Eleanor and Franklin

by Joseph P. Lash

  It was easy to underestimate Daniels, and Franklin did. The secretary’s porkpie hat, string tie, and country-editor pleasantries gave him a look of rustic innocence, but underneath there was stubborn character and coherent conviction, and his feeling for power and how to hold onto it was just as strong as his ambitious young aide’s. If Franklin raged impatiently against Josephus in the privacy of the N Street dining room, Bill Phillips felt equally strongly about his chief, William Jennings Bryan, who was Daniels’ closest political associate. Both secretaries were pacifists, and neither was willing to look at his department through the eyes of its career men—the professional diplomats at State, the admirals at Navy.

  To Daniels, navalist meant imperialist, while Franklin was an early disciple of Alfred Thayer Mahan, the great theoretician of sea power in relation to world politics. The admirals considered Franklin a sympathetic soul and cultivated him enthusiastically. The outbreak of war seventeen months after he joined the Navy Department brought Franklin’s impatience with the secretary to a boiling point. If Eleanor had misgivings about her husband’s hawkish views, she suppressed them and sided with him in the controversies he had with Daniels over the size and pace at which the Navy should be built and the aggressiveness with which the United States should assert its maritime rights against Germany.

  The coming of the war shook the foundations of the world in which Franklin and Eleanor had grown up. To Caroline Phillips it seemed “like the end of the world.”4 Like Caroline, Eleanor watched gloomily as diplomatic efforts to damp down the blaze that had been kindled at Sarajevo yielded to inflammatory ultimatums and intimidating mobilizations. “It does seem unthinkable that such a struggle should take place,” she wrote her husband from Campobello, where she was awaiting the birth of the second Franklin Jr., and comforting her French and English household help, whose relatives were being called to the colors. “I wonder if war can be averted,” she wrote on August 2. War in fact had already begun, and a long letter Franklin wrote her that same day described the situation at the department. He had

  found everything asleep and apparently utterly oblivious to the fact that the most terrible drama in history was about to be enacted. . . . These dear good people like W.J.B. and J.D. have as much conception of what a general European war means as Elliott has of higher mathematics. They really believe that because we are neutral we can go about our business as usual. . . .

  “I am not surprised at what you say about J.D. or W.J.B. for one could expect little else,” she wrote back. “To understand the present gigantic conflict one must have at least a glimmering of understanding of foreign nations and their histories. I hope you will succeed in getting the Navy together and up to the mark for I think we’re going to need its moral support.”

  Franklin thought a long drawn-out struggle could be averted: “I hope England will join in and with France and Russia force peace at Berlin!” Eleanor concurred, and wrote, “The only possible quick solution to me seems the banding together of France, Russia and England and then only if England can gain the decisive victory at sea.” Three days later a harried Franklin wrote again: “I am running the real work, although Josephus is here! He is bewildered by it all, very sweet but very sad!” Eleanor’s reply was sympathetic: “I can see you managing everything while J.D. wrings his hands in horror. There must be so much detail to attend to all the time and so many problems which must, of course, be yours and not J.D.’s.”5

  Over at State the Phillipses were equally discontented with Bryan. William was working sixteen hours a day while “Mr. Bryan spends his time talking local politics with Senators and Congressmen,” Caroline recorded, “and has not the slightest realization of the importance of this momentous struggle in Europe, consequently the whole initiative falls on William’s and Mr. Robert Lansing’s, the Counselor, shoulders. Without the latter, William would really be quite alone.”6

  The illusion persisted that the war might be ended quickly. The captain of the Half Moon told Eleanor of a rumor about a big naval battle in which thirty-seven German and six English ships had been sunk. “What a horrible loss of life, if true. One can only hope such a disaster will end the war,” Eleanor wrote Franklin, who replied that he was disappointed “that England had been unable to force a naval action—of course it is the obvious course for Germany to hold her main fleet back and try to wear out the blockading enemy with torpedo and submarine attacks in foggy and night conditions.”

