MARGINAL COMMENT
By HAROLD NICOLSON
MY presence, although in a wholly unofficial capacity, at this the second Peace Conference in Paris has revived many old memories and brought me certain new experiences. Of these ex- periences the most startling is a sense of longevity. By this I do not mean the feeling of old age, which is no new experience but a canker which has gnawed at the bud for the last sixty or seventy years. I mean rather the sense of being a visitant from another world, a link with the past, a historical monument. There are, I am told, two other people in Paris who remember the Peace Con- ference of 1919. One of these dotards, I am assured, is a ticket- collector at the Paris Underground who, when a child, used to pick up tennis-balls for A. J. Balfour. The other is a member of a minor delegation who has been brought to Paris in the capacity of legal adviser, and who gives to his colleagues the dignity of his grey hairs and the benefit of his vast experience. Deaf he is, I am told, and almost paralysed ; but they are glad to have this relic among them, and they cluster around his wheeled chair listening to his senile reminiscences of the tremendous past. The striplings who today lead the delegations of the twenty-one Powers are kind enough to accord to me that deference which is due to all Methuselahs, and will on occasion listen with intermittent attention to my anecdotes of the time, twenty-seven years ago, when I also was of their age. It has happened even that reporters from the French and United States newspapers, finding it difficult on Mondays to fill their column, have penetrated into my retreat and have asked me questions about the former Conference, wishing me to define for them the changes which I have observed. They are apt, I have noticed, to describe the Paris Conference of 1919 as "the Conference of Ver- sailles." That strikes me as strange. Only twice in those eight months did we ever set foot in the town of Versailles. The first occasion was when, at the Trianon Palace Hotel, the Peace Treaty was presented to the Germans. The second occasion was when in the Hall of Mirrors the Treaty was triumphantly signed. "No," I say to them, "it was not the Conference of Versailles. It was called the Conference of Paris." "Fancy that! " they exclaim as they note the fact upon their pad.
And what, after all, are the main differences which I have noticed between the two Conferences of Paris, between 1919 and 1946? The two main differences, of course, are the publicity to which the
• discussions are exposed, and the system by which the opinions of the several delegations are recorded by votes. Each of these inno- vations is, to my mind, a most damaging innovation ; the first being wasteful of time, the second being destructive of reality. President Wilson, it is true, had proclaimed ten months before the Armistice of November, 1918, that he would insist upon "open covenants openly arrived at." On reaching Paris, however, he soon discovered that the discord between the Allied and Associated Powers was so intense that if covenants were to be openly arrived at the Conference would before long dissolve into turmoil. Eyen as it was, the Italian delegation, enraged by the President's appeal to the Italian people, left Paris in a huff, having, before their departure, distributed typed invectives to the Allied delegations. This time the Press have cer- tainly managed to impose their authority ; the plenary sessions are rendered chaotic by the incessant flashing of camera-bulbs and by. the glare and whirr of cinematograph apparatus. The meetings of the Commissions are congested with journalists, and even here the photographers stalk with their aluminium tripods, flashing mag- nesium in the midst of the most stirring speech. I once described the Paris Conference of 1919 as "a riot in a parrot-house " ; com- pared to this chaos it was a conclave of quiet and conciliatory men.
* * Such are the practical, or physical, disadvantages occasioned by This inordinate publicity. More serious is the actual unreality which it gives to•every session. No man could be a more determined opponent than I am of the methods of "secret diplomacy." I con- sider it an evil thing that the men and women of any country should,
without their knowledge or consent, be committed to secret treaties, the fulfilment of which may involve them in war, the repudiation of which may involve them in national dishonour. But although the results of any conference should never be secret, but should be /published and eventually ratified by the representatives of the people, the processes of a conference should always be confidential. It is quite impossible to conduct negotiations, or even discussions, between sovereign States in front of the microphones ; a sense of terrible unreality is conveyed when a delegate is known to be address- ing not the other delegations assembled round the table, but his own public opinion at home. It is almost grotesque to watch the delegates at this Conference rise in their places, take out their typed sheets, read their speech aloud, and then pass it to their secretaries for a hand-out to the Press. This idiotic method does not mean merely that all reasonable or intelligent discussion is rendered im- possible; it means that the several delegations are thereby committed to attitudes from which it will be difficult for them to retreat ; it means that they are tempted to gain credit with their own public opinion at home by "scoring off" their opponents ; it means that quite needless recriminations, objurgations, rivalries and suspicions result. The time of the Conference is thereby devoted to unrealities ; the temper of the Conference is thereby strained, and the work of the Conference, the real work of compromise and conciliation, is relegated to hotel bedrooms and the imprecisions of lobby deals.
The second important, and to my mind disastrous, innovation which will impede and embitter the work of this Conference is the introduction of the vote. At the last Conference no votes were actually taken ; the chairmen of the Councils or the Committees took "the sense of the House." Often by these means it was possible to avoid the impression of defeat or victory which voting always emphasises. Moreover, the moment you have a system of voting, then the comparative value of the several Powers becomes totally blurred. The vote of Abyssinia, for instance, might in certain circumstances become even more important than the vote of the United States. The scope which this disastrous system gives to lobbying, to intimidation or to bribes is truly alarming ; and it throws over the whole proceedings an atmosphere of politics in their most violent and disgraceful form. These are the two worst innovations which I have observed. There are other changes which, although less important, are also curious. At the last Conference the Com- mittees were composed of five delegates with five. assistants ; it was possible to sit round a small table, to exchange private opinions, and to examine the same map : at the present Conference the Com- missions will consist apparently of some sixty members, of an assembly rather than a conclave. All sense of intimacy, and therefore of discretion, will thereby be lost. The only advantage I can see in these huge meetings is that it enables people, if they so desire, to leave the room unobserved. That certainly is a great advantage. Mr. Jebb by this method can have a chat outside with Mr. Cohen or M. de Murville without creating a scandal. In my day, to leave the room created a diplomatic incident or suggested an illness which was anything but diplomatic.
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In spite of this agreeable sense of longevity which I acquire from revisting a Conference I do not wish to become the type of dotard who can see no improvement in the new. I search hard for some merit in this new system which shall compensate for its many, and to nty mind fatal, defects. At one point only can I discover a marked improvement. One is allowed to smoke at the meetings of the Commissions. What a difference that concession would have made to me during those long months of 1919! To-day this is but a vicarious pleasure to me, (a) since I do not smoke between meals, (b) because one cannot buy cigarettes. It may be, however, that but for the solace of this narcotic the nerves of the delegates might become even more strained. The insults which they fling at each other might have turned to invective ; the milk of human kindness turned quite sour.
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