(He takes his leave. The others follow him with their eyes. The President gives a half laugh.)
Wilson: Ah, if one could only add to the good qualities one’s friends possess, the good qualities one would have them possess.... (He sighs). These Commissions (holding up the papers he has signed), they’re all in order now?
Tumulty: Yes, Governor.
Wilson: Deliver them yourself. (He reads out the names as he hands them over.) House ... Lansing ... White.
The Scene Closes.
Scene II.
—Wilson’s house in the Place des Etats Unis, Paris, in the year 1919. A spring morning. The windows of the room look out upon an old-world square—made safe for democracy by American detectives.
Woodrow Wilson sits in a deep armchair by the table. His colleagues Clemenceau, David Lloyd George and Orlando are grouped around him.
Wilson: Gentlemen, a little merriment would season our labours. (Polite murmurs.) There was a man, a Confederate soldier, in our civil war, who soliloquised thus on a long hard march: “I love my country, and I’m fighting for my country; but if this war ends I’ll be dad-burned if I ever love another country.”
The Others (spiritlessly): Ha! Ha! Ha!