The nature of Colonel Edward M. House was fully revealed by a story
of his youth, which he told me at Paris in the concluding moments
of the Peace Conference. He was elated and confident. The
compromises in which he delighted had been made. The gifts had all
been bestowed--of territory which men will have to fight for to
keep, of reparations which will never be paid, of alliances which
will never be carried out, of a League of Nations which the
Colonel's own Nation will never enter.
Looking the work over with that blindness with which men are struck
who are under the dominion of another and stronger man's mind, his
gentle soul was flooded with happiness. He was as near boasting as
one of his modest habits could be, as his mind turned to the wisdom
of his youth which had brought forth this excellent fruit.
"I got my first real sight of politics," he said, "when I was a boy
in Cornell University. My great chum there was young Morton, a son
of the Republican war governor of Indiana. The Hayes-Tilden
contest over the Presidency was being decided. Morton and I used to
run away from Ithaca to Washington during that absorbing fight. By
reason of his father's position in the Democratic party, he could
get in behind the scenes as few young men could; and he took me
with him. I saw the whole amazing thing. I made up my mind then and
there that only three or four men in this country counted, and that
there was little chance of rising to be one of those three or four
by the ordinary methods."
He was, when he said this, at the apex of his career, behind the
scenes of the greatest World Congress ever held, following the
greatest War the world had ever known. And he had been behind the
scenes as had no other man, in Europe as a privileged onlooker with
both belligerents, and in America as the confidant of tremendous
events.
He was there, as in his college days, at the Hayes-Tilden contest,
by grace of a friend whose influence had been sufficient to secure
him his opportunities. The parallel was in his mind, and he
regarded it with self-approval. He had chosen his course and chosen
it wisely. It had led him to the greatest peace-making in history.
There was a little more self-revelation. He and Morton had prepared
for college with Yale in view. But Morton had flunked his entrance
examinations at Yale and afterward succeeded in passing the Cornell
tests. House had gone to Cornell to be with his friend, an early
indication of a capacity for self-effacement, for attachment to the
nearest great man at hand who could take him behind the scenes.
The mystery of Colonel House is that he has been possessed all his
life, almost passionately, with that instinct which makes boys run
to fires. His fastening upon the favorably placed, whether it was
Morton in his youth, or Wilson in his maturity, was not ordinary
self-seeking, not having for its object riches or power or
influence. It was merely desire to see for the pure love of seeing.
His is a boundless curiosity about both men and events. His eyes
are the clue to his character. Boardman Robinson, with the
caricaturist's gift for catching that feature which exhibits
character, said to me one day during the War, "I just passed
Colonel House on the street. The most wonderful seeing eyes I ever
saw!"
Nature had made Colonel House all eyes--trivial in figure,
undistinguished, slightly ludicrous, almost shambling, shrinking
under observation so that he gained a reputation for mystery, with
only one feature to catch your attention, a most amazingly fine
pair of eyes. It was as if nature had concentrated on those eyes,
treating all the puny rest of him with careless indifference. They
are eyes that delight in seeing, eyes to seek a place in the first
row of the grand stand of world events, eyes that turn steadily
outward upon objective reality. Not the eyes of a visionary--House
got his visions of the brotherhood of man and the rest of it at
second-hand from Wilson--eyes that glow not with the internal fires
of a great soul, but with the intoxication of the spectacle.
And with the eyes nature had given House an unerring instinct for
getting where, with his small figure, he could see. The ego of the
passionate spectator is as peculiar as that of the book collector
or the curiosity hunter. Given a shoulder tall enough the
diminutive House perches upon it, like a small boy watching a
circus parade from his father's broad back, whether the shoulder be
Morton's in his youth, or Wilson's in his maturity.
Some have tried to explain House by saying that he had the vanity
of loving familiarity with the great; but I doubt if House cared
for kings, as kings, any more than a bibliomaniac cares for jade.
He wanted to see; and kings were merely tall objects on which to
perch and regard the spectacle.
He remained simple and unaffected by his contacts with Europe, did
none of the vulgar aping of the toady, coming away from the Peace
Conference an unconscious provincial, who said "Eye-talian" in the
comic-paper way, and Fiume pronouncing the first syllable as if he
were exclaiming "Fie! for shame!"--an unspoiled Texan who must have
cared as little what kings and potentates thought of him as a
newsboy watching a baseball game cares for the accidental company
of a bank president.
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. The amiable
William Allen White hit off his disposition perfectly when he said
House's daily prayer was, "Give us this day our daily compromise."
