rests upon the hegemony of the English-speaking communities of the world, whereas the former were based upon the balance of power.  So immense a change could not be effected without discreetly throwing out as useless ballast some of the highly prized dogmas of the accepted political creeds, even at the cost of impairing the solidarity of the Latin races.  This was effected incidentally.  As a matter of fact, the French are not, properly speaking, a Latin race, nor has their solidarity with Italy or Spain ever been a moving political force in recent times.  Italy’s refusal to fight side by side with her Teuton allies against France and her backers may conceivably be the result of racial affinities, but it has hardly ever been ascribed to that sentimental source.  Sentiment in politics is a myth.  In any case, M. Clemenceau discerned no pressing reason for making painful efforts to perpetuate the Latin union, while solicitude for national interests hindered him from making costly concessions to it.

Naturally the cardinal innovation of which this was a corollary was never invoked as the ground for any of the exceptional measures adopted by the Conference.  And yet it was the motive for several, for although no allusion was made to the hegemony of Anglo-Saxondom, it was ever operative in the subconsciousness of the two plenipotentiaries.  And in view of the omnipotence of these two nations, they temporarily sacrificed consistency to tactics, probably without conscientious qualms, and certainly without political misgivings.  That would seem to be a partial explanation of the lengths to which the Conference went in the direction of concessions to the Great Powers’ imperialist demands.  France asked to be recognized and treated as the personification of that civilization for which the Allied peoples had fought.  And for many reasons, which it would be superfluous to discuss here, a large part of her claim was allowed.  This concession was attacked by many as connoting a departure from principle, but the deviation was more apparent than real, for under all the wrappings of idealistic catchwords lay the primeval doctrine of force.  The only substantial difference between the old system and the new was to be found in the wielders of the force and the ends to which they intended to apply it.  Force remains the granite foundation of the new ordering, as it had been of the old.  But its employment, it was believed, would be different in the future from what it had been in the past.  Concentrated in the hands of the English-speaking peoples, it would become so formidable a weapon that it need never be actually wielded.  Possession of overwhelmingly superior strength would suffice to enforce obedience to the decrees of its possessors, which always will, it is assumed, be inspired by equity.  An actual trial of strength would be obviated, therefore, at least so long as the relative military and economic conditions of the world states underwent no sensible change.  To this extent the war specter would be exorcised and trying abuses abolished.