Hollywood (38 page)

“I was …” Wilson stopped and frowned. “Well, not pleased, no. For the sake of the office such things ought not to happen. But, personally, I’m relieved that people find me not entirely forbidding. In my life I’ve had very little to do with individuals, except to teach them, by no means a … friendly activity, or discharge the office of an executive, hardly an endearing activity.”

Wilson sat back in his chair, and sighed. “You know, I could’ve done well in vaudeville.” Suddenly, he let his face go loose and Blaise was reminded of the scene at the Capitol before the declaration of war. Slowly, Wilson shook his head. The face, totally slack, was cretinous and comical. The body drooped, complementing the face. “I’m Dopey Dan,” he sang, “and I’m married to Midnight Mary.” With that, he did an expert scarecrow sort of dance across the deck, whistling all the while. When he finished, he bowed.

Blaise applauded loudly. “Do that when you address the Congress, Mr. President, and you’ll sweep the nation.”

“Do that, and they’ll put me away.” Wilson laughed. “Or send me out on the Keith circuit with Midnight Mary, by no means the worst of fates.” Blaise was more than ever confident that the President could easily handle Congress, not to mention the ghost of Theodore Roosevelt.

T
he Senate cloakroom was now divided by an invisible wall across its narrow middle. On one side the Republicans exchanged whispers with their leader Lodge, and on the other the Democrats brooded under the benign if not particularly able leadership of Gilbert M. Hitchcock, Claude Swanson and Burden himself, by no means, in his view, the ablest managers to see the treaty through the Senate.

Outside the cloakroom the sergeant-at-arms had thoughtfully assembled a number of army cots and blankets in case the senators filibustered today as they had the previous day, March 2, when La Follette of Wisconsin took the lead in exploiting the right of any senator to speak as long as he liked. Ostensibly, the bill to be talked to death concerned the leasing of public coal and oil reserves by suspect private interests. But as the Sixty-fifth Congress was obliged to expire March 4 and as a seven-billion-dollar Victory Bond bill had not yet passed, La Follette and his liberal friends were threatening, in effect, to leave the government without funds until the Sixty-sixth Congress assembled in December.

Since Wilson had no intention of calling Congress back between March and December, there was considerable urgency on the part of the Democratic minority to see that the appropriate bills were safely passed and the Congress sent home. If Congress were to come back in an emergency session, Lodge and his allies would then be able, in leisurely fashion, to dismember Wilson’s covenant while the President was still in Paris at work on the final peace treaty.

In full health Burden enjoyed this sort of maneuvering, but nowadays he was in half-health at best. In the flu’s aftermath, he was permanently, mortally tired, with an alarming tendency to fell into a sudden sound sleep no matter where he was. Kitty had begged him to stay away from the Capitol. But the President had begged him to stay at his post. So now he sat with Hitchcock at the Democratic end of the cloakroom, his feet resting on an army cot.

Thus far, everything that Burden and Hitchcock had tried to arrange kept coming undone. La Follette and his friends had given up their filibuster at six-forty on the morning of March 2, at the request of the Republican caucus, which did not want the party blamed for the failure of the Victory Bond issue to pass. There had been a trade-off. La Follette took seriously the stealing of the people’s wealth. Lodge took seriously the destruction of Wilson’s treaty. As party leader, Lodge had promised to aid La Follette later if he would end the filibuster now. La Follette obliged; the bond issue had been passed. But the financing of the government through a general-deficiency bill of $840 million was still pending. The Senate had then adjourned until ten in the morning, March 3, which meant that there would be only twenty-six hours in which to appropriate money to pay the federal government’s debts. If the money was not forthcoming, Lodge would get his wish and Congress would be obliged to come back in the spring.

Burden looked at his watch. It was now eleven thirty-five. In twelve hours, at noon, March 4, the President would come to the Capitol to sign whatever bills Congress had prepared for him.

“Marshall’s ready to recognize us.” Hitchcock stared through the cigar smoke at Lodge, who was holding court from a black leather sofa. Surrounded by Republican senators, he looked most grandly the philosopher-king. “But they don’t quit. When one finishes he signals to another one to spell him, and the Vice President can’t do a thing.”

From back of the swinging doors to the chamber, Burden could hear the slightly hoarse voice of—Francis of Maryland? Yes: the phrase “King Woodrow”
was being repeated over and over again, to the gallery’s delight. All Washington had converged on the Capitol to enjoy the fun. Frederika and Caroline were sitting together in the gallery, and Burden felt not unlike a superior rooster gazing upward at his very own hens, side by side, and easily the two most distinguished ladies in the gallery now that Evalyn McLean had dropped off to sleep in the diplomatic section. “At ten to midnight I’ll make my try. I’ve told Marshall that when he recognizes me, I’ll ask for a vote.”

“Let’s hope there’s still a quorum. They could make a run for the depot.”

“We’ll send the sergeant-at-arms after them.”

“We’re not the majority.” Hitchcock was sour.

La Follette entered the cloakroom. He seemed not at all tired after Saturday’s filibuster. A large-headed, stocky man, most able in debate and fierce in his representation of the people against the interests. Burden had always assumed that like most instinctive populists, La Follette had pacifist leanings and so would support the League. But in this he was more Roosevelt-progressive than true people’s man. Finally, he was more La Follette, the histrionic lonely warrior, than anything else. Lodge had cleverly used La Follette’s genuine objection to the leasing bill in order to postpone altogether the vote on the appropriation bill. La Follette had obliged. Now Burden wondered what price he had demanded for his cooperation.

“Will we hear your magnificent voice this evening, Senator?” Hitchcock was orotund.

