The Accursed (36 page)
T
hough the “snake frenzy” was to be spoken of in Princeton and vicinity for decades, the episode was quickly and summarily dismissed by authorities, as by Dr. Boudinot and his medical/scientific colleagues, as a regrettable example of
female hysterics
. In the
Packet
was a prominent article in which a number of gentlemen in the community were invited to comment upon the upset, the consensus being that a “hallucinatory epidemic of unknown origin” had swept through the girls’ school, and the “snakes” were mere imaginings.
Among the gentlemen interviewed were several research scientist-professors at the university, as well as President Wilson himself. Several of these affected a mirthful tone, regrettably, to the detriment of the seminary and its staff; several suggested that the “excitable girls” and their instructors were in need of better, more authoritarian jurisdiction, namely a male headmaster for the school. But Woodrow Wilson, conscious of his position as chief administrator at the university, did not choose to criticize the seminary headmistress, or any of the instructors; graciously he noted that there had certainly been “numerous outbreaks of ‘demonic behavior’ ” at Princeton University, in the early 1800s when the boys rebelled “like clockwork,” and so he would not presume to pass judgment on the seminary, let alone withdraw his daughters from it if they had been enrolled there as students. Dr. Wilson concluded with an appeal for sympathy, understanding, and patience: “For Woman, whom Nature has burdened with a load far heavier than Man—that is,
propagation
—must be judged with tolerance and forbearance in areas where, with no regard for intention, she has seriously lagged behind man.”
I
will not go down in defeat. I
vow
.”
It has been variously recorded how in the winter of 1905 to 1906 Woodrow Wilson, admired and honored “abroad”—(that’s to say, outside Princeton)—was yet derided, scorned, and cruelly politicked-against, within his own university community. This situation grated upon the man’s sensitive nerves and caused him many a sleepless night; and, as the stoic Wilson laughingly complained to his devoted wife Ellen, compounded his “turmoil in Central America”—(that’s to say, severe gastric distress in the “equatorial regions” of his body).
The initial issue of contention, the location of the Graduate College, was now complicated by a virtual war between the president’s office and certain of his administrators, regarding what was called the “iron chain of command” at the university, as well as Dr. Wilson’s campaign against the exclusive eating clubs of Prospect Avenue for which he felt a personal dislike and bitterness. And there were other, almost daily abrasions.
“I will not have insurrection. I was inaugurated to
run this university,
and so I will.”
It was so, ironically: outside Princeton, in certain selected quarters, Woodrow Wilson’s reputation could not have been higher. At a Democrats’ dinner at the Lotos Club in Manhattan, for instance, in late March, the “Kingmaker” George Harvey in introducing Dr. Wilson to his audience of cigar-smoking gentlemen had “nominated” him for President—by which Harvey meant President of the United States! And though Dr. Wilson was humbled by the remark, and made every effort to dismiss it from his mind, yet he was deeply stirred; and excited; and could not resist sharing the news with his dear wife Ellen, as soon as he returned home.
The highest Presidency in the land! Of course it was only meant to flatter.
No, Woodrow—it was not. You are Presidential material! You know that God has a greater destiny for you than just Princeton.
Yet, at the same time, so mysteriously, Dr. Wilson was treated with very little respect in Princeton; only his undergraduates seemed to admire him, if at a distance; much of the administration had shifted to a support of gregarious Andrew West, and a good deal of the faculty; the situation with the board of trustees was yet worse, and caused particular gastric distress. Dr. Wilson raged against the “condescension” of his trustees, who treated the president of the university like a “mere hireling, a lackey”; he would name no names, but one of these gentlemen cruelly flaunted his power as a “retired chief administrator of the federal government.” (So upset was Dr. Wilson with Mr. Cleveland, he could not bear to hear the man’s name spoken, nor even the name of Cleveland’s glamorous wife, Frances.) So malevolent had his enemies grown in winter/spring 1906 they seemed to have begun a systematic erosion of his reputation among the most powerful alumni associations, particularly in the South; and Dr. Wilson thought, with some bitterness, how his old friend Winslow Slade might have aided him, if the older man had not gone into a sort of retreat at Crosswicks, now declining to see friends like Dr. Wilson.
“But I will fight them, Ellen. You can be sure!”
The more enemies, the more mobilized a man might be. Woodrow Wilson’s Scots ancestors were warriors, not mewling, weak-livered
females
.
