Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

6. Versailles

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"Destructive forces sat at the Peace Table. The future of twenty-six jealous European races were there. The genes of a thousand years of inbred hate and fear of every generation were in their blood. Revenge for past wrongs rose every hour of the day."

—Herbert Hoover, The Dark Valley

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June 28, 1919

Palace of Versailles

Versailles, France

The Treaty of Versailles was finally signed. A castration in all but name, it stripped Germany of its military and imposed the harshest economic reparations the world had ever known. It was widely criticized on the world stage, but for some, it didn't go far enough.

"Allemagne is dead to me," France murmured into his wine glass.

I lifted my head from the poofy cushions of my sofa, which sat across from his. A glass of whisky was cradled precariously in my hands, and my eyelids were heavy. "I've heard this before..."

"I mean it," he snapped. "I pray for his death every day."

I winced and yielded back. The United States' reluctance to join the Great War led to a fraction of the casualties suffered by the other Allies in the trenches of Europe. France in particular had the heaviest losses—over a million. Due to the new and horrifying technologies of modern warfare, it was the bloodiest war ever fought to date.

"That's not how we prevent the next war," England said from his armchair across the room. His cigar hand was propped casually on his knee.

France's eyes shot to him hawkishly. "They won't get the chance."

Italy, who sat next to me on the sofa, cleared his throat. "I've heard Germania is very ill in Berlin," he said tentatively. "Is it true?"

All three of us glanced at him in surprise.

"Where did you hear that?" England asked.

"Ehm..." Italy shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "From Austria."

Realizing that he had stepped on a landmine, I looked away and adjusted my beaded headband. I saw France sit up and lean forward out of the corner of my eye.

"How could you speak to that traitor?" he exploded. "That witch?"

His voice echoed in the vast sitting room. I stared at the amber liquid in my glass as Italy stuttered like a scolded child. His youth and inexperience were on full display.

"Come now, France, he's setting a good example," England interjected. "At the end of the day, they are still our neighbors."

France sent daggers with his eyes. "As foolish as ever, Angleterre."

During a moment of silence, I finally worked up the courage to add my voice. "One thing is certain. Germany will not be hearing from me anytime soon."

"He will never be hearing from me," France swore with a spiteful frown.

England tilted his head in thought. "Perhaps in a few months."

Italy remained silent, creating an awkward moment. It was clear that he had already sent some correspondence to Germany.

"It's no wonder that we all hate him now. He brought it on himself," I continued, gesturing with my glass. "In fact, I haven't hated someone so much since, well..."