Theodore Rex - Edmund Morris [243]
The last stipulation, at least, was bound to be obeyed.
Roosevelt went on, staring hard at Witte. “I drink to the welfare and prosperity of the sovereigns and to the peoples of the two great nations whose representatives have met one another on this ship. It is my most earnest hope and prayer, in the interest not only of these two great powers, but of all civilized mankind, that a just and lasting peace may speedily be concluded between them.”
After the requisite hush and sipping, conversation continued with gradually increasing bonhomie. (“How is Madame Takahira?” “I hope the Baroness is well.”) A young reporter from the Sun syndicate, to whom Roosevelt had awarded one of the most prized exclusives in journalism, realized that all belligerents were human.
For the first time it was borne in upon me that wars were not only not necessary, but even ridiculous; that they were wholly man-made.… [I] questioned Socrates’ conclusion that to know the good is to practice it. Humanity is simply not built like that. Except for a few savage or half-savage tribes, we all know that war profits no one, that its only result in the world, in the words of Croesus, is that “In war the fathers bury their sons, whereas in peace the sons bury their fathers,”—the normal course. But we are no more normal than we are certain to practice the good if we know it. Those bits of wisdom from the Greek world are two and a half millennia old, but they only emphasize our persistent unwisdom.
When lunch was over, Roosevelt and his chief guests posed for a formal photograph. Some of the chagrin he had seemed to feel the previous day, for misjudging the Russians, made him place Witte and Rosen on his right. Or was it, more subtly, his intuition that when the dread indemnity question was raised, Witte would be the only negotiator wise enough to give in? Throughout the reception, he had been more amiable to Witte than to Komura.
The latter, dwarfed and sickly looking on the President’s left, remained impassive. But a camera caught an expression of real hurt on Takahira’s face.
AT TWENTY MINUTES to three, Roosevelt bade farewell to everyone, put his silk hat back on, and left the Mayflower, to another twenty-one-gun salute. His preliminary diplomatic work was done. The Japanese exited next, and were ferried to the Dolphin. Their counterparts remained aboard the much larger host ship, which hoisted Russian colors and prepared to sail for Portsmouth. A change in the displacement of the delegations would seem to have occurred. But the much smaller Dolphin weighed anchor first, as if determined to establish precedence. The Mayflower let her go, then followed at leisure. Witte and his aides reappeared on deck in light summer clothes.
“WHEN LUNCH WAS OVER, ROOSEVELT AND HIS CHIEF GUESTS POSED FOR A FORMAL PHOTOGRAPH.”
Left to right: Sergei Witte, Baron Rosen, the President, Baron Komura, and Ambassador Takahira, 5 August 1905 (photo credit 24.3)
That evening, a guest at Sagamore Hill thought the President looked weary but content. “I think we are off to a good start,” Roosevelt said, admitting that he had been afraid of making a slip during the day. “I know perfectly well that the whole world is watching me, and the condemnation that will come down on me, if the conference fails, will be world-wide too. But that’s all right.”
THE FIRST INDICATION that something had gone seriously wrong at Portsmouth came on Friday, 18 August, when Kentaro Kaneko hurried out to Oyster Bay from New York. The self-important Baron, who served as a messenger from Komura, was beginning to irritate reporters with his almost daily pilgrimages up Sagamore Hill. They suspected that Kaneko was none too bright. He could hardly order a cup of tea without mentioning his Harvard education, and reverently quoted the President’s aphorisms (“The railroad train is doubtless stronger than a bull, but that doesn’t say the train wants a bull on the track”) as if he understood them.
His news today, however, was urgent.