Chapter XVII: War 323 (3)

We had the most splendid fun on the fourth of July. At eight
o’clock we commenced with a discharge of three packs of
firecrackers, which awoke most of the people. But we had only begun
now, and during the remainder of the day six boxes of torpedoes and
thirty-six packs of firecrackers kept the house in an exceedingly
lively condition. That evening it rained which made us postpone
the fireworks until next evening, when they were had with great
success, excepting the balloons, which were an awful swindle. We
boys assisted by firing roman candles, flowerpots and bengolas. We
each got his fair share of burns.

Conie had a slight attack of asthma last night but I took her
riding this morning and we hope she is well now.

We are permitted now to stay in the water as long as we please. The
other day I came near being drowned, for I got caught under water
and was almost strangled before I could get out. I study English,
French, German and Latin now. Bamie spent the fourth at Barrytown
where she had Tableaux, Dances, &c. to her heart’s content. Give my
love to Uncles and Cousin Jimmie. Aunt Hattie &c. Tell Aunt Hattie
I will never forget the beautiful jam and the splendid times we had
at her cottage.

Ever your little
T. D.

Later in life, in thinking of this same uncle, whose subsequent career never squared with his natural ability, I have come to feel that sometimes people whom we call failures should not be so called,--for it is often their good fortune to leave upon the malleable minds of the next generation an inspiration of which they themselves fall sadly short. In the character of this same charming uncle there must have been some lack of fibre, for, brilliant as he was, he let his talents lie dormant. Yet, perhaps, of all those who influenced our early childhood, the effect upon us produced by his cultivation, his marvellous memory, his literary interests, and his genial good humor had more to do with the early stirring of intellectual desires in his little relatives than almost any other influence at that time. The very fact that he was not achieving a thousand worth-while things, as was my father, the very fact that he was not busied with the practical care and thought for us, as were my mother and aunt--brought about between us that delightful relationship when the older person leads rather than drives the younger into the paths of literature and learning. To have “Uncle Hill” read Shakespeare to us under the trees, and then suggest that we “dress up” and act the parts, to have “Uncle Hill” teach us parts of the famous plays of all the ages and the equally famous poems, was a delight rather than a task; and he interspersed his Shakespeare with the most remarkable, and, to our childish minds, brilliant doggerel, sometimes of his own making, that could possibly be imagined--so that Hamlet’s soliloquy one day seemed quite as palatable as “Villikins and His Dinah,” or “Horum, Chorum, Sumpti Vorum,” the next. To show the relationship between the charming physician of Philadelphia (the home of my uncle and aunt was in that city) and the young philosopher of New York, I am tempted to insert a letter from the latter to the former written in 1873 from Paris on our second trip abroad.

“From Theodore the Philosopher to Hilborne, Elder of the Church of Philadelphia. Dated from Paris, a city of Gaul, in the 16th day of the 11th month of the 4th year of the reign of Ulysses. [I imagine that General Grant was then President.] Truly, O Hilborne! this is the first time in many weeks that I have been able to write you concerning our affairs. I have just come from the city of Bonn in the land of the Teuton, where I have been communing with our fellow labourer James of Roosevelt, surnamed The Doctor [our first cousin, young James West Roosevelt], whom I left in good health. In crossing the Sea of Atlantis I suffered much of a malady called sickness of the sea, but am now in good health, as are also all our family. I would that you should speak to the sage Leidy concerning the price of his great manuscript, which I am desirous of getting. Give my regards to Susan of West, whom I hope this letter will find in health. I have procured many birds of kinds new to me here, and have preserved them. This is all I have to say for the time being, so will close this short epistle.”[A]

[A] This in a boyish hand which is beginning to show the
character of the young author.

* * * * *

That summer of 1872 was very enchanting, although overshadowed by the thought of another “terrible trip to Europe,” for after much thought my father and mother had decided that the benefits of a winter on the Nile, and a summer studying German in Dresden, would outweigh the possible disadvantage of breaking into the regular school studies of the three children of the 20th Street nursery. Therefore the whole family set sail again in the autumn of 1872.

After a delightful time with the uncles and aunts who had settled in England, and many gay excursions to Hampton Court and Bushey Park, and other places of interest, we went by way of Paris and Brindisi to Alexandria, and after some weeks in Cairo set sail on a dahabeah for three months on the Nile. In a letter from my brother Elliott to my aunt he speaks of my father’s purchase of a boat. With characteristic disregard of the historic interest of the Nile he says: “Teedie and I won’t mind the Nile very much, now that we have a boat to row in, perhaps it won’t be so bad after all what with rowing, boxing, and Christmas and playing, in between lessons and the ruins.” Reaching Egypt, the same young lover of boxing and boats writes of meeting much-beloved cousins, and again the characters of “Ellie” and “Teedie” are markedly brought out in the childish letter, for he says, “We had such a cosey tea. Frank and I poured tea and cut up chicken, while Teedie and Jimmie [the young cousin referred to in ‘Teedie’s’ letter to Doctor West] talked about natural history.”

The experience of a winter on the Nile was a very wonderful one for the little American children, and “Ellie’s” anticipations were more than carried out. Before we actually set sail I write in my journal of our wonderful trip to the pyramids and our impressions, childish ones of course, of the marvellous bazaars; and then we finally leave Cairo and start on the journey up the ancient river. I have always been so glad that our trip was before the days of the railway up to Karnak, for nothing could have been more Oriental and unlike modern life than the slow progress of our dahabeah, the _Aboo Erdan_. When there was wind we tacked and slowly sailed, for the boat was old and bulky, but when there was no wind the long line of sailors would get out on the bank of the river and, tying themselves to the rope attached to the bow, would track slowly along, bending their bronzed backs with the effort, and singing curious crooning songs.