When he split a hair between the south and southwest side, it was
not for logistic pleasure; it was to divide it with splendid
justice and send each of two rival claimants away happy in the
possession of exactly half of the slender filament, so that neither
would be empty handed. I never saw a man so overjoyed as he was one
day late in April or early in May when M. Clemenceau had left his
rooms in the Hotel Crillon with the promise of Franco-American
defensive alliance.
"The old man," he said, "is very happy. He has got what he has been
after. I can't tell you just now what it is. But he has got it at
last."
He had been the donor, for Mr. Wilson, of the exact southwest side
of a hair, the promise to submit, without recommendations, an
alliance to the United States Senate, which had little prospect of
ever being accepted by this country. The sight of the French
Premier's happiness made him radiant.
It was not merely because representatives of foreign governments
found Colonel House easy to see when they could not gain access to
President Wilson that kept a throng running to his quarters in the
Crillon; it was because there they found the line of least
resistance. There was the readiest sympathy. There was the greatest
desire to accommodate. He sought always for a formula that would
satisfy the claims of all.
A man so ready to compromise is actuated by no guiding principle.
Mr. Scott, the editor of the "Manchester Guardian", said when
President Wilson was in England; "Yes, Lloyd George is honestly for
the League of Nations. But that won't prevent him from doing things
at Paris which will be utterly inconsistent with the principle of
such a league. It isn't intellectual dishonesty; but Lloyd George
hasn't a logical mind. He doesn't understand the implications of
his own position."
Neither did Colonel House at Paris. The League of Nations was an
emotion with him, not a principle. It was a tremendous emotion. He
spoke of it in a voice that almost broke. I remember his glowing
eyes and the little catch in his throat as he said, at Paris, "The
politicians don't like the League of Nations. And if they really
knew what it would do to them, they would like it still less."
But, for all that naive faith in the wonders it would do, Colonel
House had not thought out the League of Nations, and was quite
incapable of thinking it out, for he is not a man of analytical
mind; and what mental power he had was inhibited by the glow of his
feelings. His temperature was above the thinking point. Thus, like
Mr. Lloyd George, he could make compromises that played ducks and
drakes with his general position, since he had no real
understanding of the League, which was not an intellectual
conviction with him, arduously arrived at, but which possessed his
soul as by an act of grace, like an old-fashioned religious
conversion.
He was loyal at heart to Mr. Wilson and to everything that was Mr.
Wilson's, his mind being absorbed into Mr. Wilson's, and having no
independent existence. There are natures which demand an utter and
unquestioning loyalty in those to whom they yield their confidence,
and Mr. Wilson's was of that sort, as a remark of his about
Secretary Colby will indicate.
When Mr. Lansing was removed from office, the country was astounded
to learn that he was to be succeeded by Bainbridge Colby. The
President communicated his decision first to one of the few who
then had access to his sick room. This adviser ventured to
expostulate.
"Mr. Colby," he said, "is brilliant, but he is uncertain. His whole
career has lacked stability. He is not known to have the qualities
which the Nation has been taught to expect in a Secretary of
State."
"At any rate," replied the President sharply, "he is loyal."
At any rate, Colonel House was loyal.
The ego of Mr. Wilson demanded and received utter loyalty from him,
a loyalty that forbade thinking, forbade criticism, forbade
independence of any sort. Moreover, Colonel House was in contact
with a mind much stronger than his, with a personality much more
powerful than his. He was caught into the Wilson orbit. He revolved
about Mr. Wilson. He got his light from Mr. Wilson, who had that
power, which Colonel Roosevelt had, of irradiating minor
personalities. Colonel House was nothing until he gravitated to Mr.
Wilson. He is going back to be nothing to-day, nothing but a kind,
lovable man, a gentle soul rather unfitted for the world, with an
extraordinary capacity for friendship and sympathy, and that fine
pair of eyes.
I remember at Paris the affecting evidences of the little man's
loyalty to his great friend, of whom he could not speak without
emotion. He was never tired of dilating upon the wonder of
President Wilson's mind:
"I never saw," he would say, "so quick a mind, with such a capacity
for instant understanding. The President can go to the bottom of
the most difficult question as no one else in the world can."
House's endless "formulae" always bore the self-effacing condition,
"if Mr. Wilson approves." "If Mr. Wilson approves" was the D. V. of
Colonel House's religion. Too much awe of another mind is not good
for your own, or carries with it certain implications about your
own.
Colonel House's loyalty to Mr. Wilson did not, however, make him
hate the men at Paris who stood across the President's path. The
personal representative's heart was too catholic for that. He--
Liked what e're he looked on
And his looks went everywhere.
He had a kindly feeling for the "old man," Clemenceau. He was a
warm friend of Orlando, with whom Mr. Wilson had his quarrel over
Fiume. He though well of Lloyd George, whom Mr. Wilson went abroad
hating.
