est intellectual development; I pay all homage to intellect,
and to elaborate and specialized training of the intellect;
and yet I know I shall have the assent of all of you present
FOREIGN AFFAIRS 163
when I add that more important still are the commonplace,
every-day qualities and virtues.
With his characteristic frankness, Mr. Roosevelt
attacked race suicide, in speaking to a nation whose
birth-rate was decreasing:
Even more important than ability to work, even more im-
portant than ability to fight at need, is it to remember that
the chief of blessings for any nation is that it shall leave its
seed to inherit the land. It was the crown of blessings in
Biblical times; and it is the crown of blessings now. The
greatest of all curses is the curse of sterility, and the severest
of all condemnations should be that visited upon wilful ster-
ility. The first essential in any civilization is that the man
and the woman shall be father and mother of healthy chil-
dren, so that the race shall increase and not decrease.
In this address he also stated succinctly his
position with regard to the relations of labour and
capital :
My position as regards the moneyed interests can be put
in a few words. In every civilized society property rights
must be carefully safeguarded. Ordinarily, and in the great
majority of cases, human rights and property rights are
fundamentally and in the long run identical; but when it
clearly appears that there is a real conflict between them,
human rights must have the upper hand, for property belongs
to man and not man to property.
A passage which elicited enthusiastic ap-
plause was the following in which he paid his
i6 4 IMPRESSIONS OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT
tribute to the man who strenuously struggles on
against all obstacles:
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out
how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds
could have done them better. The credit belongs to the
man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust
and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, and
comes short again and again — because there is no effort with-
out error and shortcoming — but who does actually strive to
do the deeds; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great
devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the
best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and
who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid
souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
But the most significant passage of the address,
the truth of which has been more than substanti-
ated by the chaos of Russian bolshevism, was what
he had to say about the danger of extreme social-
ism based on class war:
I am a strong individualist by personal habit, inheritance'
and conviction; but it is a mere matter of common sense to
recognize that the State, the community, the citizens acting
together, can do a number of things better than if they were
left to individual action. The individualism which finds its
expression in the abuse of physical force is checked very early
in the growth of civilization, and we of to-day should, in our
turn, strive to shackle or destroy that individualism which
triumphs by greed and cunning, which exploits the weak by
craft instead of ruling them by brutality. We ought to go
FOREIGN AFFAIRS 165
with any man in the effort to bring about justice and the
equality of opportunity; to turn ; the tool user more and more
into the tool owner; to shift burdens so that they can be more
equitably borne. The deadening effect on any race of the
adoption of a logical and extreme socialistic system could
not be overstated; it would spell sheer destruction; it would
produce grosser wrong and outrage, fouler immorality, than
any existing system. But this does not mean that we may
not with great advantage adopt certain of the principles pro-
fessed by some given set of men who happen to call them-
selves Socialists; to be afraid to do so would be to make a
mark of weakness on our part.
The effect of this address on French public
opinion was remarkable. Not long after its de-
livery I received from a friend, an American
military officer stationed in Paris, a letter from
which I quote the following passage:
I find that Paris is still everywhere talking of Mr. Roose-
velt. It was a thing almost without precedent that this
blase city kept up its interest in him without abatement for
eight days; but that a week after his departure should still
find him the main topic of conversation is a fact which has
undoubtedly entered into Paris history. The Temps, one
of the foremost daily newspapers of Paris, has had fifty-seven
thousand copies of his Sorbonne address printed and distrib-
uted free to every school-teacher in France and to many
other persons. The socialist or revolutionary groups and
press had made preparations for a monster demonstration on
May first. Walls were placarded with incendiary appeals
and their press was full of calls to arms. M. Briand [the
Prime Minister] flatly refused to allow the demonstration,
166 IMPRESSIONS OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT
and gave orders accordingly to M. Lepine [the Chief of
Police]. For the first time since present influences have
governed France — certainly the first time in fifteen years —
the police and the troops were authorized to use their arms
in self-defence.
The result of this firmness was that the leaders counter-
manded the demonstration, and there can be no doubt that
many lives were saved and a new point gained in the possibil-
ity of governing Paris as a free city, yet one where order
must be preserved — votes or no votes.
Now this stiff attitude of M. Briand and the Conseil is
freely attributed, in intelligent quarters, to Mr. Roosevelt.
