The Life and Letters of Walter H. Page Volume I Part 18

. . . 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 pa.s.sed 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, Charge 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 regime 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 amba.s.sadorship up to date, of his vexations, his embarra.s.sments, 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 Amba.s.sador, 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 Emba.s.sy 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 Emba.s.sy. 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 Emba.s.sy: it's very odd!" "What a frugal Government you have!" "It's a d.a.m.ned 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 Amba.s.sadors, 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 Amba.s.sador 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 Emba.s.sies 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 amba.s.sadors a lifetime to get the idea into the heads of them all. In some ways they are incredibly far back in mediaevalism--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 princ.i.p.al European capitals, on Peace. Now, G.o.d 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 Amba.s.sadors 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 Amba.s.sador 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 att.i.tude on the tolls; they began to understand our att.i.tude toward concessions and governments run for profit; they began dimly to see that Carden was a misfit; the Tariff Bill pa.s.sed; the Currency Bill; the President loomed up; even the Amba.s.sador, 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--grat.i.tude; and grat.i.tude 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 Amba.s.sador'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 n.o.body--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 a.s.sault 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 Amba.s.sador wished to remain in London was to a.s.sist 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 Amba.s.sador 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 Ca.n.a.l. There was a certain embarra.s.sment 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 Amba.s.sador and that of most other dispa.s.sionate 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 Ca.n.a.l. 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 Ca.n.a.l," 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 Ca.n.a.l should be the same. The history of British-American negotiations on the subject of the Ca.n.a.l 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 Amba.s.sador 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, pa.s.sed the Panama Ca.n.a.l 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"