Another matter, concerning which the President and I disagreed, was the secrecy with which the negotiations were carried on between him and the principal European statesmen, incidental to which was the willingness, if not the desire, to prevent the proceedings and decisions from becoming known even to the delegates of the smaller nations which were represented at the Peace Conference.

Confidential personal interviews were to a certain extent unavoidable and necessary, but to conduct the entire negotiation through a small group sitting behind closed doors and to shroud their proceedings with mystery and uncertainty made a very unfortunate impression on those who were not members of the secret councils.

At the first there was no Council of the Heads of States (the so-called Council of Four); in fact it was not recognized as an organized body until the latter part of March, 1919. Prior to that time the directing body of the Conference was the self-constituted Council of Ten composed of the President and the British, French, and Italian Premiers with their Secretaries or Ministers of Foreign Affairs, and two Japanese delegates of ambassadorial rank. This Council had a membership identical with that of the Supreme War Council, which controlled the armistices, their enforcement, and other military matters. It assumed authority over the negotiations and proceedings of the Conference, though it was never authorized so to do by the body of delegates. The Council of Four, when later formed, was equally without a mandate from the Conference. They assumed the authority and exercised it as a matter of right.

From the time of his arrival in Paris President Wilson held almost daily conversations with the leading foreign statesmen. It would be of little value to speculate on what took place at these interviews, since the President seldom told the American Commission of the meetings or disclosed to them, unless possibly to Colonel House, the subjects which were discussed. My conviction is, from the little information which the President volunteered, that these consultations were—certainly at first—devoted to inducing the European leaders to give their support to his plan for a League of Nations, and that, as other matters relating to the terms of peace were in a measure involved because of their possible relation to the functions of the League, they too became more and more subjects of discussion.

The introduction of this personal and clandestine method of negotiation was probably due to the President's belief that he could in this way exercise more effectively his personal influence in favor of the acceptance of a League. It is not unlikely that this belief was in a measure justified. In Colonel House he found one to aid him in this course of procedure, as the Colonel's intimate association with the principal statesmen of the Allied Powers during previous visits to Europe as the President's personal envoy was an asset which he could utilize as an intermediary between the President and those with whom he wished to confer. Mr. Wilson relied upon Colonel House for his knowledge of the views and temperaments of the men with whom he had to deal. It was not strange that he should adopt a method which the Colonel had found successful in the past and that he should seek the latter's aid and advice in connection with the secret conferences which usually took place at the residence of the President.

Mr. Wilson pursued this method of handling the subjects of negotiation the more readily because he was by nature and by inclination secretive. He had always shown a preference for a private interview with an individual. In his conduct of the executive affairs of the Government at Washington he avoided as far as possible general conferences. He talked a good deal about "taking common counsel," but showed no disposition to put it into practice. He followed the same course in the matter of foreign affairs. At Paris this characteristic, which had often been the subject of remark in Washington, was more pronounced, or at least more noticeable. He was not disposed to discuss matters with the American Commission as a whole or even to announce to them his decisions unless something arose which compelled him to do so. He easily fell into the practice of seeing men separately and of keeping secret the knowledge acquired as well as the effect of this knowledge on his views and purposes. To him this was the normal and most satisfactory method of doing business.

From the time that the President arrived in Paris up to the time that the Commission on the League of Nations made its report—that is, from December 14, 1918, to February 14, 1919—the negotiations regarding the League were conducted with great secrecy. Colonel House, the President's collaborator in drafting the Covenant, if he was not, as many believed, the real author, was the only American with whom Mr. Wilson freely conferred and to whom he confided the progress that he was making in his interviews with the foreign statesmen, at many of which interviews the Colonel was present. It is true that the President held an occasional conference with all the American Commissioners, but these conferences were casual and perfunctory in nature and were very evidently not for the purpose of obtaining the opinions and counsel of the Commissioners. There was none of the frankness that should have existed between the Chief Executive and his chosen agents and advisers. The impression made was that he summoned the conferences to satisfy the amour propre of the Commissioners rather than out of any personal wish to do so.

