about the cost as
     well as about the frightful handicap of having no Embassy. It's a
     kind of scandal in London and it has its serious effect. Everybody
     talks about it all the time: "Will you explain to me why it is that
     your great Government has no Embassy: it's very odd!" "What a
     frugal Government you have!" "It's a damned mean outfit, your
     American Government." Mrs. Page collapses many an evening when she
     gets to her room. "If they'd only quit talking about it!" The other
     Ambassadors, now that we're coming to know them fairly well,
     commiserate us. It's a constant humiliation. Of course this aspect
     of it doesn't worry me much--I've got hardened to it. But it is a
     good deal of a real handicap, and it adds that much dead weight
     that a man must overcome; and it greatly lessens the respect in
     which our Government and its Ambassador are held. If I had known
     this fully in advance, I should not have had the courage to come
     here. Now, of course, I've got used to it, have discounted it, and
     can "bull" it through--could "bull" it through if I could afford to
     pay the bill. But I shouldn't advise any friend of mine to come
     here and face this humiliation without realizing precisely what it
     means--wholly apart, of course, from the cost of it. . . .

     My dear House, on the present basis much of the diplomatic
     business is sheer humbug. It will always be so till we have our own
     Embassies and an established position in consequence. Without a
     home or a house or a fixed background, every man has to establish
     his own position for himself; and unless he be unusual, this throws
     him clean out of the way of giving emphasis to the right things. . . .

     As for our position, I think I don't fool myself. The job at the
     Foreign Office is easy because there is no real trouble between us,
     and because Sir Edward Grey is pretty nearly an ideal man to get on
     with. I think he likes me, too, because, of course, I'm
     straightforward and frank with him, and he likes the things we
     stand for. Outside this official part of the job, of course, we're
     commonplace--a successful commonplace, I hope. But that's all. We
     don't know how to try to be anything but what we naturally are. I
     dare say we are laughed at here and there about this and that.
     Sometimes I hear criticisms, now and then more or less serious
     ones. Much of it comes of our greenness; some of it from the very
     nature of the situation. Those who expect to find us brilliant are,
     of course, disappointed. Nor are we smart, and the smart set (both
     American and English) find us uninteresting. But we drive ahead and
     keep a philosophical temper and simply do the best we can, and, you
     may be sure, a good deal of it. It _is_ laborious. For instance,
     I've made two trips lately to speak before important bodies, one at
     Leeds, the other at Newcastle, at both of which, in different ways,
     I have tried to explain the President's principle in dealing with
     Central American turbulent states--and, incidentally, the American
     ideals of government. The audiences see it, approve it, applaud it.
     The newspaper editorial writers never quite go the length--it
     involves a denial of the divine right of the British Empire; at
     least they fear so. The fewest possible Englishmen really
     understand our governmental aims and ideals. I have delivered
     unnumbered and innumerable little speeches, directly or indirectly,
     about them; and they seem to like them. But it would take an army
     of oratorical ambassadors a lifetime to get the idea into the heads
     of them all. In some ways they are incredibly far back in
     mediævalism--incredibly.

     If I have to leave in the fall or in December, it will be said and
     thought that I've failed, unless there be some reason that can be
     made public. I should be perfectly willing to tell the reason--the
     failure of the Government to make it financially possible. I've
     nothing to conceal--only definite amounts. I'd never say what it
     has cost--only that it costs more than I or anybody but a rich man
     can afford. If then, or in the meantime, the President should wish
     me to serve elsewhere, that would, of course, be a sufficient
     reason for my going.

     Now another matter, with which I shall not bother the President--he
     has enough to bear on that score. It was announced in one of the
     London papers the other day that Mr. Bryan would deliver a lecture
     here, and probably in each of the principal European capitals, on
     Peace. Now, God restrain me from saying, much more from doing,
     anything rash. But if I've got to go home at all, I'd rather go
     before he comes. It'll take years for the American Ambassadors to
     recover what they'll lose if he carry out this plan. They now laugh
     at him here. Only the President's great personality saves the
     situation in foreign relations. Of course the public here doesn't
     know how utterly unorganized the State Department is--how we can't
     get answers to important questions, and how they publish most
     secret despatches or allow them to leak out. But "bad breaks" like
     this occur. Mr. Z, of the 100-years'-Peace Committee[44], came
     here a week ago, with a letter from Bryan to the Prime Minister! Z
     told me that this 100-year business gave a chance to bind the
     nations together that ought not to be missed. Hence Bryan had asked
     him to take up the relations of the countries with the Prime
     Minister! Bryan sent a telegram to Z to be read at a big 100-year
     meeting here. As for the personal indignity to me--I overlook that.
     I don't think he means it. But if he doesn't mean it, what does he
     mean? That's what the Prime Minister asks himself. Fortunately Mr.
     Asquith and I get along mighty well. He met Bryan once, and he told
     me with a smile that he regarded him as "a peculiar product of your
     country." But the Secretary is always doing things like this. He
     dashes off letters of introduction to people asking me to present
     them to Mr. Asquith, Mr. Lloyd George, etc.

     In the United States we know Mr. Bryan. We know his good points,
     his good services, his good intentions. We not only tolerate him;
     we like him. But when he comes here as "the American Prime
     Minister" [45]--good-bye, John! All that we've tried to do to gain
     respect for our Government (as they respect our great nation) will
     disappear in one day. Of course they'll feel obliged to give him
     big official dinners, etc. And--

     Now you'd just as well abandon your trip if he comes; and (I
     confess) I'd rather be gone. No member of another government ever
     came here and lectured. T.R. did it as a private citizen, and even
     then he split the heavens asunder[46]. Most Englishmen will regard
     it as a piece of effrontery. Of course, I'm not in the least
     concerned about mere matters of taste. It's only the bigger effects
     that I have in mind in _queering_ our Government in their eyes. He
     must be kept at home on the Mexican problem, or some other.

     Yours faithfully,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

     P.S. But, by George, it's a fine game! This Government and ours are
     standing together all right, especially since the President has
     taken hold of our foreign relations himself. With such a man at the
     helm at home, we can do whatever we wish to do with the English, as
     I've often told you. (But it raises doubts every time the
     shoestring necktie, broad-brimmed black hat, oratorical, old-time,
     River Platte kind of note is heard.) We've come a long way in a
     year--a very joyful long way, full of progress and real
     understanding; there's no doubt about that. A year ago they knew
     very well the failure that had saddled them with the tolls trouble
     and the failure of arbitration, and an unknown President had just
     come in. Presently an unknown Ambassador arrived. Mexico got worse;
     would we not recognize Huerta? They send Carden. We had nothing to
     say about the tolls--simply asked for time. They were very
     friendly; but our slang phrase fits the situation--"nothin' doin'."
     They declined San Francisco[47]. Then presently they began to see
     some plan in Mexico; they began to see our attitude on the tolls;
     they began to understand our attitude toward concessions and
     governments run for profit; they began dimly to see that Carden was
     a misfit; the Tariff Bill passed; the Currency Bill; the President
     loomed up; even the Ambassador, they said, really believed what he
     preached; he wasn't merely making pretty, friendly speeches.--Now,
     when we get this tolls job done, we've got 'em where we can do any
     proper and reasonable thing we want. It's been a great three
     quarters of a year--immense, in fact. No man has been in the White
     House who is so regarded since Lincoln; in fact, they didn't regard
     Lincoln while he lived.

     Meantime, I've got to be more or less at home. The Prime Minister
     dines with me, the Foreign Secretary, the Archbishop, the Colonial
     Secretary--all the rest of 'em; the King talks very freely; Mr.
     Asquith tells me some of his troubles; Sir Edward is become a good
     personal friend; Lord Bryce warms up; the Lord Chancellor is
     chummy; and so it goes.

     So you may be sure we are all in high feather after all; and the
     President's (I fear exaggerated) appreciation of what I've done is
     very gratifying indeed. I've got only one emotion about it
     all--gratitude; and gratitude begets eagerness to go on. Of course
     I can do future jobs better than I have done any past ones.

     There are two shadows in the background--not disturbing, but
     shadows none the less:

     1. The constant reminder that the American Ambassador's homeless
     position (to this Government and to this whole people) shows that
     the American Government and the American people know nothing about
     foreign relations and care nothing--regard them as not worth buying
     a house for. This leaves a doubt about any continuity of any
     American policy. It even suggests a sort of fear that we don't
     really care.

     The other is (2) the dispiriting experience of writing and
     telegraphing about important things and never hearing a word
     concerning many of them, and the consequent fear of some dead bad
     break in the State Department. The clubs are full of stories of the
     silly and incredible things that are _said_ to happen there.

     After all, these are old troubles. They are not new--neither of
     them. And we are the happiest group you ever saw.

     W.H.P.

Page's letters of this period contain many references to his inability
to maintain touch with the State Department. His letters remained
unacknowledged, his telegrams unanswered; and he was himself left
completely in the dark as to the plans and opinions at Washington.

     To Edward M. House

     February 28, 1914.

     DEAR HOUSE:

     . . . _Couldn't the business with Great Britain be put into
     Moore's[48] hands_? It is surely important enough at times to
     warrant separate attention--or (I might say) attention. You know,
     after eight or nine months of this sort of thing, the feeling grows
     on us all here that perhaps many of our telegrams and letters may
     not be read by anybody at all. You begin to feel that they may not
     be deciphered or even opened. Then comes the feeling (for a
     moment), why send any more? Why do anything but answer such
     questions as come now and then? Corresponding with Nobody--can you
     imagine how that feels?--What the devil do you suppose does become
     of the letters and telegrams that I send, from which and about
     which I never hear a word? As a mere matter of curiosity I should
     like to know who receives them and what he does with them!

