images tended to evaporate when faced with a political problem. He was now very much the political manager, counting heads.
Burden named a dozen names, the leaders. “Actually, there is a clear but weak majority in each house that is against war, and nothing will stir them unless you have some new example of Hunnishness.”
Wilson took off his pince-nez; rubbed the two indentations on either side of his nose—like red thumbprints. “I do believe that the Germans must be the stupidest people on earth. They provoke us. Sink our ships. Plot with Mexico against our territory. Then—now—they have done it.” He held up the red-tagged papers. “Today three of our ships have been sunk. The
City of Memphis
. The
Illinois
. The
Vigilancia.
”
Burden experienced a chill as the names were read off. “I have tried—I
believe
with absolute sincerity, but who can tell the human heart? least of all one’s own—to stay out of this incredibly stupid and wasteful war, which has so suddenly made us, thanks to England’s bankruptcy, the richest nation on earth. Once we are armed, there is no power that can stop us. But once we arm, will we ever disarm? You see my—predicament, or what was a predicament until the Kaiser shoved me this morning.” The President’s face looked as if it had just been roughly brought forth, with chisel and mallet, from a chunk of gray granite.
“Why,” asked Burden, “have you taken so long when it’s been plain to so many that your heart has always been with England and the Allies?”
Wilson stared at Burden as if he were not there. “I was three years old,” he said at last, “when Lincoln was elected and the Civil War began. My father was a clergyman in Staunton—then, later, we moved to Augusta, Georgia. I was eight years old when the war ended and Mr. Lincoln was killed. In Augusta my father’s church was a … was
used
as a hospital for our troops. I remember all that. I remember Jefferson Davis being led a captive through the town. I remember how he … My family suffered very little. But what we saw around us, the bitterness of the losers in the war and the brutality of the winners … well, none of this was lost on me. I am not,” a wintry close-lipped smile divided for an instant the rude stone face, “an enthusiast of war like Colonel Roosevelt, whose mentality is that of a child of six and whose imagination must be nonexistent. You see, I can
imagine
what this war will do to us. I pray I’m wrong. But I am deathly afraid that once you lead this people—and I know them well—into war, they’ll forget there ever was such a thing as tolerance. Because to fight to win, you must be brutal and ruthless, and that spirit of ruthless brutality will enter into the very fibre of our national life. You—Congress—will be infected by it, too, and the police, and the average citizen. The whole lot. Then we shall win. But
what
shallwe win? How do we help the South … I mean the Central Powers to return from a war-time to a peace-time basis? How do we help ourselves? We shall have become what we are fighting. We shall be trying to reconstruct a peace-time civilization with war-time standards. That’s not possible, and since everyone will be involved, there’ll be no bystanders with sufficient power to make a just peace. That’s what I had wanted us to be. Too proud to fight in the mud, but ready to stand by, ready to mediate, ready to …” The voice stopped.
There was a long silence. If the sun had not set, it had long since vanished behind cold dense clouds; and the room was dark except for the single lamp beside Wilson’s bed and the fading coals in the fireplace. Although Burden was used to the President’s eloquence, he was not entirely immune to its potency. Wilson had the gift of going straight to the altogether too palpitating heart of the business.
“I am calling Congress back two weeks earlier. On April second. I shall …” He put the dangerous documents
Burden named a dozen names, the leaders. “Actually, there is a clear but weak majority in each house that is against war, and nothing will stir them unless you have some new example of Hunnishness.”
Wilson took off his pince-nez; rubbed the two indentations on either side of his nose—like red thumbprints. “I do believe that the Germans must be the stupidest people on earth. They provoke us. Sink our ships. Plot with Mexico against our territory. Then—now—they have done it.” He held up the red-tagged papers. “Today three of our ships have been sunk. The
City of Memphis
. The
Illinois
. The
Vigilancia.
”
Burden experienced a chill as the names were read off. “I have tried—I
believe
with absolute sincerity, but who can tell the human heart? least of all one’s own—to stay out of this incredibly stupid and wasteful war, which has so suddenly made us, thanks to England’s bankruptcy, the richest nation on earth. Once we are armed, there is no power that can stop us. But once we arm, will we ever disarm? You see my—predicament, or what was a predicament until the Kaiser shoved me this morning.” The President’s face looked as if it had just been roughly brought forth, with chisel and mallet, from a chunk of gray granite.
“Why,” asked Burden, “have you taken so long when it’s been plain to so many that your heart has always been with England and the Allies?”
Wilson stared at Burden as if he were not there. “I was three years old,” he said at last, “when Lincoln was elected and the Civil War began. My father was a clergyman in Staunton—then, later, we moved to Augusta, Georgia. I was eight years old when the war ended and Mr. Lincoln was killed. In Augusta my father’s church was a … was
used
as a hospital for our troops. I remember all that. I remember Jefferson Davis being led a captive through the town. I remember how he … My family suffered very little. But what we saw around us, the bitterness of the losers in the war and the brutality of the winners … well, none of this was lost on me. I am not,” a wintry close-lipped smile divided for an instant the rude stone face, “an enthusiast of war like Colonel Roosevelt, whose mentality is that of a child of six and whose imagination must be nonexistent. You see, I can
imagine
what this war will do to us. I pray I’m wrong. But I am deathly afraid that once you lead this people—and I know them well—into war, they’ll forget there ever was such a thing as tolerance. Because to fight to win, you must be brutal and ruthless, and that spirit of ruthless brutality will enter into the very fibre of our national life. You—Congress—will be infected by it, too, and the police, and the average citizen. The whole lot. Then we shall win. But
what
shallwe win? How do we help the South … I mean the Central Powers to return from a war-time to a peace-time basis? How do we help ourselves? We shall have become what we are fighting. We shall be trying to reconstruct a peace-time civilization with war-time standards. That’s not possible, and since everyone will be involved, there’ll be no bystanders with sufficient power to make a just peace. That’s what I had wanted us to be. Too proud to fight in the mud, but ready to stand by, ready to mediate, ready to …” The voice stopped.
There was a long silence. If the sun had not set, it had long since vanished behind cold dense clouds; and the room was dark except for the single lamp beside Wilson’s bed and the fading coals in the fireplace. Although Burden was used to the President’s eloquence, he was not entirely immune to its potency. Wilson had the gift of going straight to the altogether too palpitating heart of the business.
“I am calling Congress back two weeks earlier. On April second. I shall …” He put the dangerous documents
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