The consequence was that the American Commissioners, other than Colonel House, were kept in almost complete ignorance of the preliminary negotiations and were left to gather such information as they were able from the delegates of other Powers, who, naturally assuming that the Americans possessed the full confidence of the President, spoke with much freedom. As Mr. Wilson never held a conference with the American Commission from the first meeting of the Commission on the League of Nations until its report was printed, his American colleagues did not know, except indirectly, of the questions at issue or of the progress that was being made. The fact is that, as the Commission on the League met in Colonel House's office at the HÔtel Crillon, his office force knew far more about the proceedings than did the three American Commissioners who were not present. As the House organization made no effort to hide the fact that they had inside information, the representatives of the press as a consequence frequented the office of the Colonel in search of the latest news concerning the Commission on the League of Nations.

But, in addition to the embarrassment caused the American Commissioners and the unenviable position in which they were placed by the secrecy with which the President surrounded his intercourse with the foreign statesmen and the proceedings of the Commission on the League of Nations, his secret negotiations caused the majority of the delegates to the Conference and the public at large to lose in a large measure their confidence in the actuality of his devotion to "open diplomacy," which he had so unconditionally proclaimed in the first of his Fourteen Points. If the policy of secrecy had ceased with the discussions preliminary to the organization of the Conference, or even with those preceding the meetings of the Commission on the League of Nations, criticism and complaint would doubtless have ceased, but as the negotiations progressed the secrecy of the conferences of the leaders increased rather than decreased, culminating at last in the organization of the Council of Four, the most powerful and most seclusive of the councils which directed the proceedings at Paris. Behind closed doors these four individuals, who controlled the policies of the United States, Great Britain, France, and Italy, passed final judgment on the mass of articles which entered into the Treaties of Peace, but kept their decisions secret except from the committee which was drafting the articles.

The organization of the Council of Four and the mystery which enveloped its deliberations emphasized as nothing else could have done the secretiveness with which adjustments were being made and compromises were being effected. It directed attention also to the fact that the Four Great Powers had taken supreme control of settling the terms of peace, that they were primates among the assembled nations and that they intended to have their authority acknowledged. This extraordinary secrecy and arrogation of power by the Council of Four excited astonishment and complaint throughout the body of delegates to the Conference, and caused widespread criticism in the press and among the people of many countries.

A week after the Council of Ten was divided into the Council of the Heads of States, the official title of the Council of Four, and the Council of Foreign Ministers, the official title of the Council of Five (popularly nick-named "The Big Four" and "The Little Five"), I made the following note on the subject of secret negotiations:

"After the experience of the last three months [January-March, 1919] I am convinced that the method of personal interviews and private conclaves is a failure. It has given every opportunity for intrigue, plotting, bargaining, and combining. The President, as I now see it, should have insisted on everything being brought before the Plenary Conference. He would then have had the confidence and support of all the smaller nations because they would have looked up to him as their champion and guide. They would have followed him.

"The result of the present method has been to destroy their faith and arouse their resentment. They look upon the President as in favor of a world ruled by Five Great Powers, an international despotism of the strong, in which the little nations are merely rubber-stamps.

"The President has undoubtedly found himself in a most difficult position. He has put himself on a level with politicians experienced in intrigue, whom he will find a pretty difficult lot. He will sink in the estimation of the delegates who are not within the inner circle, and what will be still more disastrous will be the loss of confidence among the peoples of the nations represented here. A grievous blunder has been made."

The views, which I expressed in this note in regard to the unwisdom of the President's course, were not new at the time that I wrote them. Over two months before I had watched the practice of secret negotiation with apprehension as to what the effect would be upon the President's influence and standing with the delegates to the Conference. I then believed that he was taking a dangerous course which he would in the end regret. So strong was this conviction that during a meeting, which the President held with the American Commissioners on the evening of January 29, I told him bluntly—perhaps too bluntly from the point of view of policy—that I considered the secret interviews which he was holding with the European statesmen, where no witnesses were present, were unwise, that he was far more successful in accomplishment and less liable to be misunderstood if he confined his negotiating to the Council of Ten, and that, furthermore, acting through the Council he would be much less subject to public criticism. I supported these views with the statement that the general secrecy, which was being practiced, was making a very bad impression everywhere, and for that reason, if for no other, I was opposed to it. The silence with which the President received my remarks appeared to me significant of his attitude toward this advice, and his subsequent continuance of secret methods without change, unless it was to increase the secrecy, proved that our judgments were not in accord on the subject. The only result of my representations, it would seem, was to cause Mr. Wilson to realize that I was not in sympathy with his way of conducting the negotiations. In the circumstances I think now that it was a blunder on my part to have stated my views so frankly.