     I've a great mind some day to send a despatch saying that an
     earthquake has swallowed up the Thames, that a suffragette has
     kissed the King, and that the statue of Cromwell has made an
     assault on the House of Lords--just to see if anybody deciphers it.

     Alter the Civil War an old fellow in Virginia was tired of the
     world. He'd have no more to do with it. He cut a slit in a box in
     his house and nailed up the box. Whenever a letter came for him,
     he'd read the postmark and say "Baltimore--Baltimore--there isn't
     anybody in Baltimore that I care to hear from." Then he'd drop the
     letter unopened through the slit into the box. "Philadelphia? I
     have no friend in Philadelphia"--into the box, unopened. When he
     died, the big box was nearly full of unopened letters. When I get
     to Washington again, I'm going to look for a big box that must now
     be nearly full of my unopened letters and telegrams.

     W.H.P.

The real reason why the Ambassador wished to remain in London was to
assist in undoing a great wrong which the United States had done itself
and the world. Page was attempting to perform his part in introducing
new standards into diplomacy. His discussions of Mexico had taken the
form of that "idealism" which he was apparently having some difficulty
in persuading British statesmen and the British public to accept. He was
doing his best to help bring about that day when, in Gladstone's famous
words, "the idea of public right would be the governing idea" of
international relations. But while the American Ambassador was preaching
this new conception, the position of his own country on one important
matter was a constant impediment to his efforts. Page was continually
confronted by the fact that the United States, high-minded as its
foreign policy might pretend to be, was far from "idealistic" in the
observance of the treaty that it had made with Great Britain concerning
the Panama Canal. There was a certain embarrassment involved in
preaching unselfishness in Mexico and Central America at a time when the
United States was practising selfishness and dishonesty in Panama. For,
in the opinion of the Ambassador and that of most other dispassionate
students of the Panama treaty, the American policy on Panama tolls
amounted to nothing less.

To one unskilled in legal technicalities, the Panama controversy
involved no great difficulty. Since 1850 the United States and Great
Britain had had a written understanding upon the construction of the
Panama Canal. The Clayton-Bulwer Treaty, which was adopted that year,
provided that the two countries should share equally in the construction
and control of the proposed waterway across the Isthmus. This idea of
joint control had always rankled in the United States, and in 1901 the
American Government persuaded Great Britain to abrogate the
Clayton-Bulwer Treaty and agree to another--the Hay-Pauncefote--which
transferred the rights of ownership and construction exclusively to this
country. In consenting to this important change, Great Britain had made
only one stipulation. "The Canal," so read Article III of the Convention
of 1901, "shall be free and open to the vessels of commerce and war of
all nations observing these rules, on terms of entire equality, so that
there shall be no discrimination against any such nation, or its
citizens or subjects, in respect of the conditions or charges of
traffic, or otherwise." It would seem as though the English language
could utter no thought more clearly than this. The agreement said, not
inferentially, but in so many words, that the "charges" levied on the
ships of "all nations" that used the Canal should be the same. The
history of British-American negotiations on the subject of the Canal had
always emphasized this same point. All American witnesses to drawing the
Treaty have testified that this was the American understanding. The
correspondence of John Hay, who was Secretary of State at the time,
makes it clear that this was the agreement. Mr. Elihu Root, who, as
Secretary of War, sat next to John Hay in the Cabinet which authorized
the treaty, has taken the same stand. The man who conducted the
preliminary negotiations with Lord Salisbury, Mr. Henry White, has
emphasized the same point. Mr. Joseph H. Choate, who, as American
Ambassador to Great Britain in 1901, had charge of the negotiations, has
testified that the British and American Governments "meant what they
said and said what they meant."

In the face of this solemn understanding, the American Congress, in
1912, passed the Panama Canal Act, which provided that "no tolls shall
be levied upon vessels engaged in the coastwise trade of the United
States." A technical argument, based upon the theory that "all nations"
did not include the United States, and that, inasmuch as this country
had obtained sovereign rights upon the Isthmus, the situation had
changed, persuaded President Taft to sign this bill. Perhaps this line
of reasoning satisfied the legal consciences of President Taft and Mr.
Knox, his Secretary of State, but it really cut little figure in the
acrimonious discussion that ensued. Of course, there was only one
question involved; that was as to whether the exemption violated the
Treaty. This is precisely the one point that nearly all the
controversialists avoided. The statement that the United States had
built the Canal with its own money and its own genius, that it had
achieved a great success where other nations had achieved a great
failure, and that it had the right of passing its own ships through its
own highway without assessing tolls--this was apparently argument
enough. When Great Britain protested the exemption as a violation of the
Treaty, there were not lacking plenty of elements in American politics
and journalism to denounce her as committing an act of high-handed
impertinence, as having intruded herself in matters which were not
properly her concern, and as having attempted to rob the American public
of the fruits of its own enterprise. That animosity to Great Britain,
which is always present in certain parts of the hyphenated population,
burst into full flame.

Clear as were the legal aspects of the dispute, the position of the
Wilson Administration was a difficult one. The Irish-American elements,
which have specialized in making trouble between the United States and
Great Britain, represented a strength to the Democratic Party in most
large cities. The great mass of Democratic Senators and Congressmen had
voted for the exemption bill. The Democratic platform of 1912 had
endorsed this same legislation. This declaration was the handiwork of
Senator O'Gorman, of New York State, who had long been a leader of the
anti-British crusade in American politics. More awkward still, President
Wilson, in the course of his Presidential campaign, had himself spoken
approvingly of free tolls for American ships. The probability is that,
when the President made this unfortunate reference to this clause in the
Democratic programme, he had given the matter little personal
investigation; it must be held to his credit that, when the facts were
clearly presented to him, his mind quickly grasped the real point at
issue--that it was not a matter of commercial advantage or
disadvantage, but one simply of national honour, of whether the United
States proposed to keep its word or to break it.

Page's contempt for the hair-drawn technicalities of lawyers was
profound, and the tortuous effort to make the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty mean
something quite different from what it said, inevitably moved him to
righteous wrath. Before sailing for England he spent several days in the
State Department studying the several questions that were then at issue
between his country and Great Britain. A memorandum contains his
impressions of the free tolls contention:

     "A little later I went to Washington again to acquaint myself with
     the business between the United States and Great Britain. About
     that time the Senate confirmed my appointment, and I spent a number
     of days reading the recent correspondence between the two
     governments. The two documents that stand out in my memory are the
     wretched lawyer's note of Knox about the Panama tolls (I never read
     a less sincere, less convincing, more purely artificial argument)
     and Bryce's brief reply, which did have the ring of sincerity in
     it. The diplomatic correspondence in general seemed to me very dull
     stuff, and, after wading through it all day, on several nights as I
     went to bed the thought came to me whether this sort of activity
     were really worth a man's while."

Anything which affected British shipping adversely touched Great Britain
in a sensitive spot; and Page had not been long in London before he
perceived the acute nature of the Panama situation. In July, 1913, Col.
Edward M. House reached the British capital. A letter of Page's to Sir
Edward Grey gives such a succinct description of this new and
influential force in American public life that it is worth quoting:

     To Sir Edward Grey

     Coburg Hotel, London.

     [No date.]

     DEAR SIR EDWARD:

     There is an American gentleman in London, the like of whom I do not
     know. Mr. Edward M. House is his name. He is "the silent partner"
     of President Wilson--that is to say, he is the most trusted
     political adviser and the nearest friend of the President. He is a
     private citizen, a man without personal political ambition, a
     modest, quiet, even shy fellow. He helps to make Cabinets, to shape
     policies, to select judges and ambassadors and suchlike merely for
     the pleasure of seeing that these tasks are well done.

     He is suffering from over-indulgence in advising, and he has come
     here to rest. I cannot get him far outside his hotel, for he cares
     to see few people. But he is very eager to meet you.

     I wonder if you would do me the honour to take luncheon at the
     Coburg Hotel with me, to meet him either on July 1, or 3, or 5--if
     you happen to be free? I shall have only you and Mr. House.

     Very sincerely yours,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

The chief reason why Colonel House wished to meet the British Foreign
Secretary was to bring him a message from President Wilson on the
subject of the Panama tolls. The three men--Sir Edward, Colonel House,
and Mr. Page--met at the suggested luncheon on July 3rd. Colonel House
informed the Foreign Secretary that President Wilson was now convinced
that the Panama Act violated the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty and that he
intended to use all his influence to secure its repeal. The matter, the
American urged, was a difficult one, since it would be necessary to
persuade Congress to pass a law acknowledging its mistake. The best way
in which Great Britain could aid in the process was by taking no public
action. If the British should keep protesting or discussing the subject
acrimoniously in the press and Parliament, such a course would merely
reënforce the elements that would certainly oppose the President. Any
protests would give them the opportunity to set up the cry of "British
dictation," and a change in the Washington policy would subject it to
the criticism of having yielded to British pressure. The inevitable
effect would be to defeat the whole proceeding. Colonel House therefore
suggested that President Wilson be left to handle the matter in his own
way and in his own time, and he assured the British statesman that the
result would be satisfactory to both countries. Sir Edward Grey at once
saw that Colonel House's statement of the matter was simply common
sense, and expressed his willingness to leave the Panama matter in the
President's hands.

