Nonetheless, the White House and Congress
pushed on, as if nothing had happened. Congressional bills were
passed without presidential signature, the White House cabinet
met (and, for lack of presidential direction, discussed trivialities),
and--most tellingly--Edith Wilson, the president's second wife,
took on an oracular role as the president's sole intermediary.
As Auchincloss writes, "Edith Wilson would sometimes meet
with the cabinet and take papers with questions to the president,
always behind closed doors, returning with a 'He says yes' or
a 'He says no.' Had she read them to him? Or had she made up
the answers? Nobody knew." She later
said that she was acting under a doctor's advice that she protect
her husband from a potentially fatal contact with anxiety-provoking
matters, but for a time, the country passed through a dark, uncertain
period that Auchincloss terms "a strange hiatus in American
government."
In time, Wilson recovered at least partially,
but as Auchincloss documents, "The Wilson who at last recovered
some of his health was a pale simulacrum of the man he had been.
He was querulous, petulant, and unable to take care of business
with anything like the wonderful efficiency that had characterized
his former activities." It wasn't without its queer effects:
If he was taken for a drive, he not only insisted
that his chauffeur not exceed a speed of twenty miles an hour,
but sent the Secret Service men to arrest any driver who passed
them. Of course, these men would pretend to make a chase and
then return to say that the culprit had got away.
On a decidedly more significant level, Auchincloss
suggests, the October 2 stroke and Edith Wilson's protective
reaction to it may have been directly responsible for Wilson's
failure to convince Americans to back the Versailles Treaty and
the League of Nations:
That second Woodrow Wilson of whom we have
spoken, crippled with a stroke, may have acted in the treaty
fight as the earlier and healthier one never would have. Is it
possible that the blame for our failure to enter the league may
be attributable more to Edith Wilson and Cary Grayson [the president's
physician], who hid the condition of their husband and patient
from the cabinet and Congress and persuaded him to retain an
office for which he was unfit, than to the isolationism of Henry
Cabot Lodge?
By
focusing so closely on Wilson's physical and emotional frailties,
Auchincloss does a splendid job of bringing Wilson the person
to life, without slighting the biographical information to be
expected in even the slimmest biographies. Thus, in a scant 125
pages, he takes us from Wilson's birth in Staunton, Virginia
(Wilson was the first Southerner to be elected president since
the Civil War, although Auchincloss discounts the notion that
Wilson was a true Southerner), through his diverse education
and the political machinations that led Wilson, improbably enough,
from a bumpy stint as a university president to the White House,
ending (quite appropriately) with Wilson's last word: "Edith."
Along the way, Auchincloss does a commendable
job presenting the key figures in Wilson's political career,
including those who anointed him a philosopher-king (Colonel
George B.M. Harvey and James Smith) and the man who served him
most faithfully, Colonel Edward M. House (as Auchincloss notes,
"the title was honorary, bestowed by a grateful Texas governor").
House and Wilson
were physically almost opposites: Wilson was
tall and impressive as a statesman and orator whereas House was
short and frail, with a receding chin and a voice that lacked
resonance. But something extraordinary at once clicked between
them. "We have known each other always," Wilson wrote
him. And later, in 1913, when House was firmly ensconced as a
White House adviser (though he never, until the peace treaty
negotiations in 1919, had any salary or title), Wilson made this
remarkable statement to a politician:
Mr. House is my second personality. He is
my independent self. If I were in his place I would do just as
he suggested. If anyone thinks he is reflecting my opinion by
whatever action he takes, they are welcome to the conclusion.
Unfortunately, House was eventually forced
out of Wilson's inner circle by Edith (who may have been jealous
of his close friendship with her husband), and he was not allowed
to visit Wilson during the three years that the ex-president
survived after leaving the White House.
In
many ways, the arc of Wilson's life is classically tragic, and
it certainly has literary resonances. The pitiable stories of
the Secret Service being sent after casual drivers inevitably
bring King Lear to mind, for example, and the oracular Edith
is a wonderfully archetypal figure who seems ripe for Greek tragedy,
if she's not already lurking there under another name...though
even her most virulent critics would hesitate to brand her a
Lady MacBeth--wouldn't they? After all, her flaw seems to have
been mere overprotectiveness rather than powermongering. On the
other hand, Wilson himself seemed to be dangerously treading
the purple when he told the Democratic Party chairman in 1912
that "'Remember that God ordained that I should be the next
president of the United States.'' It's not exactly Agamemnon
(who suffered from excessive pride of his own, rather than the
divine's, power), but in its religious certitude, it may seem
to lack a becoming humility to less fervent ears.
But for all the tragic potential, it's the
revealing glimpses Auchincloss gives us of a Wilson at odds with
the popularly conceived, remote, coldly rational figure that
might move, even surprise, many readers. Can you imagine Wilson,
whom Henry Adams once described as "a mysterious, a rather
Olympian personage and shrouded in darkness from which issue
occasional thunderbolts," entertaining house guests with
such comic impersonations as "the drunken man staggering
about with a cowlike look in his eyes, the heavy Englishman with
an insufferably superior accent and an invisible monocle, the
villain done with a scowl and a dragging foot"?
As Auchincloss readily acknowledges, there
are other larger, indispensable Wilson biographies, but his Woodrow
Wilson holds its own as a compelling introduction to Wilson,
and it's a superb installment in the continuing Penguin Lives
series.
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