Two days after I wrote the note, which is quoted (April 2, 1919), I made another note more general in character, but in which appears the following:

"Everywhere there are developing bitterness and resentment against a secretiveness which is interpreted to mean failure. The patience of the people is worn threadbare. Their temper has grown ragged. They are sick of whispering diplomats.

"Muttered confidences, secret intrigues, and the tactics of the 'gum-shoer' are discredited. The world wants none of them these days. It despises and loathes them. What the world asks are honest declarations openly proclaimed. The statesman who seeks to gain his end by tortuous and underground ways is foolish or badly advised. The public man who is sly and secretive rather than frank and bold, whose methods are devious rather than obvious, pursues a dangerous path which leads neither to glory nor to success.

"Secret diplomacy, the bane of the past, is a menace from which man believed himself to be rid. He who resurrects it invites condemnation. The whole world will rejoice when the day of the whisperer is over."

This note, read at the present time, sounds extravagant in thought and intemperate in expression. It was written under the influence of emotions which had been deeply stirred by the conditions then existing. Time usually softens one's judgments and the passage of events makes less vivid one's impressions. The perspective, however, grows clearer and the proportions more accurate when the observer stands at a distance. While the language of the note might well be changed and made less florid, the thought needs little modification. The public criticism was widespread and outspoken, and from the expressions used it was very evident that there prevailed a general popular disapproval of the way the negotiations were being conducted. The Council of Four won the press-name of "The Olympians," and much was said of "the thick cloud of mystery" which hid them from the anxious multitudes, and of the secrecy which veiled their deliberations. The newspapers and the correspondents at Paris openly complained and the delegates to the Conference in a more guarded way showed their bitterness at the overlordship assumed by the leading statesmen of the Great Powers and the secretive methods which they employed. It was, as may be gathered from the note quoted, a distressing and depressing time.

As concrete examples of the evils of secret negotiations the "Fiume Affair" and the "Shantung Settlement" are the best known because of the storm of criticism and protest which they caused. As the Shantung Settlement was one of the chief matters of difference between the President and myself, it will be treated later. The case of Fiume is different. As to the merits of the question I was very much in accord with the President, but to the bungling way in which it was handled I was strongly opposed believing that secret interviews, at which false hopes were encouraged, were at the bottom of all the trouble which later developed. But for this secrecy I firmly believe that there would have been no "Fiume Affair."

The discussion of the Italian claims to territory along the northern boundary of the Kingdom and about the head of the Adriatic Sea began as soon as the American Commission was installed at Paris, about the middle of December, 1918. The endeavor of the Italian emissaries was to induce the Americans, particularly the President, to recognize the boundary laid down in the Pact of London. That agreement, which Italy had required Great Britain and France to accept in April, 1915, before she consented to declare war against the Austro-Hungarian Empire, committed the Entente Powers to the recognition of Italy's right to certain territorial acquisitions at the expense of Austria-Hungary in the event of the defeat of the Central Empires. By the boundary line agreed upon in the Pact, Italy would obtain certain important islands and ports on the Dalmatian coast in addition to the Austrian Tyrol and the Italian provinces of the Dual Monarchy at the head of the Adriatic.

When this agreement was signed, the dissolution of Austria-Hungary was not in contemplation, or at least, if it was considered, the possibility of its accomplishment seemed very remote. It was assumed that the Dalmatian territory to be acquired under the treaty to be negotiated in accordance with the terms of the Pact would, with the return of the Italian provinces, give to Italy naval control over the Adriatic Sea and secure the harborless eastern coast of the Italian peninsula against future hostile attack by the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The boundary laid down in the agreement was essentially strategic and based primarily on considerations of Italian national safety. As long as the Empire existed as a Great Power the boundary of the Pact of London, so far as it related to the Adriatic littoral and islands, was not unreasonable or the territorial demands excessive.