Thus, from July 3, 1913, there was a complete understanding between the
British Government and the Washington Administration on the question of
the tolls. But neither the British nor the American public knew that
President Wilson had pledged himself to a policy of repeal. All during
the summer and fall of 1913 this matter was as generally discussed in
England as was Mexico. Everywhere the Ambassador went--country houses,
London dinner tables, the colleges and the clubs--he was constantly
confronted with what was universally regarded as America's great breach
of faith. How deeply he felt in the matter his letters show.

     To Edward M. House

     August 25, 1913.

     DEAR HOUSE:

     . . . The English Government and the English people without regard to
     party--I hear it and feel it everywhere--are of one mind about
     this: they think we have acted dishonourably. They really think
     so--it isn't any mere political or diplomatic pretense. We made a
     bargain, they say, and we have repudiated it. If it were a mere
     bluff or game or party contention--that would be one thing. We
     could "bull" it through or live it down. But they look upon it as
     we look upon the repudiation of a debt by a state. Whatever the
     arguments by which the state may excuse itself, we never feel the
     same toward it--never quite so safe about it. They say, "You are a
     wonderful nation and a wonderful people. We like you. But your
     Government is not a government of honour. Your honourable men do
     not seem to get control." You can't measure the damage that this
     does us. Whatever the United States may propose till this is fixed
     and forgotten will be regarded with a certain hesitancy. They will
     not fully trust the honour of our Government. They say, too, "See,
     you've preached arbitration and you propose peace agreements, and
     yet you will not arbitrate this: you know you are wrong, and this
     attitude proves it." Whatever Mr. Hay might or could have done, he
     made a bargain. The Senate ratified it. We accepted it. Whether it
     were a good bargain or a bad one, we ought to keep it. The English
     feeling was shown just the other week when Senator Root received an
     honourary degree at Oxford. The thing that gave him fame here was
     his speech on this treaty[49]. There is no end of ways in which
     they show their feeling and conviction.

     Now, if in the next regular session the President takes a firm
     stand against the ship subsidy that this discrimination gives,
     couldn't Congress be carried to repeal this discrimination? For
     this economic objection also exists.

     No Ambassador can do any very large constructive piece of work so
     long as this suspicion of the honour of our Government exists. Sir
     Edward Grey will take it up in October or November. If I could say
     then that the President will exert all his influence for this
     repeal--that would go far. If, when he takes it up, I can say
     nothing, it will be practically useless for me to take up any other
     large plan. This is the most important thing for us on the
     diplomatic horizon.

     To the President

     Dornoch, Scotland,

     September 10, 1913.

     DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

     I am spending ten or more of the dog days visiting the Englishman
     and the Scotchman in their proper setting--their country
     homes--where they show themselves the best of hosts and reveal
     their real opinions. There are, for example, in the house where I
     happen to be to-day, the principals of three of the Scotch
     universities, and a Member of Parliament, and an influential
     editor.

     They have, of course--I mean all the educated folk I meet--the most
     intelligent interest in American affairs, and they have an
     unbounded admiration for the American people--their energy, their
     resourcefulness, their wealth, their economic power and social
     independence. I think that no people ever really admired and, in a
     sense, envied another people more. They know we hold the keys of
     the future.

     But they make a sharp distinction between our people and our
     Government. They are sincere, God-fearing people who speak their
     convictions. They cite Tammany, the Thaw case, Sulzer, the
     Congressional lobby, and sincerely regret that a democracy does not
     seem to be able to justify itself. I am constantly amazed and
     sometimes dumbfounded at the profound effect that the yellow press
     (including the American correspondents of the English papers) has
     had upon the British mind. Here is a most serious journalistic
     problem, upon which I have already begun to work seriously with
     some of the editors of the better London papers. But it is more
     than a journalistic problem. It becomes political. To eradicate
     this impression will take years of well-planned work. I am going to
     make this the subject of one of the dozen addresses that I must
     deliver during the next six months--"The United States as an
     Example of Honest and Honourable Government."

     And everywhere--in circles the most friendly to us, and the best
     informed--I receive commiseration because of the dishonourable
     attitude of our Government about the Panama Canal tolls. This, I
     confess, is hard to meet. We made a bargain--a solemn compact--and
     we have broken it. Whether it were a good bargain or a bad one, a
     silly one or a wise one; that's far from the point. Isn't it? I
     confess that this bothers me. . . .

     And this Canal tolls matter stands in the way of everything. It is
     in their minds all the time--the minds of all parties and all
     sections of opinion. They have no respect for Mr. Taft, for they
     remember that he might have vetoed the bill; and they ask,
     whenever they dare, what you will do about it. They hold our
     Government in shame so long as this thing stands.

     As for the folly of having made such a treaty--that's now passed.
     As for our unwillingness to arbitrate it--that's taken as a
     confession of guilt. . . .

     We can command these people, this Government, this tight island,
     and its world-wide empire; they honour us, they envy us, they see
     the time near at hand when we shall command the capital and the
     commerce of the world if we unfetter our mighty people; they wish
     to keep very close to us. But they are suspicious of our Government
     because, they contend, it has violated its faith. Is it so or is it
     not?

     Life meantime is brimful of interest; and, despite this reflex
     result of the English long-blunder with Ireland (how our sins come
     home to roost), the Great Republic casts its beams across the whole
     world and I was never so proud to be an American democrat, as I see
     it light this hemisphere in a thousand ways.

     All health and mastery to you!

     WALTER H. PAGE.

The story of Sir William Tyrrell's[50] visit to the White House in
November, 1913, has already been told. On this occasion, it will be
recalled, not only was an agreement reached on Mexico, but President
Wilson also repeated the assurances already given by Colonel House on
the repeal of the tolls legislation. Now that Great Britain had accepted
the President's leadership in Mexico, the time was approaching when
President Wilson might be expected to take his promised stand on Panama
tolls. Yet it must be repeated that there had been no definite
diplomatic bargain. But Page was exerting all his efforts to establish
the best relations between the two countries on the basis of fair
dealing and mutual respect. Great Britain had shown her good faith in
the Mexican matter; now the turn of the United States had come.

     _To the President_

     London, 6 Grosvenor Square.

     January 6, 1914.

     DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

     We've travelled a long way since this Mexican trouble began--a long
     way with His Majesty's Government. When your policy was first flung
     at 'em, they showed at best a friendly incredulity: what! set up a
     moral standard for government in Mexico? Everybody's mind was fixed
     merely on the restoring of order--the safety of investments. They
     thought of course our army would go down in a few weeks. I recall
     that Sir Edward Grey asked me one day if you would not consult the
     European governments about the successor to Huerta, speaking of it
     as a problem that would come up next week. And there was also much
     unofficial talk about joint intervention.

     Well, they've followed a long way. They apologized for Carden
     (that's what the Prime Minister's speech was); they ordered him to
     be more prudent. Then the real meaning of concessions began to get
     into their heads. They took up the dangers that lurked in the
     Government's contract with Cowdray for oil; and they pulled Cowdray
     out of Colombia and Nicaragua--granting the application of the
     Monroe Doctrine to concessions that might imperil a country's
     autonomy. Then Sir Edward asked me if you would not consult him
     about such concessions--a long way had been travelled since his
     other question! Lord Haldane made the Thanksgiving speech that I
     suggested to him. And now they have transferred Carden. They've
     done all we asked and more; and, more wonderful yet, they've come
     to understand what we are driving at.

     As this poor world goes, all this seems to me rather handsomely
     done. At any rate, it's square and it's friendly.

     Now in diplomacy, as in other contests, there must be give and
     take; it's our turn.

     If you see your way clear, it would help the Liberal Government
     (which needs help) and would be much appreciated if, before
     February 10th, when Parliament meets, you could say a public word
     friendly to our keeping the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty--on the tolls.
     You only, of course, can judge whether you would be justified in
     doing so. I presume only to assure you of the most excellent effect
     it would have here. If you will pardon me for taking a personal
     view of it, too, I will say that such an expression would cap the
     climax of the enormously heightened esteem and great respect in
     which recent events and achievements have caused you to be held
     here. It would put the English of all parties in the happiest
     possible mood toward you for whatever subsequent dealings may await
     us. It was as friendly a man as Kipling who said to me the night I
     spent with him: "You know your great Government, which does many
     great things greatly, does _not_ lie awake o' nights to keep its
     promises."

     It's our turn next, whenever you see your way clear.

     Most heartily yours,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

     From Edward M. House

     145 East 35th Street,

     New York City.

     January 24, 1914.

     DEAR PAGE:

     I was with the President for twenty-four hours and we went over
     everything thoroughly.

     He decided to call the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations to the
     White House on Monday and tell them of his intentions regarding
     Panama tolls. We discussed whether it would be better to see some
     of them individually, or to take them collectively. It was agreed
     that the latter course was better. It was decided, however, to have
     Senator Jones poll the Senate in order to find just how it stood
     before getting the Committee together. The reason for this quick
     action was in response to your letter urging that something be done
     before the 10th of February. . . .

     Faithfully yours,

     E.M. HOUSE.

On March 5th the President made good his promise by going before
Congress and asking the two houses to repeal that clause in the Panama
legislation which granted preferential treatment to American coastwise
shipping. The President's address was very brief and did not discuss the
matter in the slightest detail. Mr. Wilson made the question one simply
of national honour. The exemption, he said, clearly violated the
Hay-Pauncefote Treaty and there was nothing left to do but to set the
matter right. The part of the President's address that aroused the
greatest interest was the conclusion:

"I ask this of you in support of the foreign policy of the
Administration. I shall not know how to deal with other matters of even
greater delicacy and nearer consequence, if you do not grant it to me in
ungrudging measure."

The impression that this speech made upon the statesman who then
presided over the British Foreign office is evident from the following
letter that he wrote to the Ambassador in Washington.