La Follette shrugged; and mumbled, “I’ve got a lozenge in my mouth.”

“We’ll hear you then,” said Hitchcock.

“Will you speak
all night?
” asked Burden.

“If sufficiently inspired by my theme.” La Follette went onto the floor. Burden noticed that Lodge had been watching La Follette closely—anxiously? No one knew what their common strategy was, other than to keep the Senate from coming to a vote before adjournment.

Burden went to the swinging doors and looked into the chamber. Electric light emphasized more than daylight the prevailing greens. The effect was rather like looking into an aquarium where senators, like large fish, floated and the pages, like so many minnows, followed first one then another. The weary Vice President was in the chair, a study in bad temper.

A Democrat now took the floor, Martin of Virginia. The former majority leader warned his colleagues of the financial panic that would ensue if the finance bill was not passed before adjournment. He was eloquent. The Republican Lenroot of Wisconsin rose to ask if the bill was not passed, would
the President call the Congress back
before
he had returned from France?

Martin was emphatic. “In two conversations, in the plainest possible English, he said that he had made up his mind, and it was final, that no extra session of Congress will be called under any circumstances until his return from France.”

Burden caught the Vice President’s eye. Marshall nodded. As agreed, Burden would be recognized just before midnight; and he would call for a vote. Burden went on to the floor and sat for a moment at his desk. Frederika smiled down at him; her hair had started to grow back, not blond but white beneath her temporary wig. Caroline gave him a sisterly smile.

Back of Caroline, Alice Longworth sat with her cousin Eleanor and Senator Borah. Alice, as usual, was doing all the talking, and Eleanor looked pained. Eleanor was as much for Wilson as her cousin was against him. Burden wondered how the friendship or, specifically, relationship was going to survive so much political passion. Senator Harding suddenly sat in the desk next to Burden. The handsome face was flushed; he enjoyed his drink. “I can’t for the life of me see the point of all this.” He shook his head mournfully. “It’d be so easy to just sit down and work out what’s possible and what isn’t with the treaty, and compromise.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy, Mr. Harding. The President gave his word to the Allies that this was what we’d been fighting the war about, this treaty, this League of Nations, and so they gave in to him, which is why he can’t go and change it now.” Burden glanced at his watch: five minutes to go. The Vice President was also looking at his watch. Lenroot was speaking.

“Well, I’m not convinced it’s the best thing in the world the way it is, and I still don’t know why we fought that stupid war. This is between you and I.” Harding smiled. “Naturally, in public I’m for democracy for everybody everywhere every minute of the day. But I think a lot of this Bolshevism that’s going on in Europe and starting up here at home, too, is Mr. Wilson’s doing.”

Burden was suddenly aware of Lodge’s presence in the chamber. The gallery applauded as Lenroot yielded the floor to Lodge, who addressed the Senate, document in hand. This was not according to Burden’s plan.

Lodge’s splendid Boston voice was high with tension. “Mr. President, I desire to take only a moment of the time of the Senate. I wish to offer the resolution which I hold in my hand, a very brief one.” Then he read from the paper. “That it is the sense of the Senate that while it is their sincere desire that the nations of the world should unite to promote peace and general disarmament, the constitution of the League of Nations in the form
now proposed by the Peace Conference should
not
be accepted by the United States …” There was a gasp from the Wilsonians in the galleries; and applause from the rest.

Burden was on his feet waving to the chair for recognition. Lodge persevered, as Marshall gavelled for order. “… immediately be directed to utmost expedition of the urgent business of negotiating peace terms with Germany …”

Burden had caught Marshall’s attention, too late.

“… and that the proposal for a League of Nations to insure the permanent peace of the world should be
then
taken up for careful consideration.”

Burden was certain that there were not enough senators present to pass this or any other measure with the hope of surviving a later full vote; also, many of the senators present had been defeated in November while those who had been elected in their place had not yet been sworn in. As Lodge knew that his motion would carry no weight until the convening of the Sixty-sixth Congress, what was his motive? Lodge said, “I ask
unanimous
consent for the present consideration of this resolution.”

Burden recognized a parliamentary trap when he saw one. There was no possibility of unanimous consent now or ever. Burden turned to Harding, but Harding had vanished. Burden started down the aisle, ready to object to the propriety of the measure. But Claude Swanson of Virginia had got the Vice President’s attention. Swanson said, “I object to the introduction of the resolution.” Swanson had taken the bait.

Lodge remained standing during this, the venerable white head inclined to one side, like a listening bird; then he nodded his head judiciously as if some important point that had been too difficult for him to grasp had been at last cleared up. Swanson sat down.

With as much an appearance of humility as that bearded Roman head could permit, Lodge bowed gracefully to Swanson. “Objection being made, of course, I recognize the objection. I merely wish to add, by way of explanation, the following.” Burden felt a chill: the trap had sprung. With relish, Lodge recited the names of those Republican senators who would have voted for his resolution if they were present and a vote had taken place. Lodge read off the names of thirty-seven senators, more than the one-third needed to defeat the League of Nations. As the gallery began to understand what was happening, applause broke out; then boos. The Vice President called for order.

Lodge left the floor, and the La Follette filibuster began again, with
Sherman of Illinois first to speak. They would speak straight through the night until adjournment at noon. There would be no finance bill. There would be an extra session while Wilson was out of the country. There would be no League of Nations if Lodge could hold on to his thirty-seven senators, which Burden doubted. Even Lodge himself favored a league. The problem was as simple as it was insoluble. Wilson’s league, as approved in Paris by the Allies, would not be accepted, while Lodge’s league was so deliberately vague that even the most extreme isolationist might be able to support it at the proper time.