But the close of active warfare in the autumn of 1918, when the armistice went into effect, found conditions wholly different from those upon which these territorial demands had been predicated. The Austro-Hungarian Empire had fallen to pieces beyond the hope of becoming again one of the Great Powers. The various nationalities, which had long been restless and unhappy under the rule of the Hapsburgs, threw off the imperial yoke, proclaimed their independence, and sought the recognition and protection of the Allies. The Poles of the Empire joined their brethren of the Polish provinces of Russia and Prussia in the resurrection of their ancient nation; Bohemia, Moravia, and Slovakia united in forming the new state of Czecho-Slovakia; the southern Slavs of Croatia, Slavonia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, and Dalmatia announced their union with their kindred of the Kingdom of Serbia; and Hungary declared the severance of her political union with Austria. In a word the Dual Empire ceased to exist. It was no longer a menace to the national safety of Italy. This was the state of affairs when the delegates to the Peace Conference began to assemble at Paris.

The Italian statesmen realized that these new conditions might raise serious questions as to certain territorial cessions which would come to Italy under the terms of the Pact of London, because their strategic necessity had disappeared with the dissolution of Austria-Hungary. While they had every reason to assume that Great Britain and France would live up to their agreement, it was hardly to be expected that under the changed conditions and in the circumstances attending the negotiation and signature of the Pact, the British and French statesmen would be disposed to protest against modifications of the proposed boundary if the United States and other nations, not parties to the agreement, should insist upon changes as a matter of justice to the new state of the Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes. It apparently was considered expedient, by the Italian representatives, in view of the situation which had developed, to increase rather than to reduce their claims along the Dalmatian coast in order that they might have something which could be surrendered in a compromise without giving up the boundaries laid down in the Pact of London.

It is probable, too, that these additional claims were advanced by Italy in order to offset in a measure the claims of the Jugo-Slavs, who through the Serbian delegates at Paris were making territorial demands which the Italians declared to be extravagant and which, if granted, would materially reduce the proposed cessions to Italy under the Pact of London. Furthermore, the Italian Government appeared to be by no means pleased with the idea of a Jugo-Slav state so strong that it might become a commercial, if not a naval, rival of Italy in the Adriatic. The Italian delegates in private interviews showed great bitterness toward the Slavs, who, they declared, had, as Austrian subjects, waged war against Italy and taken part in the cruel and wanton acts attendant upon the invasion of the northern Italian provinces. They asserted that it was unjust to permit these people, by merely changing their allegiance after defeat, to escape punishment for the outrages which they had committed against Italians and actually to profit by being vanquished. This antipathy to the Slavs of the former Empire was in a measure transferred to the Serbs, who were naturally sympathetic with their kinsmen and who were also ambitious to build up a strong Slav state with a large territory and with commercial facilities on the Adriatic coast which would be ample to meet the trade needs of the interior.

While there may have been a certain fear for the national safety of Italy in having as a neighbor a Slav state with a large and virile population, extensive resources, and opportunity to become a naval power in the Mediterranean, the real cause of apprehension seemed to be that the new nation would become a commercial rival of Italy in the Adriatic and prevent her from securing the exclusive control of the trade which her people coveted and which the complete victory over Austria-Hungary appeared to assure to them.

The two principal ports having extensive facilities for shipping and rail-transportation to and from the Danubian provinces of the Dual Empire were Trieste and Fiume. The other Dalmatian ports were small and without possibilities of extensive development, while the precipitous mountain barrier between the coast and the interior which rose almost from the water-line rendered railway construction from an engineering standpoint impracticable if not impossible. It was apparent that, if Italy could obtain both the port of Trieste and the port of Fiume, the two available outlets for foreign trade to the territories lying north and east of the Adriatic Sea, she would have a substantial monopoly of the sea-borne commerce of the Dalmatian coast and its hinterland. It was equally apparent that Italian possession of the two ports would place the new Slav state at a great disadvantage commercially, as the principal volume of its exports and imports would have to pass through a port in the hands of a trade rival which could, in case of controversy or in order to check competition, be closed to Slav ships and goods on this or that pretext, even if the new state found it practicable to maintain a merchant marine under an agreement granting it the use of the port.