     _Sir Edward Grey to Sir C. Spring Rice_
     Foreign Office,

     March 13, 1914.

     SIR:

     In the course of a conversation with the American Ambassador
     to-day, I took the opportunity of saying how much I had been struck
     by President Wilson's Message to Congress about the Panama Canal
     tolls. When I read it, it struck me that, whether it succeeded or
     failed in accomplishing the President's object, it was something to
     the good of public life, for it helped to lift public life to a
     higher plane and to strengthen its morale.

     I am, &c.,

     E. GREY.

Two days after his appearance before Congress the President wrote to his
Ambassador:

     _From the President_
     The White House, Washington,

     March 7, 1914.

     MY DEAR PAGE:

     I have your letters of the twenty-second and twenty-fourth of
     February and I thank you for them most warmly. Happily, things are
     clearing up a little in the matters which have embarrassed our
     relations with Great Britain, and I hope that the temper of public
     opinion is in fact changing there, as it seems to us from this
     distance to be changing.

     Your letters are a lamp to my feet. I feel as I read that their
     analysis is searching and true.

     Things over here go on a tolerably even keel. The prospect at this
     moment for the repeal of the tolls exemption is very good indeed. I
     am beginning to feel a considerable degree of confidence that the
     repeal will go through, and the Press of the country is certainly
     standing by me in great shape.

     My thoughts turn to you very often with gratitude and affectionate
     regard. If there is ever at any time anything specific you want to
     learn, pray do not hesitate to ask it of me directly, if you think
     best.

     Carden was here the other day and I spent an hour with him, but I
     got not even a glimpse of his mind. I showed him all of mine that
     he cared to see.

     With warmest regards from us all,

     Faithfully yours,

     WOODROW WILSON.

The debate which now took place in Congress proved to be one of the
stormiest in the history of that body. The proceeding did not prove to
be the easy victory that the Administration had evidently expected. The
struggle was protracted for three months; and it signalized Mr. Wilson's
first serious conflict with the Senate--that same Senate which was
destined to play such a vexatious and destructive rôle in his career. At
this time, however, Mr. Wilson had reached the zenith of his control
over the law-making bodies. It was early in his Presidential term, and
in these early days Senators are likely to be careful about quarrelling
with the White House--especially the Senators who are members of the
President's political party. In this struggle, moreover, Mr. Wilson had
the intelligence and the character of the Senate largely on his side,
though, strangely enough, his strongest supporters were Republicans and
his bitterest opponents were Democrats. Senator Root, Senator Burton,
Senator Lodge, Senator Kenyon, Senator McCumber, all Republicans, day
after day and week after week upheld the national honour; while Senators
O'Gorman, Chamberlain, Vardaman, and Reed, all members of the
President's party, just as persistently led the fight for the baser
cause. The debate inspired an outburst of Anglophobia which was most
distressing to the best friends of the United States and Great Britain.
The American press, as a whole, honoured itself by championing the
President, but certain newspapers made the debate an occasion for
unrestrained abuse of Great Britain, and of any one who believed that
the United States should treat that nation honestly. The Hearst organs,
in cartoon and editorial page, shrieked against the ancient enemy. All
the well-known episodes and characters in American history--Lexington,
Bunker Hill, John Paul Jones, Washington, and Franklin--were paraded as
arguments against the repeal of an illegal discrimination. Petitions
from the Ancient Order of Hibernians and other Irish societies were
showered upon Congress--in almost unending procession they clogged the
pages of the Congressional Record; public meetings were held in New York
and elsewhere where denouncing an administration that disgraced the
country by "truckling" to Great Britain. The President was accused of
seeking an Anglo-American Alliance and of sacrificing American shipping
to the glory of British trade, while the history of our diplomatic
relations was surveyed in detail for the purpose of proving that Great
Britain had broken every treaty she had ever made. In the midst of this
deafening hubbub the quiet voice of Senator McCumber--"we are too big in
national power to be too little in national integrity"--and that of
Senator Root, demolishing one after another the pettifogging arguments
of the exemptionists, demonstrated that, after all, the spirit and the
eloquence that had given the Senate its great fame were still
influential forces in that body.

In all this excitement, Page himself came in for his share of hard
knocks. Irish meetings "resolved" against the Ambassador as a statesman
who "looks on English claims as superior to American rights," and
demanded that President Wilson recall him. It has been the fate of
practically every American ambassador to Great Britain to be accused of
Anglomania. Lowell, John Hay, and Joseph H. Choate fell under the ban of
those elements in American life who seem to think that the main duty of
an American diplomat in Great Britain is to insult the country of which
he has become the guest. In 1895 the house of Representatives solemnly
passed a resolution censuring Ambassador Thomas F. Bayard for a few
sentiments friendly to Great Britain which he had uttered at a public
banquet. That Page was no undiscriminating idolater of Great Britain
these letters have abundantly revealed. That he had the profoundest
respect for the British character and British institutions has been made
just as clear. With Page this was no sudden enthusiasm; the conviction
that British conceptions of liberty and government and British ideals of
life represented the fine flower of human progress was one that he felt
deeply. The fact that these fundamentals had had the opportunity of even
freer development in America he regarded as most fortunate both for the
United States and for the world. He had never concealed his belief that
the destinies of mankind depended more upon the friendly coöperation of
the United States and Great Britain than upon any other single
influence. He had preached this in public addresses, and in his writings
for twenty-five years preceding his mission to Great Britain. But the
mere fact that he should hold such convictions and presume to express
them as American Ambassador apparently outraged those same elements in
this country who railed against Great Britain in this Panama Tolls
debate.

On August 16, 1913, the City of Southampton, England, dedicated a
monument in honour of the _Mayflower_ Pilgrims--Southampton having been
their original point of departure for Massachusetts. Quite appropriately
the city invited the American Ambassador to deliver an address on this
occasion; and quite appropriately the Ambassador acknowledged the debt
that Americans of to-day owed to the England that had sent these
adventurers to lay the foundations of new communities on foreign soil.
Yet certain historic truths embodied in this very beautiful and eloquent
address aroused considerable anger in certain parts of the United
States. "Blood," said the Ambassador, "carries with it that particular
trick of thought which makes us all English in the last resort. . . . And
Puritan and Pilgrim and Cavalier, different yet, are yet one in that
they are English still. And thus, despite the fusion of races and of the
great contributions of other nations to her 100 millions of people and
to her incalculable wealth, the United States is yet English-led and
English-ruled." This was merely a way of phrasing a great historic
truth--that overwhelmingly the largest element in the American
population is British in origin[51]; that such vital things as its
speech and its literature are English; and that our political
institutions, our liberty, our law, our conceptions of morality and of
life are similarly derived from the British Isles. Page applied the word
"English" to Americans in the same sense in which that word is used by
John Richard Green, when he traces the history of the English race from
a German forest to the Mississippi Valley and the wilds of Australia.
But the anti-British elements on this side of the water, taking
"English-led and English-ruled" out of its context, misinterpreted the
phrase as meaning that the American Ambassador had approvingly called
attention to the fact that the United States was at present under the
political control of Great Britain! Senator Chamberlain of Oregon
presented a petition from the _Staatsverband Deutschsprechender Vereine
von Oregon_, demanding the Ambassador's removal, while the
Irish-American press and politicians became extremely vocal.

Animated as was this outburst, it was mild compared with the excitement
caused by a speech that Page made while the Panama debate was raging in
Congress. At a dinner of the Associated Chambers of Commerce, in early
March, the Ambassador made a few impromptu remarks. The occasion was one
of good fellowship and good humour, and Page, under the inspiration of
the occasion, indulged in a few half-serious, half-jocular references to
the Panama Canal and British-American good-feeling, which, when
inaccurately reported, caused a great disturbance in the England-baiting
press. "I would not say that we constructed the Panama Canal even for
you," he said, "for I am speaking with great frankness and not with
diplomatic indirection. We built it for reasons of our own. But I will
say that it adds to the pleasure of that great work that you will profit
by it. You will profit most by it, for you have the greatest carrying
trade." A few paragraphs on the Monroe Doctrine, which practically
repeated President Wilson's Mobile speech on that subject, but in which
Mr. Page used the expression, "we prefer that European Powers shall
acquire no more territory on this continent," alarmed those precisians
in language, who pretended to believe that the Ambassador had used the
word "prefer" in its literal sense, and interpreted the sentence to mean
that, while the United States would "prefer" that Europe should not
overrun North and South America, it would really raise no serious
objection if Europe did so.

Senator Chamberlain of Oregon, who by this time had apparently become
the Senatorial leader of the anti-Page propaganda, introduced a
resolution demanding that the Ambassador furnish the Senate a complete
copy of this highly pro-British outgiving. The copy was furnished
forthwith--and with that the tempest subsided.

     _To the President_

     American Embassy, London,
     March 18, 1914.

     DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

     About this infernal racket in the Senate over my poor speech, I
     have telegraphed you all there is to say. Of course, it was a
     harmless courtesy--no bowing low to the British or any such
     thing--as it was spoken and heard. Of course, too, nothing would
     have been said about it but for the controversy over the Canal
     tolls. That was my mistake--in being betrayed by the friendly
     dinner and the high compliments paid to us into mentioning a
     subject under controversy.

     I am greatly distressed lest possibly it may embarrass you. I do
     hope not.

     I think I have now learned _that_ lesson pretty thoroughly. These
     Anglophobiacs--Irish and Panama--hound me wherever I go. I think I
     told you of one of their correspondents, who one night got up and
     yawned at a public dinner as soon as I had spoken and said to his
     neighbours: "Well, I'll go, the Ambassador didn't say anything that
     I can get him into trouble about."