So it was, Dr. Wilson embarked upon a zealous campaign to repair his reputation among the Princeton alumni, who comprised a wealthy and politically potent segment of the university-educated population at this time; he was determined to combat certain false images, that he was “dogmatic” as an administrator, “rigid,” “unbending,” “dictatorial,” by meeting with alumni groups in the East and South, in such key cities as Baltimore, Washington, Richmond, and Atlanta, on such favorite topics as “Democracy and the University,” “Religion and Patriotism,” “Princeton in the Nation’s Service,” “Natural Leaders of Men,” etc., with gratifying success.
Then came Charleston, South Carolina, on April 13, 1906.
So grievous a showing, and the president of Princeton University so “bizarre” in his performance, a number of concerned alumni wrote letters to the board of trustees calling for Dr. Wilson’s resignation!
HISTORIANS HAVE GENERALLY
ignored, or underplayed, this curious aberration in Dr. Wilson’s career, partly because there are few reliable records concerning the “defeat at Charleston” (as Woodrow Wilson would call it). So far as I am able to ascertain, Dr. Wilson began his speech to the Charleston alumni organization with his usual “authority” and “ease”; he knew to “loosen up” his Southern audience with a favorite anecdote about “three darkies” brought up to Princeton by their young masters, in the old days before the war, who were goggle-eyed by their
first snow,
which they believed to be
falling cotton
. (Allegedly, this anecdote roused “gales of laughter” in Dr. Wilson’s audience, of entirely gentlemen. That Dr. Wilson utilized his very humorous “Negro dialect” with many a rolling of his eyes and comical gestures, surely added to the hilarity.)
After this promising start, Dr. Wilson began a speech he could have recited in his sleep—(“And very often do, in fact!” as he joked to Mrs. Wilson)—titled “The University Man, the Christian, and the Patriot”—but after a few minutes he felt a tinge of apprehension, and even nausea; and his voice, ordinarily poised and well modulated, began to falter. The blame lay with the red-meat dinner he’d consumed, as a man among men; or with the sickly clouds of smoke from the gentlemen’s cigars and pipes, wafting through the ill-ventilated room. Continuing to speak, while feeling sweat break out on his forehead, Dr. Wilson felt a prick of terror as, glancing about the audience, he seemed to see at the very rear of the room the corpulent shirtfront, bland bald pate, and ruddy well-fed face of his nemesis Dean West!—his enemy seated amid rapt listeners with a pretense of being one of them.
“No. It can’t be. He would not dare follow me to Charleston—
he would not
.”
Yet, the well-practiced delivery for which the president of Princeton was known had become, it seemed, irrevocably jarred; like a lone railway car by cruel accident separated from its fellows, that eases onto the graveled roadway bed, and begins to speed, and rattles out of control, Dr. Wilson began to speak rapidly, often interrupting himself in mid-phrase.
The substance of his talk, as it has been reported, was confused: now, Dr. Wilson spoke in an impassioned voice of
allies
and
enemies;
now, of
democracy
and the
threat from abroad—
“As hundreds of thousands of enemies of Protestantism swarm to the shore of the New World, minds and spirits shackled by the despotism, intolerance, and rank superstition which governs in the dominions of the Pope of Rome, and which prevails in all of Catholic Europe.” From this, Dr. Wilson shifted abruptly to the familiar subject of Christian leadership and Christian followers: “For Jesus Christ is our model, Who knew Himself a ‘fisher of men’ and commanded that all who wished salvation should follow Him—yea, even unto battle.” Then, with no clear transition, Dr. Wilson murmured jestingly about the
internecine battles
at the university, which provoked restlessness in the audience, a flurry of coughing, throat-clearing, and the like, of the kind that signals to a speaker that his time is finished; but Dr. Wilson did not seem to notice, and continued speaking, in a rapid if rambling voice, warning his audience that the “aristocratic heritage” of their great university was being threatened by “enemies within.” At some point, the indignant speaker warned of the “worshippers of Mammon”—as well as the “wild-eyed, murderous Anarchists and their union-organizer cronies”—for, he feared, the United States would never be a true democracy until such time—(and here Woodrow Wilson drew himself up to his full, narrow height, with ministerial sternness and a glittering of eyeglasses)—“until such time, gentlemen, that a Negress resides in the White House.”
At which Dr. Wilson broke off abruptly, as if a switch had been thrown in his brain. Blinking and awkwardly smiling, in preparation for the usual warm waves of applause—which, as it happened, was slow in coming, in Charleston, South Carolina, on this evening of April 13, 1906.