In view of the new conditions which had thus arisen through the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the union of the Southern Slavs, the Italian delegates at Paris began a vigorous campaign to obtain sovereignty, or at least administrative control, over Fiume and the adjacent coasts and islands, it having been generally conceded that Trieste should be ceded to Italy. The Italian demand for Fiume had become real instead of artificial. This campaign was conducted by means of personal interviews with the representatives of the principal Powers, and particularly with those of the United States because it was apparently felt that the chief opposition to the demand would come from that quarter, since the President was known to favor the general proposition that every nation should have free access to the sea and, if possible, a seaport under its own sovereignty.

The Italian delegates were undoubtedly encouraged by some Americans to believe that, while the President had not actually declared in favor of Italian control of Fiume, he was sympathetic to the idea and would ultimately assent to it just as he had in the case of the cession to Italy of the Tyrol with its Austrian population. Convinced by these assurances of success the Italian leaders began a nationwide propaganda at home for the purpose of arousing a strong public sentiment for the acquisition of the port. This propaganda was begun, it would seem, for two reasons, first, the political advantage to be gained when it was announced that Signor Orlando and his colleagues at Paris had succeeded in having their demand recognized, and, second, the possibility of influencing the President to a speedy decision by exhibiting the intensity and unity of the Italian national spirit in demanding the annexation of the little city, the major part of the population of which was asserted to be of Italian blood.

The idea, which was industriously circulated throughout Italy, that Fiume was an Italian city, aroused the feelings of the people more than any political or economic argument could have done. The fact that the suburbs, which were really as much a part of the municipality as the area within the city proper, were inhabited largely by Jugo-Slavs was ignored, ridiculed, or denied. That the Jugo-Slavs undoubtedly exceeded in numbers the Italians in the community when it was treated as a whole made no difference to the propagandists who asserted that Fiume was Italian. They clamored for its annexation on the ground of "self-determination," though refusing to accept that principle as applicable to the inhabitants of the Austrian Tyrol and failing to raise any question in regard to it in the case of the port of Danzig. The Italian orators and press were not disturbed by the inconsistency of their positions, and the Italian statesmen at Paris, when their attention was called to it, replied that the cases were not the same, an assertion which it would have been difficult to establish with facts or support with convincing arguments.

While the propaganda went forward in Italy with increasing energy, additional assurances, I was informed by one of the Italian group, were given to Signor Orlando and Baron Sonnino that President Wilson was almost on the point of conceding the justice of the Italian claim to Fiume. It was not until the latter part of March, 1919, that these statesmen began to suspect that they had been misinformed and that the influence of their American friends was not as powerful with Mr. Wilson as they had been led to believe. It was an unpleasant awakening. They were placed in a difficult position. Too late to calm the inflamed temper of the Italian people the Italian leaders at Paris had no alternative but to press their demands with greater vigor since the failure to obtain Fiume meant almost inevitable disaster to the Orlando Ministry.

Following conversations with Baron Sonnino and some others connected with the Italian delegation, I drew the conclusion that they would go so far as to refuse to make peace with Germany unless the Adriatic Question was first settled to their satisfaction. In a memorandum dated March 29, I wrote: "This will cause a dangerous crisis," and in commenting on the probable future of the subject I stated:

"My fear is that the President will continue to rely upon private interviews and his powers of persuasion to induce the Italians to abandon their extravagant claim. I am sure that he will not be able to do it. On the contrary, his conversations will strengthen rather than weaken Italian determination. He ought to tell them now that he will not consent to have Fiume given to Italy. It would cause anger and bitterness, but nothing to compare with the resentment which will be aroused if the uncertainty is permitted to go on much longer. I shall tell the President my opinion at the first opportunity. [I did this a few days later.]

"The future is darkened by the Adriatic situation and I look to an explosion before the matter is settled. It is a good thing that the President visited Italy when he did and when blessings rather than curses greeted him. Secret diplomacy is reaping a new harvest of execrations and condemnations. Will the practice ever cease?"