     I shall, hereafter, write out my speeches and have them gone over
     carefully by my little Cabinet of Secretaries. Yet something
     (perhaps not much) will be lost. For these people are infinitely
     kind and friendly and courteous.

     They cannot be driven by anybody to do anything, but they can be
     led by us to do anything--by the use of spontaneous courtesy. It is
     by spontaneous courtesy that I have achieved whatever I have
     achieved, and it is for this that those like me who do like me. Of
     course, what some of the American newspapers have said is
     true--that I am too free and too untrained to be a great
     Ambassador. But the conventional type of Ambassador would not be
     worth his salt to represent the United States here now, when they
     are eager to work with us for the peace of the world, if they are
     convinced of our honour and right-mindedness and the genuineness of
     our friendship.

     I talked this over with Sir Edward Grey the other day, and after
     telling me that I need fear no trouble at this end of the line, he
     told me how severely he is now criticized by a "certain element"
     for "bowing too low to the Americans." We then each bowed low to
     the other. The yellow press and Chamberlain would give a year's
     growth for a photograph of us in that posture!

     I am infinitely obliged to you for your kind understanding and your
     toleration of my errors.

     Yours always heartily,
     WALTER H. PAGE.

     To the President.

     P.S. The serious part of the speech--made to convince the financial
     people, who are restive about Mexico, that we do not mean to forbid
     legitimate investments in Central America--has had a good effect
     here. I have received the thanks of many important men.

     W.H.P.

     _From the President_

     The White House, Washington,
     March 25, 1914.

     MY DEAR PAGE:

     Thank you for your little note of March thirteenth[52]. You may be
     sure that none of us who knew you or read the speech felt anything
     but admiration for it. It is very astonishing to me how some
     Democrats in the Senate themselves bring these artificial
     difficulties on the Administration, and it distresses me not a
     little. Mr. Bryan read your speech yesterday to the Cabinet, who
     greatly enjoyed it. It was at once sent to the Senate and I hope
     will there be given out for publication in full.

     I want you to feel constantly how I value the intelligent and
     effective work you are doing in London. I do not know what I should
     do without you.

     The fight is on now about the tolls, but I feel perfectly confident
     of winning in the matter, though there is not a little opposition
     in Congress--more in the House, it strangely turns out, where a
     majority of the Democrats originally voted against the exemption,
     than in the Senate, where a majority of the Democrats voted for it.
     The vicissitudes of politics are certainly incalculable.

     With the warmest regard, in necessary haste,

     Cordially and faithfully yours,
     WOODROW WILSON.


     HON. WALTER H. PAGE,
     American Embassy,
     London, England.

     _To the President_

     American Embassy, London,
     March 2, 1914.

     DEAR MR. PRESIDENT:

     I have read in the newspapers here that, after you had read my
     poor, unfortunate speech, you remarked to callers that you regarded
     it as proper. I cannot withhold this word of affectionate thanks.

     I do not agree with you, heartily as I thank you. The speech
     itself, in the surroundings and the atmosphere, was harmless and
     was perfectly understood. But I ought not to have been betrayed
     into forgetting that the subject was about to come up for fierce
     discussion in Congress. . . .

     Of course, I know that the whole infernal thing is cooked up to
     beat you, if possible. But that is the greater reason why you must
     win. I am willing to be sacrificed, if that will help--for
     forgetting the impending row or for any reason you will.

     I suppose we've got to go through such a struggle to pull our
     Government and our people up to an understanding of our own place
     in the world--a place so high and big and so powerful that all the
     future belongs to us. From an economic point of view, we _are_ the
     world; and from a political point of view also. How any man who
     sees this can have any feeling but pity for the Old World, passes
     understanding. Our rôle is to treat it most courteously and to make
     it respect our character--nothing more. Time will do the rest.

     I congratulate you most heartily on the character of most of your
     opposition--the wild Irish (they must be sat upon some time, why
     not now?), the Clark[53] crowd (characteristically making a stand
     on a position of dishonour), the Hearst press, and demagogues
     generally. I have confidence in the people.

     This stand is necessary to set us right before the world, to enable
     us to build up an influential foreign policy, to make us respected
     and feared, and to make the Democratic Party the party of honour,
     and to give it the best reason to live and to win.

     May I make a suggestion?

     The curiously tenacious hold that Anglophobia has on a certain
     class of our people--might it not be worth your while to make, at
     some convenient time and in some natural way, a direct attack on
     it--in a letter to someone, which could be published, or in some
     address, or possibly in a statement to a Senate committee, which
     could be given to the press? Say how big and strong and
     sure-of-the-future we are; so big that we envy nobody, and that
     those who have Anglophobia or any Europe-phobia are the only
     persons who "truckle" to any foreign folk or power; that in this
     tolls-fight all the Continental governments are a unit; that we
     respect them all, fear none, have no favours, except proper favours
     among friendly nations, to ask of anybody; and that the idea of a
     "trade" with England for holding off in Mexico is (if you will
     excuse my French) a common gutter lie.

     This may or may not be wise; but you will forgive me for venturing
     to suggest it. It is _we_ who are the proud and erect and patriotic
     Americans, fearing nobody; but the other fellows are fooling some
     of the people in making them think that _they_ are.

     Yours most gratefully,

     WALTER H. PAGE.

To the President.

     _From the President_
     The White House, Washington,

     April 2, 1914.

     MY DEAR PAGE:

     Please do not distress yourself about that speech. I think with you
     that it was a mistake to touch upon that matter while it was right
     hot, because any touch would be sure to burn the finger; but as for
     the speech itself, I would be willing to subscribe to every bit of
     it myself, and there can be no rational objection to it. We shall
     try to cool the excited persons on this side of the water and I
     think nothing further will come of it. In the meantime, pray
     realize how thoroughly and entirely you are enjoying my confidence
     and admiration.

     Your letter about Cowdray and Murray was very illuminating and will
     be very serviceable to me. I have come to see that the real
     knowledge of the relations between countries in matters of public
     policy is to be gained at country houses and dinner tables, and not
     in diplomatic correspondence; in brief, that when we know the men
     and the currents of opinion, we know more than foreign ministers
     can tell us; and your letters give me, in a thoroughly dignified
     way, just the sidelights that are necessary to illuminate the
     picture. I am heartily obliged to you.

     All unite with me in the warmest regards as always.

     In haste,

     Faithfully yours,

     WOODROW WILSON.

     HON. WALTER H. PAGE,
     American Embassy,
     London, England.

A note of a conversation with Sir Edward Grey touches the same point:
"April 1, 1914. Sir Edward Grey recalled to me to-day that he had waited
for the President to take up the Canal tolls controversy at his
convenience. 'When he took it up at his own time to suit his own plans,
he took it up in the most admirable way possible.' This whole story is
too good to be lost. If the repeal of the tolls clause passes the
Senate, I propose to make a speech in the House of Commons on 'The
Proper Way for Great Governments to Deal with One Another,' and use this
experience.

"Sir Edward also spoke of being somewhat 'depressed' by the fierce
opposition to the President on the tolls question--the extent of
Anglophobia in the United States.

"Here is a place for a campaign of education--Chautaqua and whatnot.

"The amount of Anglophobia _is_ great. But I doubt if it be as great as
it seems; for it is organized and is very vociferous. If you collected
together or thoroughly organized all the people in the United States who
have birthmarks on their faces, you'd be 'depressed' by the number of
them."

Nothing could have more eloquently proved the truth of this last remark
than the history of this Panama bill itself. After all the politicians
in the House and Senate had filled pages of the _Congressional Record_
with denunciations of Great Britain--most of it intended for the
entertainment of Irish-Americans and German-Americans in the
constituencies--the two Houses proceeded to the really serious business
of voting. The House quickly passed the bill by 216 to 71, and the
Senate by 50 to 35. Apparently the amount of Anglophobia was not
portentous, when it came to putting this emotion to the test of counting
heads. The bill went at once to the President, was signed--and the
dishonour was atoned for.

Mr. and Mrs. Page were attending a ball in Buckingham Palace when the
great news reached London. The gathering represented all that was most
distinguished in the official and diplomatic life of the British
capital. The word was rapidly passed from guest to guest, and the
American Ambassador and his wife soon found themselves the centre of a
company which could hardly restrain itself in expressing its admiration
for the United States. Never in the history of the country had American
prestige stood so high as on that night. The King and the Prime Minister
were especially affected by this display of fair-dealing in Washington.
The slight commercial advantage which Great Britain had obtained was not
the thought that was uppermost in everybody's mind. The thing that
really moved these assembled statesmen and diplomats was the fact that
something new had appeared in the history of legislative chambers. A
great nation had committed an outrageous wrong--that was something that
had happened many times before in all countries. But the unprecedented
thing was that this same nation had exposed its fault boldly to the
world--had lifted up its hands and cried, "We have sinned!" and then had
publicly undone its error. Proud as Page had always been of his country,
that moment was perhaps the most triumphant in his life. The action of
Congress emphasized all that he had been saying of the ideals of the
United States, and gave point to his arguments that justice and honour
and right, and not temporary selfish interest, should control the
foreign policy of any nation which really claimed to be enlightened. The
general feeling of Great Britain was perhaps best expressed by the
remark made to Mrs. Page, on this occasion, by Lady D----:

"The United States has set a high standard for all nations to live up
to. I don't believe that there is any other nation that would have done
it."