In a letter dated December 27 I write to my aunt: “I will tell you about my presents. Amongst others I got a pair of pretty vases, and Teedie says the little birds they have on them are an entirely new species. Teedie and Father go out shooting every day, and so far have been very lucky. Teedie is always talking about it whenever he comes in the room,--in fact when he does come in the room you always hear the words ‘bird’ and ‘skin.’ _It certainly is great fun for him._” In connection with these same shooting-trips my father writes: “Teedie took his gun and shot an ibis and one or two other specimens this morning while the crew were taking breakfast. Imagine seeing not only flocks of these birds, regarded as so rare by us in days gone by as to be selected as a subject for our game of ‘twenty questions,’ but also of storks, hawks, owls, pelicans, and, above all, doves innumerable. I presented Teedie with a breech-loader at Christmas, and he was perfectly delighted. It was entirely unexpected to him, although he had been shooting with it as mine. He is a most enthusiastic sportsman and has infused some of his spirit into me. Yesterday I walked through the bogs with him at the risk of sinking hopelessly and helplessly, for hours, and carried the dragoman’s gun, which is a muzzle-loader, with which I only shot several birds quietly resting upon distant limbs and fallen trees; _but I felt I must keep up with Teedie_.”

The boy of fourteen, with his indomitable energy, was already leading his equally indomitable father into different fields of action. He never rested from his studies in natural history. When not walking through quivering bogs or actually shooting bird and beast, he, surrounded by the brown-faced and curious sailors, would seat himself on the deck of the dahabeah and skin and stuff the products of his sport. I well remember the excitement, and, be it confessed, anxiety and fear inspired in the hearts of the four young college men who, on another dahabeah, accompanied us on the Nile, when the ardent young sportsman, mounted on an uncontrollable donkey, would ride unexpectedly into their midst, his gun slung across his shoulders in such a way as to render its proximity distinctly dangerous as he bumped absent-mindedly against them. When not actually hunting he was willing to take part in exploration of the marvellous old ruins.

In a letter to “Edie” I say: “The other day we arrived at Edfoo, and we all went to see the temple together. While we were there Teedie, Ellie, Iesi (one of our sailors), and I started to explore. We went into a little dark room and climbed in a hole which was in the middle of the wall. The boys had candles. It was dark, crawling along the passage doubled up. At last we came to a deep hole, into which Teedie dropped, and we found out it was a mummy pit. It didn’t go very far in, but it all seemed very exciting to us to be exploring mummy pits. Sometimes we sail head foremost and sometimes the current turns us all the way around--and I wish you could hear the cries of the sailors when anything happens.”

They were busy days, for our wise parents insisted upon regularity of a certain kind, and my older sister, only just eighteen, gave us lessons in both French and English in the early morning before we went on the wonderful excursions to the great temples, or before “Teedie” was allowed to escape for his shooting expeditions. I do not think the three months’ absence from school was any detriment, and I am very grateful for the stimulating interest which that trip on the Nile gave to my brothers and me. I can still see in retrospect, as if it were yesterday, the great temple of Karnak as we visited it by moon-light; the majestic colossi at Medinet Haboo; and the more beautiful and delicate ruins of Philæ. Often my father would read Egyptian history to us or explain the kind of architecture which we were seeing; but always interspersed with more serious instruction were merry walks and games and wonderful picnic excursions, so that the winter on the Nile comes back to me as one of romantic interest mixed with the usual fun and cheerful intercourse of our ordinary family life. The four young men who had chartered the dahabeah _Rachel_ were Messrs. Nathaniel Thayer and Frank Merriam of Boston, Augustus Jay of New York, and Harry Godey of Philadelphia, and these four friends, with the addition of other acquaintances whom we frequently met, made for my sister and my parents a delightful circle, into which we little ones were welcomed in a most gracious way.

In spite of the fact of the charms of the Nile and the fun we frequently had, I write on February 1, from Thebes, to my little playmate “Edie,” with rather melancholy reminiscence of a more congenial past: “My own darling Edie,” I say, “don’t you remember what fun we _used_ to have out in the country, and don’t you remember the day we got Pony Grant up in the Chauncey’s summer house and couldn’t get him down again, and how we always were losing Teedie’s india rubber shoes? I remember it so perfectly, and what fun it was!” I evidently feel that such adventures were preferable to those in which we were indulging in far-away Egypt, although I conscientiously describe the ear on one of the colossi at Medinet Haboo as being four feet high, and the temple, I state, with great accuracy, has twelve columns at the north and ten on either side! I seem, however, to be glad to come back from that expedition to Medinet Haboo, for I state that I wish she could see our dahabeah, which is a regular little home. I don’t approve--in this same letter--of the dancing-girls, which my parents allowed me to see one evening. With early Victorian criticism I state that “there is not a particle of grace in their motions, for they only wriggle their bodies like a snake,” and that I really felt they were “very unattractive”--thus proving that the little girl of eleven in 1873 was more or less prim in her tastes. I delight, however, in a poem which I copy for “Edie,” the first phrase of which has rung in my ears for many a long day.