During the first three weeks of April the efforts to shake the determination of the President to support the Jugo-Slav claims to Fiume and the adjacent territory were redoubled, but without avail. Every form of compromise as to boundary and port privileges, which did not deprive Italy of the sovereignty, was proposed, but found to be unacceptable. The Italians, held by the pressure of the aroused national spirit, and the President, firm in the conviction that the Italian claim to the port was unjust, remained obdurate. Attempts were made by both sides to reach some common ground for an agreement, but none was found. As the time approached to submit the Treaty to the German plenipotentiaries, who were expected to arrive at Paris on April 26, the Italian delegates let it be known that they would absent themselves from the meeting at which the document was to be presented unless a satisfactory understanding in regard to Fiume was obtained before the meeting. I doubt whether this threat was with the approval and upon the advice of the American friends of the Italians who had been industrious in attempting to persuade the President to accept a compromise. An American familiar with Mr. Wilson's disposition would have realized that to try to coerce him in that manner would be folly, as in all probability it would have just the contrary effect to the one desired.

The Italian delegates did not apparently read the President's temper aright. They made a mistake. Their threat of withdrawal from the Conference resulted far differently from their expectation and hope. When Mr. Wilson learned of the Italian threat he met it with a public announcement of his position in regard to the controversy, which was intended as an appeal to the people of Italy to abandon the claim to Fiume and to reject their Government's policy of insisting on an unjust settlement. This declaration was given to the press late in the afternoon of April 23, and a French newspaper containing it was handed, it was said, to Signor Orlando at the President's residence where the Council of Four were assembled. He immediately withdrew, issued a counter-statement, and the following day left Paris for Rome more on account of his indignation at the course taken by the President than because of the threat which he had made. Baron Sonnino also departed the next day.

It is not my purpose to pursue further the course of events following the crisis which was precipitated by the President's published statement and the resulting departure of the principal Italian delegates. The effect on the Italian people is common knowledge. A tempest of popular fury against the President swept over Italy from end to end. From being the most revered of all men by the Italians, he became the most detested. As no words of praise and admiration were too extravagant to be spoken of him when he visited Rome in January, so no words of insult or execration were too gross to characterize him after his public announcement regarding the Adriatic Question. There was never a more complete reversal of public sentiment toward an individual.

The reason for reciting the facts of the Fiume dispute, which was one of the most unpleasant incidents that took place at Paris during the negotiations, is to bring out clearly the consequences of secret diplomacy. A discussion of the reasons, or of the probable reasons, for the return of the Italian statesmen to Paris before the Treaty was handed to the Germans would add nothing to the subject under consideration, while the same may be said of the subsequent occupation of Fiume by Italian nationalists under the fanatical D'Annunzio, without authority of their Government, but with the enthusiastic approval of the Italian people.

Five days after the Italian Premier and his Minister of Foreign Affairs had departed from Paris I had a long interview with a well-known Italian diplomat, who was an intimate friend of both Signor Orlando and Baron Sonnino and who had been very active in the secret negotiations regarding the Italian boundaries which had been taking place at Paris since the middle of December. This diplomat was extremely bitter about the whole affair and took no pains to hide his views as to the causes of the critical situation which existed. In the memorandum of our conversation, which I wrote immediately after he left my office, appears the following:

"He exclaimed: 'One tells you one thing and that is not true; then another tells you another thing and that too is not true. What is one to believe? What can one do? It is hopeless. So many secret meetings with different persons are simply awful'—He threw up his hands—'Now we have the result. It is terrible!'

"I laughed and said, 'I conclude that you do not like secret diplomacy.'

"'I do not; I do not,' he fervently exclaimed. 'All our trouble comes from these secret meetings of four men [referring to the Big Four], who keep no records and who tell different stories of what takes place. Secrecy is to blame. We have been unable to rely on any one. To have to run around and see this man and that man is not the way to do. Most all sympathize with you when alone and then they desert you when they get with others. This is the cause of much bitterness and distrust. Secret diplomacy is an utter failure. It is too hard to endure. Some men know only how to whisper. They are not to be trusted. I do not like it.'

"'Well,' I said, 'you cannot charge me with that way of doing
business.'

"'I cannot,' he replied, 'you tell me the truth. I may not like it,
but at least you do not hold out false hopes.'"

The foregoing conversation no doubt expressed the real sentiments of the members of the Italian delegation at that time. Disgust with confidential personal interviews and with relying upon personal influence rather than upon the merits of their case was the natural reaction following the failure to win by these means the President's approval of Italy's demands.