One significant feature of this great episode was the act of Congress in
accepting the President's statement that the repeal of the Panama
discrimination was a necessary preliminary to the success of American
foreign policy. Mr. Wilson's declaration, that, unless this legislation
should be repealed, he would not "know how to deal with other matters of
even greater delicacy and nearer consequence" had puzzled Congress and
the country. The debates show the keenest curiosity as to what the
President had in mind. The newspapers turned the matter over and over,
without obtaining any clew to the mystery. Some thought that the
President had planned to intervene in Mexico, and that the tolls
legislation was the consideration demanded by Great Britain for a free
hand in this matter. But this correspondence has already demolished that
theory. Others thought that Japan was in some way involved--but that
explanation also failed to satisfy.

Congress accepted the President's statement trustfully and blindly, and
passed the asked-for legislation. Up to the present moment this passage
in the Presidential message has been unexplained. Page's papers,
however, disclose what seems to be a satisfactory solution to the
mystery. They show that the President and Colonel House and Page were at
this time engaged in a negotiation of the utmost importance. At the very
time that the tolls bill was under discussion Colonel House was making
arrangements for a visit to Great Britain, France, and Germany, the
purpose of which was to bring these nations to some kind of an
understanding that would prevent a European war. This evidently was the
great business that could not be disclosed at the time and for which the
repeal of the tolls legislation was the necessary preliminary.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 44: The Committee to celebrate the centennial of the signing
of the Treaty of Ghent, which ended the War of 1812. The plan to make
this an elaborate commemoration of a 100 years' peace between the
English-speaking peoples was upset by the outbreak of the World War.]

[Footnote 45: This was the designation Mr. Bryan's admirers sometimes
gave him.]

[Footnote 46: The reference is to President Roosevelt's speech at the
Guildhall in June, 1910.]

[Footnote 47: This refers to the declination of the British Government
to be represented at the San Francisco world exhibition, held in 1915.]

[Footnote 48: John Bassett Moore, at that time the very able counsellor
of the State Department.]

[Footnote 49: Mr. Root's masterly speech on Panama tolls was made in the
United States Senate, January 21, 1913.]

[Footnote 50: Ante: page 202.]

[Footnote 51: This is the fact that is too frequently lost sight of in
current discussions of the melting pot. In the _Atlantic Monthly_ for
August, 1920, Mr. William S. Rossiter, for many years chief clerk of the
United States Census and a statistician of high standing, shows that, of
the 95,000,000 white people of the United States, 55,000,000 trace their
origin to England, Scotland, and Wales.]

[Footnote 52: The Ambassador's letter is dated March 18th.]

[Footnote 53: Mr. Champ Clark, Speaker of the House of Representatives,
was one of the most blatant opponents of Panama repeal.]




CHAPTER IX

AMERICA TRIES TO PREVENT THE EUROPEAN WAR


Page's mind, from the day of his arrival in England, had been filled
with that portent which was the most outstanding fact in European life.
Could nothing be done to prevent the dangers threatened by European
militarism? Was there no way of forestalling the war which seemed every
day to be approaching nearer? The dates of the following letters,
August, 1913, show that this was one of the first ideas which Page
presented to the new Administration.

     _To Edward M. House_
     Aug. 28, 1913.

     MY DEAR HOUSE:

     . . . Everything is lovely and the goose hangs high. We're having a
     fine time. Only, only, only--I do wish to do something constructive
     and lasting. Here are great navies and armies and great withdrawals
     of men from industry--an enormous waste. Here are kings and courts
     and gold lace and ceremonies which, without producing anything,
     require great cost to keep them going. Here are all the privileges
     and taxes that this state of things implies--every one a hindrance
     to human progress. We are free from most of these. We have more
     people and more capable people and many times more territory than
     both England and Germany; and we have more potential wealth than
     all Europe. They know that. They'd like to find a way to escape.
     The Hague programmes, for the most part, just lead them around a
     circle in the dark back to the place where they started. Somebody
     needs to _do_ something. If we could find some friendly use for
     these navies and armies and kings and things--in the service of
     humanity--they'd follow us. We ought to find a way to use them in
     cleaning up the tropics under our leadership and under our code of
     ethics--that everything must be done for the good of the tropical
     peoples and that nobody may annex a foot of land. They want a job.
     Then they'd quit sitting on their haunches, growling at one
     another.

     I wonder if we couldn't serve notice that the land-stealing game is
     forever ended and that the cleaning up of backward lands is now in
     order--for the people that live there; and then invite Europe's
     help to make the tropics as healthful as the Panama Zone?

     There's no future in Europe's vision--no long look ahead. They give
     all their thought to the immediate danger. Consider this Balkan
     War; all European energy was spent merely to keep the Great Powers
     at peace. The two wars in the Balkans have simply impoverished the
     people--left the world that much worse than it was before. Nobody
     has considered the well-being or the future of those peoples nor of
     their land. The Great Powers are mere threats to one another,
     content to check, one the other! There can come no help to the
     progress of the world from this sort of action--no step forward.

     Work on a world-plan. Nothing but blue chips, you know. Is it not
     possible that Mexico may give an entering wedge for this kind of
     thing?

     Heartily yours,
     WALTER H. PAGE.

In a memorandum, written about the same time, Mr. Page explains his
idea in more detail:

     Was there ever greater need than there is now of a first-class mind
     unselfishly working on world problems? The ablest ruling minds are
     engaged on domestic tasks. There is no world-girdling intelligence
     at work in government. On the continent of Europe, the Kaiser is
     probably the foremost man. Yet he cannot think far beyond the
     provincial views of the Germans. In England, Sir Edward Grey is the
     largest-visioned statesman. All the Europeans are spending their
     thought and money in watching and checkmating one another and in
     maintaining their armed and balanced _status quo_.

     A way must be found out of this stagnant watching. Else a way will
     have to be fought out of it; and a great European war would set the
     Old World, perhaps the whole world, back a long way; and
     thereafter, the present armed watching would recur; we should have
     gained nothing. It seems impossible to talk the Great Powers out of
     their fear of one another or to "Hague" them out of it. They'll
     never be persuaded to disarm. The only way left seems to be to find
     some common and useful work for these great armies to do. Then,
     perhaps, they'll work themselves out of their jealous position.
     Isn't this sound psychology?

     To produce a new situation, the vast energy that now spends itself
     in maintaining armies and navies must find a new outlet. Something
     new must be found for them to do, some great unselfish task that
     they can do together.

     Nobody can lead in such a new era but the United States.

     May there not come such a chance in Mexico--to clean out bandits,
     yellow fever, malaria, hookworm--all to make the country
     healthful, safe for life and investment, and for orderly
     self-government at last? What we did in Cuba might thus be made the
     beginning of a new epoch in history--conquest for the sole benefit
     of the conquered, worked out by a sanitary reformation. The new
     sanitation will reclaim all tropical lands; but the work must be
     first done by military power--probably from the outside.

     May not the existing military power of Europe conceivably be
     diverted, gradually, to this use? One step at a time, as political
     and financial occasions arise? As presently in Mexico?

     This present order must change. It holds the Old World still. It
     keeps all parts of the world apart, in spite of the friendly
     cohesive forces of trade and travel. It keeps back self-government
     and the progress of man.

     And the tropics cry out for sanitation, which is at first an
     essentially military task.

A strange idea this may have seemed in August, 1913, a year before the
outbreak of the European war; yet the scheme is not dissimilar to the
"mandatory" principle, adopted by the Versailles Peace Conference as the
only practical method of dealing with backward peoples. In this work, as
in everything that would help mankind on its weary way to a more
efficient and more democratic civilization, Page regarded the United
States, Great Britain, and the British Dominions as inevitable partners.
Anything that would bring these two nations into a closer coöperation he
looked upon as a step making for human advancement. He believed that any
opportunity of sweeping away misconceptions and prejudices and of
impressing upon the two peoples their common mission should be eagerly
seized by the statesmen of the two countries. And circumstances at this
particular moment, Page believed, presented a large opportunity of this
kind. It is one of the minor ironies of modern history that the United
States and Great Britain should have selected 1914 as a year for a great
peace celebration. That year marked the one hundredth anniversary of the
signing of the Treaty of Ghent, which ended the War of 1812, and in 1913
comprehensive plans had already been formed for observing this
impressive centennial. The plan was to make it more than the mere
observance of a hundred years of peaceful intercourse; it was the
intention to use the occasion to emphasize the fundamental identity of
American and British ideals and to lay the foundation of a permanent
understanding and friendship. The erection of a monument to Abraham
Lincoln at Westminster--a plan that has since been realized--was one
detail of this programme. Another was the restoration of Sulgrave Manor,
the English country seat of the Washingtons, and its preservation as a
place where the peoples of both countries could share their common
traditions. Page now dared to hope that President Wilson might associate
himself with this great purpose to the extent of coming to England and
accepting this gift in the name of the American nation. Such a
Presidential visit, he believed, would exercise a mighty influence in
forestalling a threatening European war. The ultimate purpose, that is,
was world peace--precisely the same motive that led President Wilson, in
1919, to make a European pilgrimage.

This idea was no passing fancy with Page: it was with him a favourite
topic of conversation. Such a presidential visit, he believed, would
accomplish more than any other influences in dissipating the clouds that
were darkening the European landscape. He would elaborate the idea at
length in discussions with his intimates.

"What I want," he would say, "is to have the President of the United
States and the King of England stand up side by side and let the world
take a good look at them!"

     _To Edward M. House_

     August 25, 1913.

