Wilson, at his postwar triumphs in Paris, London, and Rome, had conveyed something like this, but only briefly: “[I]t disappeared quickly and left a terrible feeling of disenchantment.” He’d been the kind of leader who, possessed by a “bright, coherent dream, . . . understands neither people nor events,” and hence is able “to ignore a good deal of what goes on outside him.” The weak and the vacillating may find “relief and peace and strength” in following such a person, “to whom all issues are clear, whose universe consists entirely of primary colors, mostly black and white, and who marches
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