“Alas! must I say it, fare-farewell to thee,
Mysterious Egypt, great land of the flea,
And thy Thebaic temples, Luxor and Karnac,
Where the natives change slowly from yellow to black.
Shall I ne’er see thy plain, so fraught with renown,
Where the shadoofs go up and the shadoofs go down,
Which two stalwart natives bend over and sing,
While their loins are concealed by a simple shoe string.”

This verse, in spite of the reference to the lack of clothes of the stalwart natives, evidently did not shock my sensibilities as much as the motions of the dancing-girls. Farther on in the letter I describe the New Year’s Eve party, and how Mr. Merriam sang a song which I (Conie) liked very much, and which was called “She’s Naughty But So Nice.” “Teedie,” however, did not care for that song, but preferred one called “Aunt Dinah,” because one verse ran: “My love she am a giraffe, a two-humped camamile.” [Music had apparently only charms to soothe him when suggestive of his beloved animal studies.] From Thebes also my brother writes to his aunt one of the most interesting letters of his boyhood:

Near Kom Obos, Jan. 26th, 1873.

DEAR AUNT ANNIE:

My right hand having recovered from the imaginary attack from which
it did _not_ suffer, I proceed to thank you for your kind present,
which very much delighted me. We are now on the Nile and have been
on that great and mysterious river for over a month. I think I have
never enjoyed myself so much as in this month. There has always
been something to do, for we could always fall back upon shooting
when everything else failed us. And then we had those splendid
and grand old ruins to see, and one of them will stock you with
thoughts for a month. The temple that I enjoyed most was Karnak.
We saw it by moonlight. I never was impressed by anything so much.
To wander among those great columns under the same moon that had
looked down on them for thousands of years was awe-inspiring; it
gave rise to thoughts of the ineffable, the unutterable; thoughts
which you cannot express, which cannot be uttered, which cannot be
answered until after The Great Sleep.

[Here the little philosopher breaks off and continues in less
serious mood on February 9.]

I have had great enjoyment from the shooting here, as I have
procured between one and two hundred skins. I expect to procure
some more in Syria. Inform Emlen of this. As you are probably
aware, Father presented me on Christmas with a double-barrelled
breech loading shot gun, which I never move on shore without,
excepting on Sundays. The largest bird I have yet killed is a Crane
which I shot as it rose from a lagoon near Thebes.

The sporting is injurious to my trousers....

Now that I am on the subject of dress I may as well mention that
the dress of the inhabitants up to ten years of age is nothing.
After that they put on a shirt descended from some remote ancestor,
and never take it off till the day of their death.

Mother is recovering from an attack of indigestion, but the rest
are all well and send love to you and our friends, in which I join
sincerely, and remain,

Your Most Affectionate Nephew,
T. ROOSEVELT, JR.

The adoration of his little sister for the erudite “Teedie” is shown in every letter, especially in the letters to their mutual little friend “Edie.” On January 25 this admiration is summed up in a postscript which says: “Teedie is out shooting now. He is quite professionist [no higher praise could apparently be given than this remarkable word] in shooting, skinning and stuffing, and he is so satisfied.” This expression seems to sum up the absolute sense of well-being during that wonderful winter of the delicate boy, who, in spite of his delicacy, always achieved his heart’s desire.

In the efforts of his little sister to be a worthy companion, I find in my diary, written that same winter of the Nile, one abortive struggle on my own part to become a naturalist. On the page at the end of my journal I write in large letters:

NATURAL HISTORY

“QUAIL

“Ad. near Alexandria, Egypt, November 27th, 1872. Length 5--Expanse
13.0 Wings 5 Tail 1.3--Bill 5. Tarsus 1.2 Middle Toe 1.1 Hind Toe
.3.”

Under these mystic signs is a more elaborate and painstaking description of the above bird. I can see my brother now giving me a serious lecture on the subject, and trying to inspire a mind at that time securely closed to all such interests--to open at least a crack of its reluctant door, for “Teedie” felt that to walk with blind eyes in a world of such fluttering excitement as was made for him by the birds of the air showed an innate depravity which he wished with all his soul to cure in his beloved little sister. At the end of my description of the quail I fall by the wayside, and only once again make an excursion into the natural history of the great land of Egypt; only once more do I struggle with the description of a bird called this time by the curious name of “Ziczac.” (Could this be “Zigzag,” or was it simply my childish mind that zigzagged in its painful efforts to follow the impossible trail of my elder brother?) In my account of this, to say the least, unusual bird I remark: “Tarsus not finished.” Whether _I_ have not finished the tarsus, or whether the bird itself had an arrested development of some kind, I do not explain; and on the blank page opposite this final effort in scientific adventure I finish, as I began, by the words “_Natural History_,” and underneath them, to explain my own unsuccessful efforts, I write: “My Brother, Theodore Roosevelt, Esq.” Whether I had decided that all natural history was summed up in that magic name, or whether from that time on I was determined to leave all natural history to my brother, Theodore Roosevelt, Esq., I do not know; but the fact remains that from that day to this far distant one I have never again dipped into the mystery of mandibles and tarsi.

* * * * *

And so the sunny, happy days on the great river passed away. A merry eighteenth-birthday party in January for my sister Anna took the form of a moonlight ride to the great temple of Karnak, and, although we younger ones, naturally tired frequently of the effort to understand history and hieroglyphics, and turned with joy even in the shadow of the grand columns of Abydos to the game of “Buzz,” still I can say with truth that the easily moulded and receptive minds of the three little children responded to the atmosphere of the great river with its mighty past, and all through the after-years the interest aroused in those early days stimulated their craving for knowledge about the land of the Pharaohs.