The Italian policy in relation to Flume was wrecked on the rock of President Wilson's firm determination that the Jugo-Slavs should have a seaport on the Adriatic sufficient for their needs and that Italy should not control the approaches to that port. With the wreck of the Fiume policy went in time the Orlando Government which had failed to make good the promises which they had given to their people. Too late they realized that secret diplomacy had failed, and that they had made a mistake in relying upon it. It is no wonder that the two leaders of the Italian delegation on returning to Paris and resuming their duties in the Conference refrained from attempting to arrange clandestinely the settlement of the Adriatic Question. The "go-betweens," on whom they had previously relied, were no longer employed. Secret diplomacy was anathema. They had paid a heavy price for the lesson, which they had learned.

When one reviews the negotiations at Paris from December, 1918, to June, 1919, the secretiveness which characterized them is very evident. Everybody seemed to talk in whispers and never to say anything worth while except in confidence. The open sessions of the Conference were arranged beforehand. They were formal and perfunctory. The agreements and bargains were made behind closed doors. This secrecy began with the exchange of views concerning the League of Nations, following which came the creation of the Council of Ten, whose meetings were intended to be secret. Then came the secret sessions of the Commission on the League and the numerous informal interviews of the President with one or more of the Premiers of the Allied Powers, the facts concerning which were not divulged to the American Commissioners. Later, on Mr. Wilson's return from the United States, dissatisfaction with and complaint of the publicity given to some of the proceedings of the Council of Ten induced the formation of the Council of Four with the result that the secrecy of the negotiations was practically unbroken. If to this brief summary of the increasing secretiveness of the proceedings of the controlling bodies of the Peace Conference are added the intrigues and personal bargainings which were constantly going on, the "log-rolling"—to use a term familiar to American politics—which was practiced, the record is one which invites no praise and will find many who condemn it. In view of the frequent and emphatic declarations in favor of "open diplomacy" and the popular interpretation placed upon the phrase "Open covenants openly arrived at," the effect of the secretive methods employed by the leading negotiators at Paris was to destroy public confidence in the sincerity of these statesmen and to subject them to the charge of pursuing a policy which they had themselves condemned and repudiated. Naturally President Wilson, who had been especially earnest in his denunciation of secret negotiations, suffered more than his foreign colleagues, whose real support of "open diplomacy" had always been doubted, though all of them in a measure fell in public estimation as a consequence of the way in which the negotiations were conducted.

The criticism and condemnation, expressed with varying degrees of intensity, resulted from the disappointed hopes of the peoples of the world, who had looked forward confidently to the Peace Conference at Paris as the first great and decisive change to a new diplomacy which would cast aside the cloak of mystery that had been in the past the recognized livery of diplomatic negotiations. The record of the Paris proceedings in this particular is a sorry one. It is the record of the abandonment of principle, of the failure to follow precepts unconditionally proclaimed, of the repudiation by act, if not by word, of a new and better type of international intercourse.

It is not my purpose or desire to fix the blame for this perpetuation of old and discredited practices on any one individual. To do so would be unjust, since more than one preferred the old way and should share the responsibility for its continuance. But, as the secrecy became more and more impenetrable and as the President gave silent acquiescence or at least failed to show displeasure with the practice, I realized that in this matter, as in others, our judgments were at variance and our views irreconcilable. As my opposition to the method of conducting the proceedings was evident, I cannot but assume that this decided difference was one that materially affected the relations between Mr. Wilson and myself and that he looked upon me as an unfavorable critic of his course in permitting to go unprotested the secrecy which characterized the negotiations.

The attention of the delegates to the Peace Conference who represented the smaller nations was early directed to their being denied knowledge of the terms of the Treaty which were being formulated by the principal members of the delegations of the Five Great Powers. There is no doubt that at the first their mental attitude was one of confidence that the policy of secrecy would not be continued beyond the informal meetings preliminary to and necessary for arranging the organization and procedure of the Conference; but, as the days lengthened into weeks and the weeks into months, and as the information concerning the actual negotiations, which reached them, became more and more meager, they could no longer close their eyes to the fact that their national rights and aspirations were to be recognized or denied by the leaders of the Great Powers without the consent and even without the full knowledge of the delegates of the nations vitally interested.