  As the hopes of a quick Allied victory faded, the dreadful consequences of a prolonged struggle loomed larger in Eleanor’s mind. “I fear whichever side wins it will be a fearful slaughter,” she wrote her husband, adding, “the Belgians have certainly done wonders.” She was pro-Ally.

  Germany’s militarism and its intrigues in the Caribbean, especially in Mexico, the refusal of the Central Powers to submit the Serbian question to arbitration, the invasion of Belgium, despite treaty pledges, and Belgium’s “glorious and unexpected resistance,” as Franklin put it, all served to turn most Americans into Allied sympathizers, even though the country generally supported Wilson in his proclamation of complete neutrality. In the fervidly pro-Ally circles in which the Roosevelts moved, however, there was less sympathy for the president’s subsequent plea that Americans should be neutral in thought as well as in action.

  When Franklin lunched with Sir Cecil Spring-Rice at the Metropolitan Club, he informed Eleanor, the German ambassador, Count Johann Heinrich von Bernstorff, was at the next table “trying to hear what we were talking about. . . . I just know I shall do some unneutral thing before I get through.” Eleanor also disdained Wilson’s plea for impartiality of thought. Sara was always passing on the latest anti-German tidbit; she had heard, for example, that “the big gray building of the German Brothers across the river from Hyde Park (North of it) is full of ammunition.”

  Eleanor was still in touch with a German schoolmate, Carola von Passavant, whose brother had stayed with her and Franklin during a visit to the States just before the war broke out. In January, 1915, Carola wrote Eleanor:

  Although this war is most terrible, it also makes us feel proud and happy, as it shows clearly all the good qualities, mental and physical strength of our nation. I do not know whether the feelings in America are with us, or against us now. I wonder what sort of an opinion you have formed about the Germans in this war?

  Usually the promptest of correspondents, Eleanor delayed her reply until May 14, when she wrote:

  . . . you asked questions which I did not just know how to answer. . . . This whole war seems to me too terrible. Of course it brings out in every nation wonderful, fine qualities for it calls for self-sacrifice and unselfishness, two qualities which are not apt to shine in uneventful and prosperous times but every people believes that it is right! War also brings out in all nations certain qualities which are not beautiful and I wish it could be wiped from the face of the earth though I recognize that in our present state of civilization there comes a time when every people must fight or lose its self-respect. I feel that it is almost too much to expect that we shall be spared when there is so much sorrow and suffering in so many countries abroad.

  As to the opinions we have formed of the Germans in the war, I can only speak for myself, for my husband as you know is a member of the government and not allowed to express any opinions, but I think among the people here there is great respect for the people of Germany and also for the wonderful efficiency and preparedness of her army. Sympathy is pretty well divided I think on both sides but I think Count Bernstorff has been unfortunate in talking too much at first and though Dr. Dernburg has made very able speeches he has alienated many who felt he was trying to appeal to the popular sympathy over the heads of the Government. Just now you know the feeling is very tense but I cannot help hoping some understanding may be reached. . . .

  The tense feeling to which Eleanor referred was over Germany’s U-boat campaign. A week earlier, a German submarine had sunk the Lusitania on the high seas, with a l
oss of twelve hundred noncombatants, including 120 Americans. The United States was shocked and angered. Theodore Roosevelt wanted to go to war, and when Wilson said, “There is such a thing as a man being too proud to fight,” Roosevelt accused him of cowardice and weakness. The Wilson cabinet was divided between Bryan, who favored compromise and arbitration, and those who favored strong action to compel Germany to end submarine warfare against unarmed merchantmen. On June 8, Bryan resigned to head a countrywide peace campaign.