On our way down the river an incident occurred which, in a sense, was also memorable. At Rhoda on our return from the tombs of Beni Hasan we found that a dahabeah had drawn up near ours, on which were the old sage Ralph Waldo Emerson and his daughter. My father, who never lost a chance of bringing into the lives of his children some worth-while memory, took us all to see the old poet, and I often think with pleasure of the lovely smile, somewhat vacant, it is true, but very gentle, with which he received the little children of his fellow countryman.

It was at this time that the story was told in connection with Mr. Emerson that some sentimental person said: “How wonderful to think of Emerson looking at the Sphinx! What a message the Sphinx must have had for Emerson.” Whereupon an irreverent wit replied: “The only message the Sphinx could possibly have had for Emerson must have been ‘You’re another.’” I can quite understand now, remembering the mystic, dreamy face of the old philosopher, how this witticism came about.

* * * * *

And now the Nile trip was over and we were back again in Cairo, and planning for the further interest of a trip through the Holy Land. Mr. Thayer and Mr. Jay, two of the young friends who had accompanied us on the Nile, decided to join our party, and after a short stay in Cairo we again left for Alexandria and thence sailed for Jaffa. In my diary I write at the Convent of Ramleh between Jaffa and Jerusalem, where we spent our first night: “In Jaffa we chose our horses, which was very exciting, and started on our long ride. After three hours of delightful riding through a great many green fields, we reached this convent and found they had no room for ladies, because they were not allowed to go into one part of the building as it was against the rules, but at last Father got the old monks to allow us to come into another part of the convent for just one night.”

“Father,” like his namesake, almost always got what he wanted.

From that time on one adventure after another followed. I write of many nice gallops, and of my horse lying down in the middle of streams; and, incidentally with less interest, of the Mount of Olives and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre! Antonio Sapienza proved to be an admirable dragoman, and always the practical part of the tenting cavalcade started early in the morning, and therefore as the rest of us rode over the hills in the later afternoon we would see arranged cosily in some beautiful valley the white tents, with the curling smoke from the kitchen-tent already rising with the promise of a delightful dinner.

Over Jordan we went, and what a very great disappointment Jordan was to our childish minds, which had always pictured a broad river and great waves parting for the Ark of the Covenant to pass. This Jordan was a little stream hardly more impressive than the brook at our old home at Madison, and we could not quite accustom ourselves to the disappointment. But Jerusalem with its narrow streets and gates, its old churches, the high Mount of Olives, and the little town of Bethlehem not far away, and, even more interesting from the standpoint of beauty, the vision of the Convent of Mar Saba on the high hill not far from Hebron, and beyond all else the blue sparkling waters of the Dead Sea, all remain in my memory as a wonderful panorama of romance and delight.

Arab sheiks visited us frequently in the evening and brought their followers to dance for us, and wherever my father went he accumulated friends of all kinds and colors, and we, his children, shared in the marvellous atmosphere he created. I remember, in connection with the Dead Sea, that “Teedie” and Mr. Jay decided that they could sink in it, although the guides had warned them that the salt was so buoyant that it was impossible for any living thing to sink in the waters (the Dead Sea was about the most alive sea that I personally have ever seen), and so the two adventurous ones undertook to dive, and tried to remain under water. “Teedie” fortunately relinquished the effort almost immediately, but Mr. Jay, who in a spirit of bravado struggled to remain at the bottom, suffered the ill effects from crusted salt in eyes and ears for many hours after leaving the water.

For about three weeks we rode through the Holy Land, and my memory of many flowers remains as one of the charms of that trip. Later, led in the paths of botany by a beloved friend, I often longed to go back to that land of flowers; but then to my childish eyes they meant nothing but beauty and delight.

After returning to Jerusalem and Jaffa we took ship again and landed this time at Beyrout, and started on another camping-trip to Damascus, through perhaps the most beautiful scenery which we had yet enjoyed. During that trip also we had various adventures. I describe in my diary how my father, at one of our stopping-places, brought to our tents some beautiful young Arab girls, how they gave us oranges and nuts, and how cordially they begged us, when a great storm came up and our tents were blown away, to come for shelter to their quaint little houses.

Even to the minds of the children of eleven and fourteen years of age, the great Temple of Baalbek proved a lure of beauty, and the diary sagely remarks that “It is quite as beautiful as Karnak, although in an entirely different way, as Baalbek has delicate columns, and Karnak great, massive columns.” The beauty, however, is not a matter of such interest as the mysterious little subterranean passages, and I tell how “Teedie” helped me to climb the walls and little tower, and to crawl through these same unexplored dark places.

The ride into Damascus itself remains still an expedition of glamour, for we reached the vicinity of the city by a high cliff, and the city burst upon us with great suddenness, its minarets stretching their delicate, arrow-like spires to the sky in so Oriental a fashion that even the practical hearts of the little American children responded with a thrill of excitement. Again, after an interesting stay in Damascus, we made our way back to Beyrout. While waiting for the steamer there my brother Elliott was taken ill, and writes in a homesick fashion to the beloved aunt to whom we confided all our joys and woes. Poor little boy! He says pathetically: “Oh, Auntie, you don’t know how I long for a finishing-up of this ever-lasting traveling, when we can once more sit down to breakfast, dinner and lunch in our own house. Since I have been sick and only allowed rice and chicken,--and very little of them--I have longed for one of our rice puddings, and a pot of that strawberry jam, and one of Mary’s sponge cakes, and I have thought of when I would go to your rooms for dinner and what jolly chops and potatoes and dessert I would get there, and when I would come to breakfast we would have _buckwheat cakes_. Perhaps I am a little homesick.” I am not so sure but what many an intelligent traveller, could his or her heart be closely examined, would find written upon it “lovely potatoes, chops and hot buckwheat cakes.”