     . . . I wrote him (President Wilson) my plan--a mere outline. He'll
     only smile now. But when the tariff and the currency and Mexico are
     off his hands, and when he can be invited to come and deliver an
     oration on George Washington next year at the presentation of the
     old Washington homestead here, he may be "pushed over." You do the
     pushing. Mrs. Page has invited the young White House couple to
     visit us on their honeymoon[54]. Encourage that and that may
     encourage the larger plan later. Nothing else would give such a
     friendly turn to the whole world as the President's coming here.
     The old Earth would sit up and rub its eyes and take notice to whom
     it belongs. This visit might prevent an English-German war and an
     American-Japanese war, by this mere show of friendliness. It would
     be one of the greatest occasions of our time. Even at my little
     speeches, they "whoop it up!" What would they do over the
     President's!

But at that time Washington was too busy with its domestic programme to
consider such a proposal seriously. "Your two letters," wrote Colonel
House in reply, "have come to me and lifted me out of the rut of things
and given me a glimpse of a fair land. What you are thinking of and what
you want this Administration to do is beyond the power of
accomplishment for the moment. My desk is covered with matters of no
lasting importance, but which come to me as a part of the day's work,
and which must be done if I am to help lift the load that is pressing
upon the President. It tells me better than anything else what he has to
bear, and how utterly futile it is for him to attempt such problems as
you present."

     _From the President_

     MY DEAR PAGE:

     . . . As for your suggestion that I should myself visit England
     during my term of office, I must say that I agree with all your
     arguments for it, and yet the case against the President's leaving
     the country, particularly now that he is expected to exercise a
     constant leadership in all parts of the business of the government,
     is very strong and I am afraid overwhelming. It might be the
     beginning of a practice of visiting foreign countries which would
     lead Presidents rather far afield.

     It is a most attractive idea, I can assure you, and I turn away
     from it with the greatest reluctance.

     We hear golden opinions of the impression you are making in
     England, and I have only to say that it is just what I had
     expected.

     Cordially and faithfully yours,
     WOODROW WILSON.

     HON. WALTER H. PAGE,
     American Embassy,
     London, England.

In December, however, evidently Colonel House's mind had turned to the
general subject that had so engaged that of the Ambassador.

     _From Edward M. House_
     145 East 35th Street,
     New York City.

     December 13th, 1913.

     DEAR PAGE:

     In my budget of yesterday I did not tell you of the suggestion
     which I made to Sir William Tyrrell when he was here, and which I
     also made to the President.

     It occurred to me that between us all we might bring about the
     naval holiday which Winston Churchill has proposed. My plan is that
     I should go to Germany in the spring and see the Kaiser, and try to
     win him over to the thought that is uppermost in our mind and that
     of the British Government.

     Sir William thought there was a good sporting chance of success. He
     offered to let me have all the correspondence that had passed
     between the British and German governments upon this question so
     that I might be thoroughly informed as to the position of them
     both. He thought I should go directly to Germany without stopping
     in England, and that Gerard should prepare the Kaiser for my
     coming, telling him of my relations with the President. He thought
     this would be sufficient without any further credentials.

     In other words, he would do with the Kaiser what you did with Sir
     Edward Grey last summer.

     I spoke to the President about the matter and he seemed pleased
     with the suggestion; in fact, I might say, he was enthusiastic. He
     said, just as Sir William did, that it would be too late for this
     year's budget; but he made a suggestion that he get the
     Appropriations Committee to incorporate a clause, permitting him to
     eliminate certain parts of the battleship budget in the event that
     other nations declared for a naval holiday. So this will be done
     and will further the plan.

     Now I want to get you into the game. If you think it advisable,
     take the matter up with Sir William Tyrrell and then with Sir
     Edward Grey, or directly with Sir Edward, if you prefer, and give
     me the benefit of your advice and conclusions.

     Please tell Sir William that I lunched at the Embassy with the
     Spring Rices yesterday, and had a satisfactory talk with both Lady
     Spring Rice and Sir Cecil.

     Faithfully yours,
     E.M. HOUSE.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is apparent from Page's letters that the suggestion now contained in
Colonel House's communication would receive a friendly hearing. The idea
that Colonel House suggested was merely the initial stage of a plan
which soon took on more ambitious proportions. At the time of Sir
William Tyrrell's American visit, the Winston Churchill proposal for a
naval holiday was being actively discussed by the British and the
American press. In one form or another it had been figuring in the news
for nearly two years. Viscount Haldane, in the course of his famous
visit to Berlin in February, 1912, had attempted to reach some
understanding with the German Government on the limitation of the German
and the British fleets. The Agadir crisis of the year before had left
Europe with a bad state of nerves, and there was a general belief that
only some agreement on shipbuilding could prevent a European war. Lord
Haldane and von Tirpitz spent many hours discussing the relative sizes
of the two navies, but the discussions led to no definite
understanding. In March, 1913, Mr. Churchill, then First Lord of the
Admiralty, took up the same subject in a different form. In this speech
he first used the words "naval holiday," and proposed that Germany and
Great Britain should cease building first-class battleships for one
year, thus giving the two nations a breathing space, during which time
they might discuss their future plans in the hope of reaching a
permanent agreement. The matter lagged again until October 18, 1913,
when, in a speech at Manchester, Mr. Churchill placed his proposal in
this form: "Now, we say to our great neighbour, Germany, 'If you will
put off beginning your two ships for twelve months from the ordinary
date when you would have begun them, we will put off beginning our four
ships, in absolute good faith, for exactly the same period.'" About the
same time Premier Asquith made it clear that the Ministry was back of
the suggested programme. In Germany, however, the "naval holiday" soon
became an object of derision. The official answer was that Germany had a
definite naval law and that the Government could not entertain any
suggestion of departing from it. Great Britain then answered that, for
every keel Germany laid down, the Admiralty would lay down two. The
outcome, therefore, of this attempt at friendship was that the two
nations had been placed farther apart than ever.

The dates of this discussion, it will be observed, almost corresponded
with the period covered by the Tyrrell visit to America. This fact, and
Page's letters of this period, had apparently implanted in Colonel
House's mind an ambition for definite action. He now proposed that
President Wilson should take up the broken threads of the rapprochement
and attempt to bring them together again. From this, as will be made
plain, the plan developed into something more comprehensive. Page's
ideas on the treatment of backward nations had strongly impressed both
the President and Colonel House. The discussion on Mexico which had just
taken place between the American and the British Governments seemed to
have developed ideas that could have a much wider application. The
fundamental difficulties in Mexico were not peculiar to that country nor
indeed to Latin-America. Perhaps the most prolific cause of war among
the more enlightened countries was that produced by the jealousies and
antagonisms which were developed by their contacts with unprogressive
peoples--in the Balkans, the Ottoman Empire, Asia, and the Far East. The
method of dealing with such peoples, which the United States had found
so successful in Cuba and the Philippines, had proved that there was
just one honourable way of dealing with the less fortunate and more
primitive races in all parts of the world. Was it not possible to bring
the greatest nations, especially the United States, Great Britain, and
Germany, to some agreement on this question, as well as on the question
of disarmament? This once accomplished, the way could be prepared for
joint action on the numerous other problems which were then threatening
the peace of the world. The League of Nations was then not even a
phrase, but the plan that was forming in Colonel House's mind was at
least some scheme for permanent international coöperation. For several
years Germany had been the nation which had proved the greatest obstacle
to such international friendliness and arbitration. The Kaiser had
destroyed both Hague Conferences as influential forces in the remaking
of the world; and in the autumn of 1913 he had taken on a more
belligerent attitude than ever. If this attempt to establish a better
condition of things was to succeed, Germany's coöperation would be
indispensable. This is the reason why Colonel House proposed first of
all to visit Berlin.

     _From Edward M. House_
     145 East 35th Street,
     New York City.
     January 4th, 1914.

     Dear Page:

     . . . Benj. Ide Wheeler[55] took lunch with me the other day. He is
     just back from Germany and he is on the most intimate terms with
     the Kaiser. He tells me he often takes dinner with the family
     alone, and spends the evening with them.

     I know, now, the different Cabinet officials who have the Kaiser's
     confidence and I know his attitude toward England, naval armaments,
     war, and world politics in general.

     Wheeler spoke to me very frankly and the information he gave me
     will be invaluable in the event that my plans carry. The general
     idea is to bring about a sympathetic understanding between England,
     Germany, and America, not only upon the question of disarmament,
     but upon other matters of equal importance to themselves, and to
     the world at large.

     It seems to me that Japan should come into this pact, but Wheeler
     tells me that the Kaiser feels very strongly upon the question of
     Asiatics. He thinks the contest of the future will be between the
     Eastern and Western civilizations.

     Your friend always,
     E.M. House.

By January 4, 1914, the House-Wilson plan had thus grown into an
Anglo-American-German "pact," to deal not only with "disarmament, but
other matters of equal importance to themselves and to the world at
large." Page's response to this idea was consistent and characteristic.
He had no faith in Germany and believed that the existence of Kaiserism
was incompatible with the extension of the democratic ideal. Even at
this early time--eight months before the outbreak of the World War--he
had no enthusiasm for anything in the nature of an alliance, or a
"pact," that included Germany as an equal partner. He did, however, have
great faith in the coöperation of the English-speaking peoples as a
force that would make for permanent peace and international justice. In
his reply to Colonel House, therefore, Page fell back at once upon his
favourite plan for an understanding between the United States, Great
Britain, and the British colonies. That he would completely sympathize
with the Washington aspiration for disarmament was to be expected.

     To Edward M. House
     January 2, 1914.

     My Dear House:

     You have set my imagination going. I've been thinking of this thing
     for months, and now you've given me a fresh start. It can be worked
     out somehow--doubtless, not in the form that anybody may at first
     see; but experiment and frank discussion will find a way.

