was good enough to enumerate the reasons why it should be realized, and the way in which it must be worked.  I was greatly impressed by what he said.”  “Just fancy!” exclaimed a colleague, “wasting all that time in talking about a scheme which will never come to anything!” But M. Venizelos knew that the time was not misspent.  President Wilson was at first nowise disposed to lend a favorable ear to the claims of Greece, which he thought exorbitant, and down to the very last he gave his support to Bulgaria against Greece whole-heartedly.  The Cretan statesman passed many an hour of doubt and misgiving before he came within sight of his goal.  But he contrived to win the President over to his way of envisaging many Oriental questions.  He is a past-master in practical psychology.

The first experiments of M. Venizelos, however, were not wholly encouraging.  For all the care he lavished on the chief luminaries of the Conference seemingly went to supplement their education and fill up a few of the geographical, historical, philological, ethnological, and political gaps in their early instruction rather than to guide them in their concrete decisions, which it was expected would be always left to the “commissions of experts.”  But the fruit which took long to mature ripened at last, and Greece had many of her claims allowed.  Thus in reorganizing the communities of the world the personal factor played a predominant part.  Venizelos was, so to say, a fixed star in the firmament, and his light burned bright through every rift in the clouds.  His moderation astonished friends and opponents.  Every one admired his expose of his case as a masterpiece.  His statesman-like setting, in perspective, the readiness with which he put himself in the place of his competitor and struck up a fair compromise, endeared him to many, and his praises were in every one’s mouth.  His most critical hour—­it lasted for months—­struck when he found himself struggling with the President of the United States, who was for refusing the coast of Thrace to Greece and bestowing it on Bulgaria.  But with that dispute I deal in another place.

Of Italy’s two plenipotentiaries during the first five months one was the most supple and the other the most inflexible of her statesmen, Signor Orlando and Baron Sonnino.  If her case was presented to the Conference with less force than was attainable, the reasons are obvious.  Her delegates had a formal treaty on which they relied; to the attitude of their country from the outbreak of the war to its finish they rightly ascribed the possibility of the Allies’ victory, and they expected to see this priceless service recognized practically; the moderation and suppleness of Signor Orlando were neutralized by the uncompromising attitude of Baron Sonnino, and, lastly, the gaze of both statesmen was fixed upon territorial questions and sentimental aspirations to the neglect of economic interests vital to the state—­in other words, they beheld the issues in wrong perspective.