But all the same, in spite of “Ellie’s” rhapsody, off we started on another steamer, and my father writes on March 28, 1873:

Steamer off Rhodes.

Teedie is in great spirits, as the sailors have caught for him
numerous specimens, which he stuffs on deck, to the edification of
a large audience.

I write during the same transit, after stopping at Athens, that “It is a very lovely town, and that I should have liked to stay there longer, but that was not to be.” I also decided that although the ruins were beautiful, I did not like them as much as either Karnak or Baalbek. Having dutifully made these architectural criticisms, I turn with gusto to the fact that Tom and Fannie Lawrence, “Teedie,” “Ellie,” and I have such splendid games of tag on the different steamers, and that I know my aunt would have enjoyed seeing us. The tag was “con amore,” while the interest in the temples was, I fear, somewhat induced. Our comprehending mother and father, however, always allowed us joyous moments between educational efforts. In a letter from Constantinople written by “Ellie” on April 7, he says: “We have had Tom and Frank Lawrence here to dinner, and we had a splendid game of ‘muggins’ and tried to play eucre (I don’t know that this is rightly spelled) with five, but did not suceede, Teedie did make such mistakes. [Not such an expert in cards, you see, as in tarsi and mandibles!] But we were in such spirits that it made no difference, and we did nothing but shout at the top of our voices the battle cry of freedom; and the playing of a game of slapjack helped us get off our steam with hard slaps, but even then there was enough (steam) left in Teedie and Tom to have a candle fight and grease their clothes, and poor Frank’s and mine, who were doing nothing at all!” As one can see by this description, the learned and rather delicate “Teedie” was only a normal, merry boy after all. “Ellie” describes also the wonderful rides in Constantinople, and many other joys planned by our indulgent parents. From that same city, called because of its many steeples The City of Minarets, “Teedie” writes to his little friend Edith:

I think I have enjoyed myself more this winter than I ever did
before. Much to add to my enjoyment Father gave me a gun at
Christmas, which rendered me happy and the rest of the family
miserable.

I killed several hundred birds with it, and then went and lost it!
I think I enjoyed the time in Egypt most, and after that I had the
most fun while camping out in Syria.

While camping out we were on horseback for several hours of each
day, and as I like riding ever so much, and as the Syrian horses
are very good, we had a splendid time. While riding I bothered the
family somewhat by carrying the gun over my shoulder, and on the
journey to the Jordan, when I was on the most spirited horse I ever
rode, I bothered the horse too, as was evidenced by his running
away several times when the gun struck him too hard. Our tent life
had a good many adventures in it. Once it rained very hard and the
rain went into our open trunks. Another time our tents were almost
blown away in a rough wind, and once I hunted a couple of jackals
for two or three miles as fast as the horse could go.

Yours truly,
T. ROOSEVELT, JR.

This little missive sums up the joy of “Teedie’s” winter in Egypt and Syria, and so it seems a fitting moment to turn to other interests and occupations, leaving the mysterious land of the pyramids and that sacred land of mountains and flowers behind us in a glow of child memories, which as year followed year became brighter rather than dimmer.

III

THE DRESDEN LITERARY AMERICAN CLUB

MOTTO “W. A. N. A.”

It was a sad change to the three young American children to settle in Dresden in two German families, after the care-free and stimulating experiences of Egypt and the Holy Land. Our wise parents, however, realized that a whole year of irregularity was a serious mistake in that formative period of our lives, and they also wished to leave no stone unturned to give us every educational advantage during our twelve months’ absence from home and country. It was decided, therefore, that the two boys should be placed in the family of Doctor and Mrs. Minckwitz, while I, a very lone and homesick small girl, was put with some kind but far too elderly people, Professor and Mrs. Wackernagel. This last arrangement was supposed to be advantageous, so that the brothers and sister should not speak too much English together. The kind old professor and his wife and the daughters, who seemed to the little girl of eleven years on the verge of the grave (although only about forty years of age), did all that was in their power to lighten the agonized longing in the child’s heart for her mother and sister, but to no avail, for I write to my mother, who had gone to Carlsbad for a cure: “I was perfectly miserable and very much unstrung when Aunt Lucy wrote to you that no one could mention your name or I would instantly begin to cry. Oh! Mother darling, sometimes I feel that I cannot stand it any longer but I am going to try to follow a motto which Father wrote to me, ‘Try to have the best time you can.’ I should be very sorry to disappoint Father but sometimes I feel as if I could not stand it any longer. We will talk it over when you come. Your own little Conie.”