  “What d’y’ think of W. Jay B?” Franklin wrote his wife. “It’s all too long to write about, but I can only say I’m disgusted clear through. J.D. will not resign!” Their letters crossed. “I’m so glad Bryan is out,” Eleanor commented, “but I can’t help admiring his sticking to his principles. How about J.D. I wonder, and how would his resignation affect you! It is all most exciting but above all how will this affect the German question?”7 In her autobiography two decades later Eleanor wrote that Bryan’s pacifism had appealed to her and that she was one of the few people in official Washington who had not laughed at the miniature plowshares made out of old melted-down swords that he sent around: “Anti-war germs must have been in me even then.”8 That is clear, too, from her letter to Carola. There were women who went considerably further, who not only actively preserved their detachment but, impressed with war’s futility, sought a peace without victory. In 1915 an international women’s congress met at The Hague, under the presidency of Jane Addams, and outlined a peace platform that was the forerunner of Wilson’s Fourteen Points. There were forty-seven women in the U.S. delegation, including Dr. Alice Hamilton and Professor Emily Balch, but such movements and actions were still outside Eleanor’s ken. Her husband was a leader of the preparedness faction within the government, and she was vigorously pro-Ally, as were her friends. Sir Cecil Spring-Rice was contemptuous of Bryan, whom he portrayed as sighing for the Nobel Prize. German policy, moreover, affronted American feelings.

  Anger over the Lusitania had scarcely begun to subside when the White Star Liner Arabic was torpedoed without warning. “An outrage,” commented Eleanor, adding the next day, “We are all wondering whether there are to be more words or action of some sort over the Arabic. The Germans are certainly not treating us with great consideration!”9 Franklin thought the president would act, he replied, “as soon as we can get the facts. But it seems very hard to wait until Germany tells us her version and I personally doubt if I should be quite so polite.”

  “I think we have a little too much patience with Germany, don’t you,” Eleanor wrote back. Sara, as usual, was more emphatic. “I feel a little as T.R. feels, in fact a good deal,” she wrote her son, adding shortly afterward, “there is one thing that he [Wilson] must remember—the time for dealings with the German criminals is over. Diplomatic relations with Germany are henceforth impossible.” But the German government retreated. It disavowed the Arabic sinking and revealed that its submarine commanders had been ordered not to sink passenger liners without warning or making sure of the safety of noncombatants.

  The U-boat crisis converted Wilson into an advocate of preparedness, vindicating a position that Franklin had long held, particularly with regard to the fleet. His strong feelings on the issue had in fact brought him close to insubordination. “He was young then and made some mistakes,” Daniels wrote in 1944. “Upon reflection, although I was older, I made mistakes too.”10

  While Eleanor and Franklin had sympathized with Theodore’s demands in 1915 for a tough line against Germany, they had serious reservations about Uncle Ted’s politics in 1916. At the Republican convention that year, Theodore made his peace with the party. Although the nomination of Charles Evans Hughes on a platform of “straight and honest” neutrality represented a rejection of both his leadership and his policy of interventionism, Theodore supported the Republican ticket. When a relative said that Uncle Ted in 1916 had shown himself to be a bigger and a finer man than ever before, Eleanor could only express her astonishment. At the time Theodore was abandoning the progressives, Wilson was pushing through Congress most of the planks that Roosevelt had advocated in 1912. The mood of the country was fiercely noninterventionist. The Democrats answered Hughes’ slogan of neutrality with the cry “He kept us out of war,” and ardent progressives as well as Socialists swung over to Wilson. The election was one of the closest in U.S. history, but Eleanor thought Wilson was certain to lose.

  Eleanor was at Hyde Park with the children as the election drew to a close. The Lanes and Millers were there, too, at Sara’s invitation. (Lane called Sara “the ducal lady” and Franklin “the lord lover.”) Sara was at her most gracious, and Lane reported that they all had “an exquisite time” before they left Eleanor and her children to go to New York City to hear the returns at headquarters.

  It was a gloomy night for Democrats; Hughes appeared to be elected when Lane and Roosevelt left the dispirited gathering to return to Washington. But the next day it turned out that the western states were ranged in the Wilson column, and the outlook had altered drastically. “What a close and exciting election,” Eleanor wrote her husband, “and all weighing now apparently on California. I can’t help feeling Hughes will win in the end but it won’t be such a walkover as it appeared to be.” To Franklin this was “the most extraordinary day” in his life. “After last night, Wilson may be elected after all,” and if he was, Franklin intended to wire his conservative Uncle Warren Delano, who was violently “agin the government,” that “the Republican Party has proved to its own satisfaction I hope that the American people cannot always be bought.” Then in a postscript addressed as much to himself as to Eleanor, he added, “I hope to God I don’t grow reactionary with advancing years.”

