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One factor making for U. S. prosperity and political freedom was that in the period of greatest U. S. growth the seas were under democratic control. Although U. S. -British cooperation is suspect in the U. S. because it "obviously operates to the benefit of the British Commonwealth and not so obviously to the benefit of the U. S.," Lord Lothian believes that the issue would be clear when the U. S. understood what control of the sea by totalitarian powers would mean. "Do you suppose for one moment that if Nazi Germany or Communist Russia obtained control of the seas, the world would be any thing like as free as it was during the period of British control?" But Lord Lothian is not sanguine about the possibility of the U. S. acting with any other power. Says he: If the U. S. decides to act, it will be because she feels her vital interests require it, "and she is far more likely to proceed by the method of unilateral declaration of policy, involving no commitment to anybody else, as she did in the case of the Monroe Doctrine, than by any kind of alliance with or pledge to any other country."
Climax. When he arrived in Washington, Lord Lothian threw open the diplomatic windows, beat the dust out of some old customs, hung some diplomatic taboos out on the line in plain sight of the neighbors. He held a press conference after his first visit to the White House as Ambassador, talked freely with reporters, broadened the circle of Embassy guests from the traditional group of highly placed Government officials who are also social, made contacts with New Dealers as well as with old Rhodes Scholars. Except for a little sniping, he has not been criticized as a propagandist, has been mildly criticized 1) because he is reputed to be too often at the State Department and 2) has presented Britain's case in terms that are more effective to intellectuals than to businessmen.
Washington is still a city of strain for any Ambassador, no matter how great his personal success, and last week Lord Lothian was feeling the strain. As knowledge of the extent of the French collapse swept over the diplomatic colony, feeling was summed up in a phrase: "Now there is only one Ally." As Lord Lothian drove to the State Department he passed the Czech Legation, where sad-looking Minister Vladimir Hurban still lives. Next door to it the old Austrian Legation was gone, its Minister now a Georgetown University professor and his wife the local representative of a dress company. The Danish Legation, which moved into the same building, is still open, its Minister refusing to recognize the Government in Copenhagen. Polish Ambassador Count Jerzy Potocki rides in the day coach, has part of his staff live at the Embassy to save rent. The Norwegian Minister still lunches weekly with the Ministers of Finland, Denmark and Sweden, and each fortnight these four are joined by Belgium's Ambassador and the Minister of The Netherlands. French Ambassador Count de Saint-Quentin has nothing to say.
In this city of strain Lord Lothian last week moved less like the last of the Ambassadors, presenting his country's desperate case, than like the spokesman of a cause that will never be homeless as long as the English tongue survives.