These are great days.  Their significance will not be realized for many years.  We are forming a close union with France and England.  The most impressive sight I have ever seen was that at Washington’s tomb last Sunday.  We went down on the Mayflower—­the French and the English commissions and the members of the Cabinet.  Viviani and Balfour spoke.  Joffre laid a bronze palm upon Washington’s tomb, then stood up in his soldierly way and stood at salute for a minute, Balfour laid a wreath of lilies upon the tomb, and leaned over as if in prayer.  Above the tomb, for the first time, flew the flag of another country than our own, the Stars and Stripes, and on either side, the British Jack and the French Tricolor.  This is a combination of the Democracies of the world against feudalism and autocracy.

I heard a story from one of Joffre’s aides.  Joffre, by the way, is the quietest, sweetest, most naive, and babylike individual I ever met.  All of the women, as well as the men, are in love with him.  When he met Nancy, at a garden party, he kissed her on both cheeks.  Nancy, as you may imagine, was ecstatically delighted.  This simple, grave, kindly soldier sat in his room while the Germans came marching upon Paris, saying nothing.  Every few minutes an aide would come in and move the French markers back upon the map, and the German markers forward, toward Paris.  Day after day he saw this advance, but said nothing.  At last when they came to the valley of the Marne, an aide came in and marked the map, showing that the Germans were within thirty miles of Paris.  Then Joffre quietly said, “This thing has gone far enough,” and taking up a pad of paper he called to his troops to stand fast and die upon the Marne, if necessary, to save France.  There is nothing finer than this in history.

Joffre has a skin like a baby.  He has the utmost frankness and simplicity of speech.  When McAdoo asked him at the White House if the present drive was satisfactory, he said in the most innocent way, “I am not there.”  Viviani, who is the head of the French Commission, is as jealous as a prima donna, terribly jealous of Joffre, (which makes Joffre feel most uncomfortable) because, of course, Joffre is the hero of the Marne.

I spoke at the Belasco Theatre the other day for the benefit of the French war relief fund, introducing Ambassador Herrick and the lecturer, a young Frenchman.  Joffre and Viviani were in a box.  Every mention of the name of Joffre brought the people to their feet.  Yesterday I spoke again at a meeting of the State Councils of Defense and I enclose you what the New York Post had to say.

Last night I dined with Balfour.  I have seen quite a little of him.  He is sixty-nine years old and stands about six feet two.  He is a perfect type of the aristocratic Englishman, with a charming smile.  His real heart is in the study of philosophy.  Anne sat next to him at dinner and he told her that he believed in a personal God, personal identity after death, and answer to prayer, which is a remarkable statement of faith for one who has lived through our scientific age.  I think at bottom he is a mystic.