  Despite Wilson’s victory, 1916 ended, Eleanor said, with a sense everywhere of impending catastrophe.11 Franklin was more and more outspokenly interventionist. “We’ve got to get into the war,” he would say to Daniels, who invariably answered, “I hope not.”12 When, on January 22, 1917, Wilson called for a negotiated settlement, a “peace without victory,” and an organized postwar order based on self-determination, disarmament, and freedom of the seas, Eleanor, in a departure from Franklin’s interventionism, was enthusiastic. “I think the Allies are wild but it may be successful,” she wrote Sara.13 Spring-Rice was cynical about Wilson’s motives: “Peace under the President’s auspices must mean the permanent glory of the Democratic party in the person of its head.”14

  Germany spared the Allies the necessity of formally rejecting Wilson’s bid by resuming unrestricted submarine warfare. On February 3, the president, while not completely abandoning his hopes of a peace without victory, announced a break in relations with Germany. Ambassador Bernstorff was handed his passports.

  Franklin, meanwhile, had been sent to the Caribbean to inspect the Marine operations in Haiti and Santo Domingo and to determine whether the approaches to the Panama Canal were wholly secure. Haiti was not entirely pacified and evidently there was some danger in going there—or so Eleanor thought. Franklin was tired and needed the change, she wrote Sara; “also it is good for all men, young men especially, I imagine, to occasionally do something with the spice of risk in it otherwise they lose the love of it and Franklin hadn’t had a chance for a long time now!”

  This was another side of Eleanor. She was the daughter of her father, with a taste for adventure and a desire to feel not only the balm but the tang of life. Soon there would be hardship and danger enough for everyone.

  When Wilson broke relations with Germany, Daniels ordered Roosevelt to return to Washington “at once.” But throughout February and March Wilson continued to debate whether or not to declare war. He felt that war was inevitable, but the cost would be so great and the responsibility so heavy that he wanted it to be clear to the world that Germany left no other course open to him.

  Daniels shared the president’s feelings. “If any man in official life ever faced the agony of Gethsemane, I was the man in the first four months of 1917,” he la
ter wrote. “From the very beginning of the war in Europe I had resisted every influence that was at work to carry the United States into the war.” Roosevelt felt that Wilson had the power to arm merchant vessels without congressional authorization, as did Lane. “We wait and wait,” Lane wrote his brother on February 16. “Daniels said we must not convoy—that would be dangerous. (Think of a Secretary of the Navy talking of danger!)”15 In his diary Roosevelt noted on March 9, “White House statement that Wilson has power to arm and inference that he will use it. J.D. says he will by Monday. Why doesn’t President say so without equivocation?”

  Again, Germany took the decision out of the president’s hands with the Zimmerman telegram, which instructed the German representative in Mexico City to propose an alliance with Mexico in the event the United States entered the war, in return for which Mexico would receive “the lost territory in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona.” Fury swept both the country and the administration. On March 18 German submarines torpedoed three American vessels. Two days later the cabinet, including Daniels, advised Wilson to ask Congress for a declaration of war. “The Cabinet is at last a unit,” Lane wrote. But the president, he added, “goes unwillingly.” So did Daniels.

  Congress was summoned to meet on April 2 “to receive a communication concerning grave matters.” It rained on April 2, “a soft, fragrant rain of early spring,” Wilson’s son-in-law, William G. McAdoo, noted. The president’s address was equal to the solemnity of the moment. There was no alternative to war, he explained. Autocracy was the foe of liberty, and “the world must be made safe for democracy.”

  . . . It is a fearful thing to lead this great peaceful people, into the most terrible and disastrous of all wars, civilization itself seeming to be in the balance. But the right is more precious than peace, and we shall fight for the things which we have always carried nearest our hearts. . . .