The world has been good to Colonel House, according to his
standards. He has realized his ambition to the fullest. Life has
given him all he wanted, the privilege of seeing, more abundantly
than to any other in his generation, perhaps in all time; for he is
history's greatest spectator.
He is glad. His heart is full. He wishes to give in return. He is
the kindest-hearted man who has ever had empires at his disposal.
He wants to give, give, give. He wants to make happy. He was the
fairy godmother of Europe, the diplomatic Carnegie, who thought it
a disgrace to die diplomatically rich.
For many months I saw him almost daily at Paris. His was a heart of
gold, whether in personal or international relations; but a heart
of gold does not make a great negotiator. Perverse and
nationalistic races of men, incredulous of the millenium, keep
their hearts of gold at home when they go out to deal with their
neighbors.
It was difficult for Colonel House to say no. He might go so far as
to utter the first letter of that indispensable monosyllable; but
before he accomplished the vowel, his mind would turn to some happy
"formula" passing midway between no and yes. He was fertile in
these expedients. Daily he would talk of some new "formula," for
Fiume, for Dantzig, for the Saar Valley, for the occupation of the
Rhine, for Shantung, always happily, always hopefully.
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