Except in the case of a few of these delegates, who had been able to establish intimate personal relations with some of the "Big Four," the secretiveness of the discussions and decisions regarding the Treaty settlements aroused amazement and indignation. It was evident that it was to be a "dictated peace" and not a "negotiated peace," a peace dictated by the Great Powers not only to the enemy, but also to their fellow belligerents. Some of the delegates spoke openly in criticism of the furtive methods that were being employed, but the majority held their peace. It can hardly be doubted, however, that the body of delegates were practically unanimous in disapproving the secrecy of the proceedings, and this disapproval was to be found even among the delegations of the Great Powers. It was accepted by the lesser nations because it seemed impolitic and useless to oppose the united will of the controlling oligarchy. It was natural that the delegates of the less influential states should feel that their countries would suffer in the terms of peace if they openly denounced the treatment accorded them as violative of the dignity of representatives of independent sovereignties. In any event no formal protest was entered against their being deprived of a knowledge to which they were entitled, a deprivation which placed them and their countries in a subordinate, and, to an extent, a humiliating, position.

The climax of this policy of secrecy toward the body of delegates came on the eve of the delivery of the Treaty of Peace to the German representatives who were awaiting that event at Versailles. By a decision of the Council of the Heads of States, reached three weeks before the time, only a digest or summary of the Treaty was laid before the plenary session of the Conference on the Preliminaries of Peace on the day preceding the delivery of the full text of the Treaty to the Germans. The delegates of the smaller belligerent nations were not permitted to examine the actual text of the document before it was seen by their defeated adversaries. Nations, which had fought valiantly and suffered agonies during the war, were treated with no more consideration than their enemies so far as knowledge of the exact terms of peace were concerned. The arguments, which could be urged on the ground of the practical necessity of a small group dealing with the questions and determining the settlements, seem insufficient to justify the application of the rule of secrecy to the delegates who sat in the Conference on the Preliminaries of Peace. It is not too severe to say that it outraged the equal rights of independent and sovereign states and under less critical conditions would have been resented as an insult by the plenipotentiaries of the lesser nations. Even within the delegations of the Great Powers there were indignant murmurings against this indefensible and unheard-of treatment of allies. No man, whose mind was not warped by prejudice or dominated by political expediency, could give it his approval or become its apologist. Secrecy, and intrigues which were only possible through secrecy, stained nearly all the negotiations at Paris, but in this final act of withholding knowledge of the actual text of the Treaty from the delegates of most of the nations represented in the Conference the spirit of secretiveness seems to have gone mad.

The psychological effects of secrecy on those who are kept in ignorance are not difficult to analyze. They follow normal processes and may be thus stated: Secrecy breeds suspicion; suspicion, doubt; doubt, distrust; and distrust produces lack of frankness, which is closely akin to secrecy. The result is a vicious circle, of which deceit and intrigue are the very essence. Secrecy and its natural consequences have given to diplomacy a popular reputation for trickery, for double-dealing, and in a more or less degree for unscrupulous and dishonest methods of obtaining desired ends, a reputation that has found expression in the ironic definition of a diplomat as "an honest man sent to lie abroad for the good of his country."

The time had arrived when the bad name which diplomacy had so long borne could and should have been removed. "Open covenants openly arrived at" appealed to the popular feeling of antipathy toward secret diplomacy, of which the Great War was generally believed to be the product. The Paris Conference appeared to offer an inviting opportunity to turn the page and to begin a new and better chapter in the annals of international intercourse. To do this required a fixed purpose to abandon the old methods, to insist on openness and candor, to refuse to be drawn into whispered agreements. The choice between the old and the new ways had to be definite and final. It had to be made at the very beginning of the negotiations. It was made. Secrecy was adopted. Thus diplomacy, in spite of the announced intention to reform its practices, has retained the evil taint which makes it out of harmony with the spirit of good faith and of open dealing which is characteristic of the best thought of the present epoch. There is little to show that diplomacy has been raised to a higher plane or has won a better reputation in the world at large than it possessed before the nations assembled at Paris to make peace. This failure to lift the necessary agency of international relations out of the rut worn deep by centuries of practice is one of the deplorable consequences of the peace negotiations. So much might have been done; nothing was done.