AFTERWARD DR. WILSON
begged of his Charleston host to tell him what he’d said, which he could not seem to remember; and his host said, with evasive eyes, “Why, Woodrow, I didn’t hear, exactly—or, if I did, I don’t recall your exact words.”
“But—what did I say? Was I joking? And the joke fell flat?”
“Yes. Possibly.”
“But there was no
laughter
. There was no
applause
. What on earth did I say, that so offended the audience?”
“Woodrow, no one heard.
I
didn’t hear. It is all right. It will be forgotten. Everyone is sympathetic.”
“But, my God—
what did I say
?”
RETURNED HOME TO
Princeton by rail, Dr. Wilson was stricken with both gastric and “psychoneurological” distress, for which his physician Dr. Hatch prescribed an immediate vacation in Bermuda, of not less than twelve days; that the overwrought man might calm his mind, and be restored to some balance of his former well-being. Indeed, Dr. Wilson was told that he must flee Princeton at once, that a complete mental and physical collapse might be forestalled.
H
ere, I will include excerpts from intimate letters written by Woodrow Wilson to his beloved wife Ellen, during the time (April 16 to April 27, 1906) of his “enforced rest” in Bermuda.
It is shocking to discover that, while writing these heartfelt, surely sincere letters of love to his wife, Woodrow Wilson was at the same time falling under the spell, and, in time, succumbing, to the seductive blandishments of the mysterious society woman known to historians as “Cybella Peck”—now recognized as a fictitious name.
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ERMUDA
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UNDAY A.M. 17
A
PRIL 1906
My precious darling,
How I miss you! I am not ashamed to say that
I think of you
constantly
& often close my eyes here on the veranda of the Inn, to imagine you close beside me; that I might clasp your hand in mine, and draw from you solace, & balm, and consolation, to compensate for the pain & humiliation I have had to endure lately. Yet—
I shall endure, & I shall prevail.
This, I vow.
Please do not tell anyone, dearest—that I am away “for reasons of health”—nor even “for a respite from overwork.” (Though God knows that is true!) You need not tell them anything, only just that “Woodrow will be back in his office in Nassau Hall on the morning of Monday, May 1.”
Ah, Bermuda is certainly the best place in the world to forget Princeton, though I shall work here of course—I shall work very hard—(lectures to write)—& I shall miss my dear little wife.
My artless little Ellen, not an hour passes without my offering thanks to God, that he sent you, & your great, boundless, nourishing love! It was His plan, that another, far inferior to my dear Ellen, should have “rejected” me as a husband years ago; His plan, that we are bound together for life. Please know, sweet Ellen, that it is not by adding to our masculine knowledge but by understanding us with their superior gifts of sympathy & intuition, that women are our helpers . . . When I see the jeering faces, the faces of infamy, that would destroy me, & he, W*** daring to torment me, in Charleston . . . at once I think of
you,
& your abiding & unquestioning love; & the entire Universe is changed for me & it is rather as if
all men & angels
listened, so perfectly my thought is mirrored in the light of your lovely brown eyes!
Sunday 4 p.m.
The sky is so porcelain-blue above the Atlantic—it is amazing. You & the girls have teased me, I fail to
look at
things, yet now I am
looking at
a sight worthy of paradise, the wide stretch of beach behind the Admiralty Inn where the sand is near-white & kept very smooth; swept smooth early each morning by servants. All is calm, calm! The action of the waves which I halfway feared, after the choppy crossing, would prove agitating to my nerves is, on the contrary, restful—hypnotic—healing. In Princeton it is a chill, begrudging early spring—with a taste of winter, still, in the nights—but here on this paradisiacal island, it is full spring, & all a-bloom in crimson, yellow, orange, snowy-white flowers as large as a man’s head, that seem to nod at me as I pass.
There,
strife & enmity;
here,
calm & peace.
But no!—you have begged me not to brood upon my “morbid” subject—and so, I will not.
There comes a courteous little darkie the size of a midget (in livery!) to wait upon me, inquiring—
Would masta wish for a drink, sir?
Sunday evening
Woke from an uneasy nap before dinner—stunned with the horror of my blunder at Charleston—the debacle, the
shame,
in so public an arena—
I fear I shall never outlive it
. My thoughts are overcast & sickly; & in contrast to the glowing faces of my fellow vacationers, who are both Americans & British. As to my digestion . . .
(Do not be distressed, my dear, for I am fully capable of nursing myself if required, & have become quite adept at the pump, in any case—to whose repulsive ministrations, I am ashamed to expose my darling!)
