Washington and the Riddle of PeaceWells, H. G. (Herbert George)
History
Washington and the Riddle of Peace
Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)
Conference on the Limitation of Armament (1921-1922 : Washington, D.C.); Peace; World politics
Here in New York and Washington I find just the same steady change of
opinion about France that is going on in London. I want to write it down
as plainly as I can. I want to get it over to my friends in France,
because I have loved France greatly, and I do not think the French
people realize what is going on among the English-speaking peoples.
People here want to see Europe recuperating, and they are beginning to
realize that the chief obstacle to a recuperating Europe is the
obstinate French resolve to dominate the Continent, to revive and carry
out the antiquated and impossible policy of Louis XIV., maintaining an
ancient and intolerable quarrel, setting Pole against German and brewing
mischief everywhere in order to divide and rule, instead of entering
frankly into a European brotherhood.
Feeling about Germany and Austria is changing here, even more rapidly
than in England, to pity and indignation; feeling about Russia is
drifting the same way. One detects these undercurrents in the minds of
the most unlikely people. People are recalling the France of Napoleon
III., that restless and mischievous France, which came so near to a
conflict with America in Mexico and which kept Europe in a fever for a
quarter of a century. It is an enormous loss to the Washington
Conference, it is a misfortune to all the world, that the great
qualities of the French people, their clear-headedness, their powerful
and yet practical imaginations seem at present to be entirely
subordinated to the merely rhetorical and emotional side of the French
character.
XII
THUS FAR
Washington, Nov. 22.
How are we getting on in Washington?
The general mood is hopefulness tempered by congestion, mental and
physical, and by sheer fatigue. There is no rest in Washington, no
cessation. Last winter I was a happy invalid at Amalfi, I sat in the
Italian sunshine, the hours were vast globes of golden time, my mind and
my soul were my own. Now I live to the tune of a telephone bell and the
little feverish American hours slip through my hot, dry hands before I
can turn my thoughts around. I wish I could attend to everything.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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