March 24, 1919

The change for the worse in the President’s physical condition since his return from America is increasingly noticeable and is being generally remarked upon. The tic on his left cheek that is so disfiguring and to me so alarming has become almost chronic. Evidently the President is in a highly nervous condition and the confidence that animated him as he left for Washington is gone. He has been to see House twice since his return, and the subject of these conferences is how best to introduce the Monroe Doctrine reservation, demanded by the Senate, into what had been hopefully regarded as a closed covenant, signed and sealed. This sop to the Senate is a delicate matter because it will again open the floodgates of discussion. Not that any of the powers with the exception of Great Britain care in the least about the Doctrine; for over here, as at home, there are millions who have not the remotest idea what it means or can be fashioned to mean when the occasion arises.

But undeniably the insertion of the Monroe Doctrine reservation will open up another period of “trading” and all the uncertainty that goes with it. Even Lord Robert Cecil, who has been an indispensable supporter of the President in all the League of Nations fights, has been instructed by Lloyd George to once again, as during the Armistice proceedings, bring about a naval “understanding” with America. The Admiralty wants some assurance that the Washington plan to outbuild the British will not be enacted into law or if it is that the plan will not be carried out. House and Cecil are closeted daily, but even the almost invariably cheerful Colonel admits that the problem is a difficult one. How in the world can he go bail for what the Congress may decide to do under circumstances which as yet have not developed?

The physical change in the President is emphasized by a certain peevishness of manner. One of the first things he said to House on his return was, “Your dinner to the Senate Foreign Relations Committee was not a success.” The Colonel might have countered with the view held by so many observers in Washington that the dinner might have been more successful had not the President’s manner been so glacial and “superior.” At least one senator has written that they were treated by the President as though they were being reproved for neglect of their lessons by a very frigid teacher in a Sunday School class. But this would not have been in the House manner, so he simply said, “Yes it is very disappointing—but in the long run the people will see that the charge that you hold yourself aloof from your constitutional advisers is without foundation. You offered the opportunity of a conference to the people who hold, as they have the right to hold, very different views from yours. You gave them an opportunity to question you and they declined to avail themselves of it. It might have been more successful. I had hoped it would be, but this point you scored: Back from the firing line, you placed at their disposal all the information you had. It was to be had for the asking, but apparently they did not want it.”

House is evidently distressed by the bitter attitude of the President and his unfriendly remarks as to the motives of the hostile senators; but, if possible, he is more distressed by the President’s physical and mental condition. Unfortunately others, many others, have noticed the change.

Yesterday General Mordacq, chef of Clemenceau’s cabinet, came in with Tardieu, and after speaking to the Colonel about routine matters Mordacq said, “M. Clemenceau is very greatly perturbed at the President’s condition. He is evidently overworked and has the greatest difficulty in keeping his mind on the subject under discussion. Often even early in the morning he seems quite vidé, and then nothing is done. Clemenceau thinks that the President in addition to his tremendously exacting official tasks is spending too much time in social matters which are also exacting. Knowing your close personal relations, M. Clemenceau thought you might suggest to the President that he cut out his jaunts with Mrs. Wilson and the social activities which take up so much of his time and evidently so much of his strength—at least until the more pressing questions have been adjusted.”

The Colonel replied that perhaps he could intervene in this matter but that most certainly he would not. Tardieu listened with an approving air to the General’s words but said nothing. On the following day, however, he said to House: “It is of course a most delicate and difficult matter, but what we fear is that the President is near a physical breakdown and of course that would be a catastrophe for us all.”