*
It is said that Mark Twain arrived on a boat from Miami this mid-day, & an American heiress of the name of Peck took immediate possession of him.
There
is a gentleman of great reputation, who clothes himself in white—white linen, white cotton, white silk!—& is never seen without an ill-smelling Cuban cigar clenched between his stained teeth. I shall avoid him, I think—for it is commonly known,
Samuel Clemens
gives strength to the Antichrist in his crude “satirical” writings, & could be no friend of Woodrow Wilson.
Now, I will say good night, dear Ellen! For I am feeling somewhat melancholy, & lonely; & the rebellion in “Central America” is but temporarily quelled, I fear. But I will take solace working on my speech on Christian patriotism, to be delivered to the Philadelphia Society, in May, before succumbing to my dose of Oil of Tartar, & blessed sleep!
Your loving husband,
Woodrow
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18
A
PRIL 1906
My precious darling,
Tramped barefoot along the beach at dawn, in my “whites”—(thank you my darling for having packed my things so carefully, & for including such sweet little cards, for me to discover amid my undergarments as days pass!); you will be relieved to hear that my night was not nearly so tormented as I had feared, since the debacle in Charleston; for fortunately, I have brought quite a store of medicines for the purpose of combating
insomnia
as well as the usual
gastric distress.
Yet tramping in the open air, close by the surf, I find my mind distracted by thoughts of combat, elsewhere; & words of speeches aswirl in my brain, like swords.
I will not be defeated by my enemies. I will not.
In a haze of distraction I was stopped by a fellow resident at the Admiralty Inn, as I was about to step on a
lion’s mane
—this, a nasty-looking jellyfish that is often washed up on the beach. (The Negro servants scurry to remove them, but not always quickly enough.) “Sir! You don’t want step on one of these!”—so the gentleman warned me, with a wink of his eye. Indeed, I do not: as I thanked him, & we introduced ourselves & chatted briefly, before moving on.
Ah, Ellen! You will not believe it—my misfortune!—Amanda FitzRandolph & her husband Edgerstoune are vacationing here, at the home of Mrs. Peck—
Sans Souci
it is called, & said to be the most palatial villa on the island. By chance I encountered Mrs. FitzRandolph in the hotel, where she was visiting friends. “Why, Woodrow! What a pleasant surprise!”—etc., etc. I hope I was polite enough; & masked my dismay. The last thing I want is to speak of Princeton matters,
here;
even to see familiar Princeton faces, when I am meant to have a respite from them . . .
In a melancholy mood on my balcony, dear Ellen, I have written a poem for you; my sweet,
I miss you so much
. For you are my
better angel
—you keep me from despair & all temptations to darkness. These feeble words cannot hope to express my boundless love for you. When I am cast down in gloom, I seem to crave you then
with even greater passion
. Forgive your foolish Woodrow, your adoring husband—
You were the song I waited for.
I found in you the vision sweet.
The grace, the strain of noble sounds,
The form, the mind, the mien, the heart,
That I lacked & thought to find
Within some spring within my mind,
Like one awakened from dreaming
To the blessed confidence of light.
(If put to music, I imagine a bagpipe melody—we Campbells of Argyll are shameless sentimentalists, as we are stalwart warriors!)
Tomorrow, Mrs. Peck is giving a luncheon at
Sans Souci
—Amanda FitzRandolph has wrangled an invitation for me, to meet Mr. Mark Twain—but I believe I will decline, as I prefer solitude; & peace & calm; & have much work to prepare, for upcoming speeches etc. How I wish my dear little Ellen were with me, at my side! For I am cast into gloom without you, though presenting a “smiling” face to the world . . .
Your loving husband,
Woodrow
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19
A
PRIL 1906
7:40 A.M.
My precious darling,
God be praised, my dear—I spent a moderately peaceful night—& this morning rose before dawn, to stride along the beach in the brisk wind; it is chill at that hour, & not cloying-warm like most of the day. I find myself positively giddy with the prospect of a morning of undisturbed work on my speech for the Philadelphia Society & an article for the
Atlantic
. Separation from my darling gives me less pain if I immerse myself in work; & pretend that she will summon me soon, to massage my neck if she has time, for it is beginning to stiffen, without her “magical” touch.
*
Beneath the clear blue dome of heaven, in this paradisiacal place, nations & all “significant” events of the world seem remote & theoretical—& not a little absurd.
There
is Lilliput, & I am Gulliver.