Poor little girl! I was trying to be noble; for my father, who had been obliged to return to America for business reasons, had impressed me with the fact that to spend part of the summer in a German family and thus learn the language was an unusual opportunity, and one that must be seized upon. My spirit was willing, but my flesh was very, very weak, and the age of the kind people with whom I had been placed, the strange, dreadful, black bread, the meat that was given only as a great treat after it had been boiled for soup--everything, in fact, conduced to a feeling of great distance from the lovely land of buckwheat cakes and rare steak, not to mention the separation from the beloved brothers whom I was allowed to see only at rare intervals during the week. The consequence was that very soon my mother came back to Dresden in answer to the pathos of my letters, for I found it impossible to follow that motto, so characteristic of my father, “Try to have the best time you can.” I began to sicken very much as the Swiss mountaineers are said to lose their spirits and appetites when separated from their beloved mountains; so my mother persuaded the kind Minckwitz family to take me under their roof, as well as my brothers, and from that time forth there was no more melancholy, no bursting into poetic dirges constantly celebrating the misery of a young American in a German family.

From the time that I was allowed to be part of the Minckwitz family everything seemed to be fraught with interest and many pleasures as well as with systematic good hard work. In these days, when the word “German” has almost a sinister sound in the ears of an American, I should like to speak with affectionate respect of _that_ German family in which the three little American children passed several happy months. The members of the family were typically Teutonic in many ways: the Herr Hofsrath was the kindliest of creatures, and his rubicund, smiling wife paid him the most loving court; the three daughters--gay, well-educated, and very temperamental young women--threw themselves into the work of teaching us with a hearty good will, which met with real response from us, as that kind of effort invariably does. Our two cousins, the same little cousins who had shared the happy summer memories of Madison, New Jersey, when we were much younger, were also in Dresden with their mother, Mrs. Stuart Elliott, the “Aunt Lucy” referred to frequently in our letters. Aunt Lucy was bravely facing the results of the sad Civil War, and her only chance of giving her children a proper education was to take them to a foreign country where the possibility of good schools, combined with inexpensive living, suited her depleted income. Her little apartment on Sunday afternoons was always open to us all, and there we, five little cousins formed the celebrated “D. L. A. C.” (Dresden Literary American Club!)

On June 2 I wrote to my friend “Edie”: “We five children have gotten up a club and meet every Sunday at Aunt Lucy’s, and read the poetry and stories that we have written during the week. When the book is all done, we will sell the book either to mother or Aunt Annie and divide the money; (although on erudition bent, still of commercial mind!) _I_ am going to write poetry all the time. My first poem was called ‘A Sunny Day in June.’ Next time I am going to give ‘The Lament of an American in a German Family.’ It is an entirely different style I assure you.” The “different style” is so very poor that I refrain from quoting that illustrious poem.

From left to right: Theodore Roosevelt, aged 14¾ years; Elliott Roosevelt, aged 13½ years; Maud Elliott, aged 12¾ years; Corinne Roosevelt, aged 11¾ years; John Elliott, aged 14½ years. July 1, 1873.]

The work for the D. L. A. C. proved to be a very entertaining pastime, and great competition ensued. A motto was chosen by “Johnnie” and “Ellie,” who were the wits of the society. The motto was spoken of with bated breath and mysteriously inscribed W. A. N. A. underneath the mystic signs of D. L. A. C. For many a long year no one but those in our strictest confidence were allowed to know that “W. A. N. A.” stood for “We Are No Asses.” This, perhaps somewhat untruthful statement, was objected to originally by “Teedie,” who firmly maintained that the mere making of such a motto showed that “Johnnie” and “Ellie” were certainly exceptions that proved that rule. “Teedie” himself, struggling as usual with terrible attacks of asthma that perpetually undermined his health and strength, was all the same, between the attacks, the ringleader in fun and gaiety and every imaginable humorous adventure. He was a slender, overgrown boy at the time, and wore his hair long in true German student fashion, and adopted a would-be philosopher type of look, effectively enhanced by trousers that were outgrown, and coat sleeves so short that they gave him a “Smike”-like appearance. His contributions to the immortal literary club were either serious and very accurate from a natural-historical standpoint, or else they showed, as comparatively few of his later writings have shown, the delightful quality of humor which, through his whole busy life, lightened for him every load and criticism. I cannot resist giving in full the fascinating little story called “Mrs. Field Mouse’s Dinner Party,” in which the personified animals played social parts, in the portrayal of which my brother divulged (my readers must remember he was only fourteen) a knowledge of “society” life, its acrid jealousies and hypocrisies, of which he never again seemed to be conscious.

MRS. FIELD MOUSE’S DINNER PARTY

BY THEODORE ROOSEVELT--AGED FOURTEEN

“My Dear,” said Mrs. M. to Mr. M. one day as they were sitting on
an elegant acorn sofa, just after breakfast, “My Dear, I think that
we really must give a dinner party.” “A What, my love?” exclaimed
Mr. M. in a surprised tone. “A Dinner Party”; returned Mrs. M.
firmly, “you have no objections I suppose?”

“Of course not, of course not,” said Mr. M. hastily, for there was
an ominous gleam in his wife’s eye. “But--but why have it yet for a
while, my love?” “Why indeed! A pretty question! After that odious
Mrs. Frog’s great tea party the other evening! But that is just
it, you never have any proper regard for your station in life, and
on me involves all the duty of keeping up appearances, and after
all _this_ is the gratitude I get for it!” And Mrs. M. covered her
eyes and fell into hysterics of 50 flea power. Of course, Mr. M.
had to promise to have it whenever she liked.