     As I think of it, turning it this way and that, there always comes
     to me just as I am falling to sleep this reflection: the
     English-speaking peoples now rule the world in all essential facts.
     They alone and Switzerland have permanent free government. In
     France there's freedom--but for how long? In Germany and
     Austria--hardly. In the Scandinavian States--yes, but they are
     small and exposed as are Belgium and Holland. In the big secure
     South American States--yes, it's coming. In Japan--? Only the
     British lands and the United States have secure liberty. They also
     have the most treasure, the best fighters, the most land, the most
     ships--the future in fact.

     Now, because George Washington warned us against alliances, we've
     gone on as if an alliance were a kind of smallpox. Suppose there
     were--let us say for argument's sake--the tightest sort of an
     alliance, offensive and defensive, between all Britain, colonies
     and all, and the United States--what would happen? Anything we'd
     say would go, whether we should say, "Come in out of the wet," or,
     "Disarm." That might be the beginning of a real world-alliance and
     union to accomplish certain large results--disarmament, for
     instance, or arbitration--dozens of good things.

     Of course, we'd have to draw and quarter the O'Gormans[56]. But
     that ought to be done anyhow in the general interest of good sense
     in the world. We could force any nation into this "trust" that we
     wanted in it.

     Isn't it time we tackled such a job frankly, fighting out the Irish
     problem once for all, and having done with it?

     I'm not proposing a programme. I'm only thinking out loud. I see
     little hope of doing anything so long as we choose to be ruled by
     an obsolete remark made by George Washington.

     W.H.P.

     January H, 1914.

     . . . But this armament flurry is worth serious thought. Lloyd George
     gave out an interview, seeming to imply the necessity of reducing
     the navy programme. The French allies of the British went up in
     the air! They raised a great howl. Churchill went to see them, to
     soothe them. They would not be soothed. Now the Prime Minister is
     going to Paris--ostensibly to see his daughter off to the Riviera.
     Nobody believes that reason. They say he's going to smooth out the
     French. Meantime the Germans are gleeful.

     And the British Navy League is receiving money and encouraging
     letters from British subjects, praying greater activity to keep the
     navy up. You touch the navy and you touch the quick--that's the
     lesson. It's an enormous excitement that this small incident has
     caused.

     W.H.P.


     _To Edward M. House_
     London, February 24, 1914.

     My Dear House:

     You'll be interested in these pamphlets by Sir Max Waechter, who
     has opened an office here and is spending much money to "federate"
     Europe, and to bring a lessening of armaments. I enclose also an
     article about him from the _Daily Telegraph_, which tells how he
     has interviewed most of the Old World monarchs. Get also,
     immediately, the new two-volume life of Lord Lyons, Minister to the
     United States during the Civil War, and subsequently Ambassador to
     France. You will find an interesting account of the campaign of
     about 1870 to reduce armaments, when old Bismarck dumped the whole
     basket of apples by marching against France. You know I sometimes
     fear some sort of repetition of that experience. Some government
     (probably Germany) will see bankruptcy staring it in the face and
     the easiest way out will seem a great war. Bankruptcy before a war
     would be ignominious; after a war, it could be charged to "Glory."
     It'll take a long time to bankrupt England. It's unspeakably rich;
     they pay enormous taxes, but they pay them out of their incomes,
     not out of their principal, except their inheritance tax. That
     looks to me as if it came out of the principal. . . .

     I hope you had a good time in Texas and escaped some cold weather.
     This deceptive sort of winter here is grippe-laden. I've had the
     thing, but I'm now getting over it. . . .

     This Benton[57]-Mexican business is causing great excitement here.

     Always heartily yours,
     W.H.P.

     P.S. There's nothing like the President. By George! the passage of
     the arbitration treaty (renewal) almost right off the bat, and
     apparently the tolls discrimination coming presently to its repeal!
     Sir Edward Grey remarked to me yesterday: "Things are clearing up!"
     I came near saying to him: "Have you any miracles in mind that
     you'd like to see worked?" Wilson stock is at a high premium on
     this side of the water in spite of the momentary impatience caused
     by Benton's death.

     W.H.P.

     _From Edward M. House_
     145 East 35th Street,
     New York City.
     April 19th, 1914.

     DEAR PAGE:

     I have had a long talk with Mr. Laughlin[58]. At first he thought I
     would not have more than one chance in a million to do anything
     with the Kaiser, but after talking with him further, he concluded
     that I would have a fairly good sporting chance. I have about
     concluded to take it.

     If I can do anything, I can do it in a few days. I was with the
     President most of last week. . . .

     He spoke of your letters to him and to me as being classics, and
     said they were the best letters, as far as he knew, that any one
     had ever written. Of course you know how heartily I concur in this.
     He said that sometime they should be published.

     The President is now crystallizing his mind in regard to the
     Federal Reserve Board, and if you are not to remain in London, then
     he would probably put Houston on the Board and ask you to take the
     Secretaryship of Agriculture.

     You have no idea the feeling that is being aroused by the tolls
     question. The Hearst papers are screaming at all of us every day.
     They have at last honoured me with their abuse. . . .

     With love and best wishes, I am,

     Faithfully yours,

     E.M. HOUSE.


     _From Edward M. House_

     145 East 35th Street,
     New York City.
     April 20th, 1914.

     Dear Page:

     . . . It is our purpose to sail on the _Imperator_, May 16th, and go
     directly to Germany. I expect to be there a week or more, but Mrs.
     House will reach London by the 1st or 2nd of June. . . .

     Our friend[59] in Washington thinks it is worth while for me to go
     to Germany, and that determines the matter. The press is shrieking
     to-day over the Mexican situation, but I hope they will be
     disappointed. It is not the intention to do anything further for
     the moment than to blockade the ports, and unless some overt act is
     made from the North, our troops will not cross the border.

     Your friend always,
     E.M. HOUSE.

     _To Edward M. House_
     London, April 27, 1914.

     MY DEAR HOUSE:

     Of course you decided wisely to carry out your original Berlin
     plan, and you ought never to have had a moment's hesitation, if you
     did have any hesitation. I do not expect you to produce any visible
     or immediate results. I hope I am mistaken in this. But you know
     that the German Government has a well-laid progressive plan for
     shipbuilding for a certain number of years. I believe that the work
     has, in fact, already been arranged for. But that has nothing to do
     with the case. You are going to see what effect you can produce on
     the mind of a man. Perhaps you will never know just what effect you
     will produce. Yet the fact that you are who you are, that you make
     this journey for this especial purpose, that you are everlastingly
     right--these are enough.

     Moreover, you can't ever tell results, nor can you afford to make
     your plans in this sort of high work with the slightest reference
     to probable results. That's the bigness and the glory of it. Any
     ordinary man can, on any ordinary day, go and do a task, the
     favourable results of which may be foreseen. _That's_ easy. The big
     thing is to go confidently to work on a task, the results of which
     nobody can possibly foresee--a task so vague and improbable of
     definite results that small men hesitate. It is in this spirit that
     very many of the biggest things in history have been done. Wasn't
     the purchase of Louisiana such a thing? Who'd ever have supposed
     that that could have been brought about? I applaud your errand and
     I am eagerly impatient to hear the results. When will _you_ get
     here? I assume that Mrs. House will not go with you to Berlin. No
     matter so you both turn up here for a good long stay.

     I've taken me a little bit of a house about twenty miles out of
     town whither we are going in July as soon as we can get away from
     London. I hope to stay down there till far into October, coming up
     to London about thrice a week. That's the dull season of the year.
     It's a charming little country place--big enough for you to visit
     us. . . .

     _From Edward M. House_

     An Bord des Dampfers _Imperator_

     den May 21, 1914.

     Hamburg-Amerika Linie

     Dear Page:

     Here we are again. The Wallaces[60] land at Cherbourg, Friday
     morning, and we of course go on to Berlin. I wish I might have the
     benefit of your advice just now, for the chances for success in
     this great adventure are slender enough at best. The President has
     done his part in the letter I have with me, and it is clearly up to
     me to do mine. . . .

     Faithfully yours,

     E.M. House.

It will be observed that Colonel House had taken the advice of Sir
William Tyrrell, and had sailed directly to Germany on a German
ship--the _Imperator_. Ambassador Gerard had made preparations for his
reception in Berlin, and the American soon had long talks with Admiral
von Tirpitz, Falkenhayn, Von Jagow, Solf, and others. Von
Bethmann-Hollweg's wife died almost on the day of his arrival in Berlin,
so it was impossible for him to see the Chancellor--the man who would
have probably been the most receptive to these peace ideas. All the
leaders of the government, except Von Tirpitz, gave Colonel House's
proposals a respectful if somewhat cynical hearing. Von Tirpitz was
openly and demonstratively hostile. The leader of the German Navy simply
bristled with antagonism at any suggestion for peace or disarmament or
world coöperation. He consumed a large part of the time which Colonel
House spent with him denouncing England and all its works. Hatred of the
"Island Kingdom" was apparently the consuming passion of his existence.
On the whole, Von Tirpitz thus made no attempt to conceal his feeling
that the purpose of the House mission was extremely distasteful to him.
The other members of the Government, while not so tactlessly hostile,
were not particularly encouraging. The usual objections to disarmament
were urged--the fear of other Powers, the walled-in state of Germany,
the vigilant enemies against which it was necessary constantly to be
prepared and watchful. Even more than the unsympathetic politeness of
the German Cabinet the general atmosphere of Berlin was depressing to
Colonel House. The militaristic oligarchy was absolutely in control.
Militarism possessed not only the arm