Luncheon at Mrs. Peck’s “palatial” villa overlooking the ocean, a larger gathering than I had expected; & there was Mr. Samuel Clemens, clad in white, fierce-moustached & with bristling eyebrows, seated like royalty on the terrace, & surrounded by admirers. Yet, Mr. Clemens condescended to shake my hand, & to crack a joke or two at the expense of the university; for, as he likes to say, he has had no schooling at all, except the roughest sort, in Missouri as a boy; & on the Mississippi, as a steamboat captain. Yet again, Mr. Clemens quite surprised me, for having read
A History of the American People
, and my biography of George Washington
,
& for saying quite respectful things about them—in the hearing of others.
Mrs. Peck is very friendly also. “Ah, you are ‘Woodrow Wilson’! Such things are said about you” & I asked politely what these things could be; & the lady said, seriously, “Things that pertain to the future—the future of our country.” Her eyes were so probing upon me, I felt almost dazed; & can’t think that I was very articulate, amid much festivity, & a powerful scent of hibiscus . . . Dear Ellen, I miss you so! I am very, very lonely amid this tribe of Lotus-Land revelers!
You will be startled, my dear, but I hope not disapproving, to learn that I have drafted several letters, to our redoubtable chairman of the board,
*
to David Jones & his brother Tom; to Cyrus, & Edward, & Moses, & Dr. Patton, & (not least) W*** himself, allowing that I have rethought my position, & wonder if the quad plan might be somewhat modified & the location of the Graduate College be made a compromise . . . Do not think that I am weakening, dear Ellen! Though I know in my heart that
I am right
yet I am (in fact) a Gulliver surrounded by Lilliputians, & must govern accordingly. (As Pearce van Dyck has consoled me, I must not wreck the university for my ideals; though I grew angry with Professor van Dyck at the time, I see now that he spoke wisely.) Now, I must dress for dinner, though, after the luncheon orgy at
Sans Souci,
I have little appetite & “social conversation”; & less still, without my dear little wife at my side.
Your loving husband,
Woodrow
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20
A
PRIL 1906
My precious darling,
Thank you, my dear, for your lovely letter! Though as you say you have not much “substance” to provide—& your news of our household & of Princeton is “but minor”—yet this is precious to me, so distant from my darling, as your dear voice in your letter is music to my lonely ears.
Here, there is golfing, & lawn tennis!—(at which your husband is poorly talented); & a tour of the island by “electric car”—it seems, my sweet one, that my social duties have begun. Strolling on a flower-bordered lane beside the hotel I heard a voice—“Woodrow Wilson? Can it be?”—& there was Francis Pyne, in the company of several others; & I could hardly escape our neighbor & university benefactor, & have been dragooned into further social gatherings at
Sans Souci
. The Chief Justice of Bermuda, Mr. Gollan, chatted with me this afternoon, in a genial & rambling fashion; my pleasure in this white-haired old gentleman being that he knows (& cares) nothing of mainland politics; in fact, he is a British citizen; & Princeton University is but a “very pleasant” place where a relative of his attended school, some years ago. & there came Mr. Sam Clemens in dazzling white, & straw hat atilt, & pernicious cigar clenched between his teeth to invite Mr. Gollan & me to “thwack” him at billiards; which Mr. Gollan laughingly accepted, while with the excuse of having a speech to write, I declined. “Another time, perhaps, eh, Dr. Wilson, when you are not embarked upon saving the world?”—so Mr. Clemens muttered in his customary manner, that some think rude & others amusing.
It is flattering, I will admit—Mr. Clemens seems to like
me
.
So very tired, dear Ellen, from these blandishments, & others! I have yet to write final drafts of my letters to the board; but will do so, tomorrow morning. Wiser to compromise my ideals than to “wreck” the university, I think; & better to compromise, than to wreck my own health & jeopardize the health of my dearest wife whom I love beyond all ability to express . . .
Your loving husband,
Woodrow
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21
A
PRIL 1906
My precious darling,
Again, what a magnificent surprise, to receive a letter from you, & the packet of very nice responses from alumni!—which helps to mitigate, somewhat, the bitterness of the Charleston episode. (Hints have been made to me, that several Charleston alums have actually written to the trustees, to
demand my resignation
. I would not even dignify such an outrage with a response.) Today I shall be drafting letters to a number of influential parties including Cornelius Cuyler, Henry Bayard, Jack Hibben, Moses Pyne, Winslow Slade—can you think of anyone else of importance?—in addition to those I listed yesterday. In this paradisiacal place my brain is abuzz with this new attitude of
accommodation
. (Which I shrink from deeming mere “compromise” for I detest the word.)