“Then the day after tomorrow would not be too early, I suppose?”
“My Dear,” remonstrated the unfortunate Mr. M., but Mrs. M. did not
heed him and continued: “You could get the cheese and bread from
Squeak, Nibble & Co. with great ease, and the firm of Brown House
and Wood Rats, with whom you have business relations, you told me,
could get the other necessaries.”

“But in such a short time,” commenced Mr. M. but was sharply cut
off by the lady; “Just like you, Mr. M.! Always raising objections!
and when I am doing all I can to help you!” Symptoms of hysterics
and Mr. M. entirely convinced, the lady continues: “Well, then we
will have it the day after tomorrow. By the way, I hear that Mr.
Chipmunck has got in a new supply of nuts, and you might as well
go over after breakfast and get them, before they are bought by
someone else.”

“I have a business engagement with Sir Butterfly in an hour,” began
Mr. M. but stopped, meekly got his hat and went off at a glance
from Mrs. M.’s eye.

When he was gone, the lady called down her eldest daughter, the
charming Miss M. and commenced to arrange for the party.

“We will use the birch bark plates,”--commenced Mrs. M.

“And the chestnut ‘tea set,’” put in her daughter.

“With the maple leaf vases, of course,” continued Mrs. M.

“And the eel bone spoons and forks,” added Miss M.

“And the dog tooth knives,” said the lady.

“And the slate table cloth,” replied her daughter.

“Where shall we have the ball anyhow,” said Mrs. M.

“Why, Mr. Blind Mole has let his large subterranean apartments and
that would be the best place,” said Miss M.

“Sir Lizard’s place, ‘Shady Nook,’ which we bought the other day,
is far better _I_ think,” said Mrs. M. “But _I_ don’t,” returned
her daughter. “Miss M. be still,” said her mother sternly, and Miss
M. _was_ still. So it was settled that the ball was to be held at
‘Shady Nook.’

“As for the invitations, Tommy Cricket will carry them around,”
said Mrs. M. “But who shall we have?” asked her daughter. After
some discussion, the guests were determined on. Among them were
all the Family of Mice and Rats, Sir Lizard, Mr. Chipmunck, Sir
Shrew, Mrs. Shrew, Mrs. Bullfrog, Miss Katydid, Sir Grasshopper,
Lord Beetle, Mr. Ant, Sir Butterfly, Miss Dragonfly, Mr. Bee, Mr.
Wasp, Mr. Hornet, Madame Maybug, Miss Lady Bird, and a number of
others. Messrs. Gloworm and Firefly agreed to provide lamps as the
party was to be had at night. Mr. M., by a great deal of exertion,
got the provisions together in time, and Miss M. did the same with
the furniture, while Mrs. M. superintended generally, and was a
great bother.

Water Bug & Co. conveyed everything to Shady Nook, and so at the
appointed time everything was ready, and the whole family, in their
best ball dresses, waited for the visitors.

* * * * *

The fisrt visitor to arrive was Lady Maybug. “Stupid old thing;
always first,” muttered Mrs. M., and then aloud, “How charming it
is to see you so prompt, Mrs. Maybug; I can always rely on _your_
being here in time.”

“Yes Ma’am, oh law! but it is so hot--oh law! and the carriage, oh
law! almost broke down; oh law! I did really think I never should
get here--oh law!” and Mrs. Maybug threw herself on the sofa; but
the sofa unfortunately had one weak leg, and as Mrs. Maybug was no
light weight, over she went. While Mrs. M. (inwardly swearing if
ever a mouse swore) hastened to her assistance, and in the midst of
the confusion caused by this accident, Tommy Cricket (who had been
hired for waiter and dressed in red trousers accordingly) threw
open the door and announced in a shrill pipe, “Nibble Squeak & Co.,
Mum,” then hastily correcting himself, as he received a dagger
like glance from Mrs. M., “Mr. Nibble and Mr. Squeak, Ma’am,” and
precipitately retreated through the door. Meanwhile the unfortunate
Messrs. Nibble and Squeak, who while trying to look easy in their
new clothes, had luckily not heard the introduction, were doing
their best to bow gracefully to Miss Maybug and Miss Mouse, the
respective mamas of these young ladies having pushed them rapidly
forward as each of the ladies was trying to get up a match between
the rich Mr. Squeak and her daughter, although Miss M. preferred
Mr. Woodmouse and Miss Maybug, Mr. Hornet. In the next few minutes
the company came pouring in (among them Mr. Woodmouse, accompanying
Miss Katydid, at which sight Miss M. turned green with envy), and
after a very short period the party was called in to dinner, for
the cook had boiled the hickory nuts too long and they had to be
sent up immediately or they would be spoiled. Mrs. M. displayed
great generalship in the arrangement of the people, Mr. Squeak
taking in Miss M., Mr. Hornet, Miss Maybug, and Mr. Woodmouse,
Miss Katydid. But now Mr. M. had invited one person too many for
the plates, and so Mr. M. had to do without one. At first this was
not noticed, as each person was seeing who could get the most to
eat, with the exception of those who were love-making, but after
a while, Sir Lizard, (a great swell and a very high liver) turned
round and remarked, “Ee-aw, I say, Mr. M., why don’t you take
something more to eat?” “Mr. M. is not at all hungry tonight, are
you my dear?” put in Mrs. M. smiling at Sir Lizard, and frowning at
Mr. M. “Not at all, not at all,” replied the latter hastily. Sir
Lizard seemed disposed to continue the subject, but Mr. Moth, (a
very scientific gentleman) made a diversion by saying, “Have you
seen my work on ‘Various Antenae’? In it I demonstrated clearly the
superiority of feathered to knobbed Antenae and”--“Excuse me, Sir,”
interrupted Sir Butterfly, “but you surely don’t mean to say--”

“Excuse _me_, if you please,” replied Mr. Moth sharply, “but I _do_
mean it, and if you read my work, you will perceive that the rays
of feather-like particles on the trunk of the Antenae deriving from
the center in straight or curved lines generally”--at this moment
Mr. Moth luckily choked himself and seizing the lucky instant, Mrs.
M. rang for the desert.