The Peace Conference was to him a personal problem. Peace was peace
between Wilson and Clemenceau and Lloyd George and Orlando.
Compromises were an accommodation among friends.
I never saw a man so utterly distressed as he was when President
Wilson threatened to break up the Peace Conference and sent for the
George Washington to take him home from Brest. It was as if his own
dearest friends had become involved in a violent quarrel. He did
not see the incident in terms of the principles involved, but only
as the painful interruption of kindly personal relations. Men speak
of him sometimes as the one of our commissioners who knew Europe;
and Europeans, appreciating his sympathy, have fostered this idea
by referring to his understanding of European problems.
But the Europe Colonel House knew was a personal Europe. The
countries on his map were Lloyd George, Clemenceau, and Orlando.
The problems of his Europe were Lloyd George, Clemenceau, and
Orlando. He knew what Lloyd George wanted. He knew what Clemenceau
wanted. He knew what Orlando wanted. That was enough.
His kindness of heart, his desire for pleasant personal relations,
his incapacity to think in terms of principles, whether of the
League of Nations or not, betrayed him in the matter of Shantung.
Whether the Peace Conference should return Shantung to China, or
leave it to Japan to return to China was to him, he often said,
"only a question of method. There is no principle involved." The
Japanese were a sensitive people, why should a kind heart question
the excellence of their intentions with respect to China? Shantung
would of course be returned. It was only a question of how.
The simple heart of Colonel House did not save him, either as a
diplomat or as a friend. The failures at Paris plunged Mr. Wilson
into depression in which he went as far down into the valley as he
had been up on the heights during his vision--of a world made
better by his hand. In his darker moments he saw nothing but enmity
and disloyalty about him--even, a little later, "usurpation" in the
case of the timorous and circumspect Mr. Lansing.
Colonel House says that he does not yet know what caused the breach
between the President and himself. Relations stopped; that was all.
This is what occurred: Shortly after Colonel House had convinced
the President that the disposal of Shantung was only a question of
method he disappeared from Paris "to take a rest"; and it became
known that after all he was not to sit in the Council of the League
of Nations representing America, as Mr. Wilson had originally
intended.
At this time, a close friend of President Wilson and one of his
most intimate advisers, said to me, "The most insidious influence
here is the social influence."
British entertainment of members of the House family had been
marked and assiduous, and the flattery had had its effect, though
not probably upon the Colonel, who remained unspoiled by social
contacts to the last. Nevertheless, a member of Mr. Wilson's family
had called the President's attention to the social forces that the
British were bringing to bear. The President by this time was in a
mood to be made angry and suspicious. Doubt was lodged in his mind.
And when he found this country critical of the Shantung settlement,
that doubt became a conviction; the British through social
attentions, had wheedled House into a position favorable to their
allies, the Japanese. The loyal House was convicted of the one
unforgivable offense, disloyalty.
When the casting off of House became, later, in this country
unmistakable, I inquired regarding it of the friend and adviser of
the President whom I have just mentioned, and he repeated to me,
forgetting that he used them before, the exact words he had said at
Paris, "The most insidious influence at the Peace Conference was
the social influence."
The most insidious influence with Colonel House was the kindness of
his own heart. He had too many friends. His view of international
relations was too personal. Principles will make a man hard, cold,
and unyielding, and Colonel House had no principles, or had them
only parrot-like from Mr. Wilson. He was the human side of the
President, who for those contacts which his office demanded had
found a human side necessary and accordingly annexed the amiable
Texan.
Wilson's human side had offended him, and he cut it off,
accordingly to the scriptural injunction against the offending
right hand. The act was cruel, but it was just, as just as the
dismissal of Mr. Lansing; for House failed Wilson at Paris, being
one of Wilson's greatest sources of weakness there. His excessive
optimism, his kindheartedness, his credulity, his lack of
independence of mind, his surrender of his imagination to a
stronger imagination, his conception of politics not as morals but
as the adjustment of personal differences, left Wilson without a
capable critical adviser at the Conference.
When House talked to Wilson, it was a weaker Wilson talking to the
real Wilson. Colonel House in retirement and since the breach, is
still Colonel House, kindhearted and unobtrusive. He has seen, and
he is satisfied. He has a fine and perhaps half-unconscious loyalty
to the great man from whose shoulders he surveyed the world. His is
an ego that brushes itself off readily after a fall and asks for no
alms of sympathy.
He does not, like Mr. Lansing, fill five hundred octavo pages with
"I told you so," and you can not conceive of his using that form of
self-justification.
I hope to see him some day playing Santa Claus in a children's
Christmas celebration at a village church!