There was a sort of struggling noise in the pantry, but that was
the only answer. A second ring, no answer. A third ring; and
Mrs. M. rose in majestic wrath, and in dashed the unlucky Tommy
Cricket with the cheese, but alas, while half way in the room, the
beautiful new red trousers came down, and Tommy and cheese rolled
straight into Miss Dragon Fly who fainted without any unnecessary
delay, while the noise of Tommy’s howls made the room ring. There
was great confusion immediately, and while Tommy was being kicked
out of the room, and while Lord Beetle was emptying a bottle of
rare rosap over Miss Dragon Fly, in mistake for water, Mrs. M. gave
a glance at Mr. M., which made him quake in his shoes, and said
in a low voice, “Provoking thing! _now_ you see the good of no
suspenders”--“But my dear, you told me not to”--began Mr. M., but
was interrupted by Mrs. M. “Don’t speak to me, you--” but here Miss
Katydid’s little sister struck in on a sharp squeak. “Katy kissed
Mr. Woodmouse!” “Katy didn’t,” returned her brother. “Katy did,”
“Katy didn’t,” “Katy did,” “Katy didn’t.” All eyes were now turned
on the crimsoning Miss Katydid, but she was unexpectedly saved by
the lamps suddenly commencing to burn blue!

“There, Mr. M.! Now you see what you have done!” said the lady of
the house, sternly.

“My dear, I told you they could not get enough oil if you had the
party so early. It was your own fault,” said Mr. M. worked up to
desperation.

Mrs. M. gave him a glance that would have annihilated three
millstones of moderate size, from its sharpness, and would have
followed the example of Miss Dragon Fly, but was anticipated by
Madame Maybug, who, as three of the lamps above her went out,
fell into blue convulsions on the sofa. As the whole room was now
subsiding into darkness, the company broke up and went off with
some abruptness and confusion, and when they were gone, Mrs. M.
turned (by the light of one bad lamp) an eagle eye on Mr. M. and
said--, but we will now draw a curtain over the harrowing scene
that ensued and say,

“Good Bye.”

“Teedie” not only indulged in the free play of fancy such as the above, but wrote with extraordinary system and regularity for a boy of fourteen to his mother and father, and perhaps these letters, written in the far-away Dresden atmosphere, show more conclusively than almost any others the character, the awakening mind, the forceful mentality of the young and delicate boy. On May 29, in a letter to his mother, a very parental letter about his homesick little sister who had not yet been taken from the elderly family in which she was so unhappy, he drops into a lighter vein and says: “I have overheard a good deal of Minckwitz conversation which they did not think I understood; Father was considered ‘very pretty’ (_sehr hübsch_) and his German ‘exceedingly beautiful,’ neither of which statements I quite agree with.” And a week or two later, writing to his father, he describes, after referring casually to a bad attack of asthma, an afternoon of tag and climbing trees, supper out in the open air, and long walks through the green fields dotted with the blue cornflowers and brilliant red poppies. True to his individual tastes, he says: “When I am not studying my lessons or out walking I spend all my time in translating natural history, wrestling with Richard, a young cousin of the Minckwitz’ whom I can throw as often as he throws me, and I also sometimes cook, although my efforts in the culinary art are really confined to grinding coffee, beating eggs or making hash, and such light labors.” Later he writes again: “The boxing gloves are a source of great amusement; you ought to have seen us after our ‘rounds’ yesterday.” The foregoing “rounds” were described even more graphically by “Ellie” in a letter to our uncle, Mr. Gracie, as follows: “Father, you know, sent us a pair of boxing gloves apiece and Teedie, Johnnie, and I have had jolly fun with them. Last night in a round of one minute and a half with Teedie, he got a bloody nose and I got a bloody mouth, and in a round with Johnnie, I got a bloody mouth again and he a pair of purple eyes. Then Johnnie gave Teedie another bloody nose. [The boys by this time seemed to have multiplied their features indefinitely with more purple eyes!] We do enjoy them so! Boxing is one of Teedie’s and my favorite amusements; it is such a novelty to be made to see stars when it is not night.” No wonder that later “Ellie” contributed what I called in one of my later letters a “tragical” article called “Bloody Hand” for the D. L. A. C., perhaps engendered by the memory of all those bloody mouths and noses!

“Teedie” himself, in writing to his Aunt Annie, describes himself as a “bully boy with a black eye,” and in the same letter, which seems to be in answer to one in which this devoted aunt had described an unusual specimen to interest him, he says:

“Dear darling little Nancy: I have received your letter concerning the wonderful animal and although the fact of your having described it as having horns and being carnivorous has occasioned me grave doubts as to your veracity, yet I think in course of time a meeting may be called by the Roosevelt Museum and the matter taken into consideration, although this will not happen until after we have reached America. The Minckwitz family are all splendid but very superstitious. My scientific pursuits cause the family a good deal of consternation.