French people say it is a repercussion of his visit — of his Sor-
bonne lecture — and that, going away, he left in the minds of
these people some of that intangible spirit of his; in other
words, they felt what, in a similar emergency, he would have
felt, and, for the first time in their lives, showed a disregard
of voters when they were bent upon mischief. It is rather
an extraordinary verdict, but it has seized the Parisian im-
agination, and I, for one, believe it is correct.
If the international socialists had got control
of Paris in 1910 they might have wielded the in-
fluence which they sought to exert in the early
days of the war in behalf of a "Brest-Litovsk"
peace between France and Germany. Such a
peace would have meant the extinction of France,
and so it has always seemed to me that Roosevelt
contributed personally something to the vigour of
the French people.
While Roosevelt was lying ill in the Roosevelt
Hospital in the city of New York in November,
FOREIGN AFFAIRS 167
191 8, with what at the time was supposed to be a
severe attack of sciatica — an illness which was
followed by his death in the following January —
I wrote him this letter:
Please accept this word of sympathy and best wishes.
Some years ago I had a severe attack of sciatica which
kept me in bed a good many days; in fact, it »kept me
in an armchair night and day some of the time because
I could not lie down, so I know what the discomfort and
pain are.
I want to take this opportunity also of sending you my
congratulations. For I think your leadership has had very
much to do with the unconditional surrender of Germany.
Last Friday night I was asked to speak at the Men's Club of
the Church of the Messiah in this city and they requested me
to make you the subject of my talk. I told them something
about your experience in Egypt and Europe in 1910 and said
what I most strongly believe, that your address at the Sor-
bonne — in strengthening the supporters of law and order
against red Bolshevism — and your address in Guildhall —
urging the British to govern or go — contributed directly
to the success of those two governments in this war. If
Great Britain had allowed Egypt to get out of hand instead
of, as an actual result of your Guildhall speech, sending Kit-
chener to strengthen the feebleness of Sir Eldon Gorst, the
Turks and Germans might have succeeded in their invasion
and have cut off the Suez Canal. So you laid the ground for
preparedness not only in this country but in France and
England.
I know it was a disappointment to you not to have
an actual share in the fighting but I think you did a greater
piece of work in preparing the battleground and the battle
spirit.
168 IMPRESSIONS OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT
In reply he sent me this note:
That's a dear letter of yours, Lawrence. I thank you for
it and I appreciate it to the full.
This was the last exchange of letters I had with
him.
CHAPTER VI
A MAN OF LETTERS
THE first thing that strikes the ordinary ob-
server about Roosevelt's work as a man of
letters is its prodigious volume. The list of books
which he published — exclusive of pamphlets, oc-
casional addresses, and uncollected magazine ar-
ticles — numbers at least thirty separate titles.
His "Life of Gouverneur Morris " is about fifty
or sixty thousand words in length; his "African
Game Trails" about two hundred thousand words.
It is, to be sure, a very rough estimate, but let
us suppose that his books average seventy-five
thousand words. This means that he wrote two
million and a half words in permanent literary
form.
One of his official secretaries has said that, during
his governorship and Presidency, Roosevelt wrote
one hundred and fifty thousand letters. Suppose
they averaged one hundred words each — I myself
have received scores from him that were very
much longer than that; this amounts to fifteen
million words more and this volume of material
169
170 IMPRESSIONS OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT
covers only the epistolary side, a comparatively
brief part of his active career, and on the literary
side only that portion of his writing which he
himself felt might be put into permanent form.
A man who does two thousand words of creative
work day in and day out for every working day
of * the year is performing a portentous job from
the brain-worker's point of view. If the estimate
that Roosevelt produced eighteen millions of
written words in his lifetime is at all reasonable,
that alone would represent the work of thirty years
of the lifetime of a literary man. Roosevelt had
about forty years of active work, assuming that
he began his productive activity when he published
"The Naval War of 1812" not long after he had
passed his twentieth year. Thus, in his forty
working years he produced as a writer what in
amount, at least, would have been a creditable
fruitage of thirty years' labour by a professional
man of letters who did nothing else but write.
Writing, however, was merely one of Roosevelt's
avocations. While all this production of written
words was going on he was also soldiering, explor-
ing, travelling, governing, speaking, studying, and
reading. What he did, therefore, as a man of letters
is, in the first place, an astounding feat of physi-
cal endurance.
A MAN OF LETTERS 171
I am not competent — nor have I the space —
to undertake here a literary criticism of his standing
as a man of letters. The very fact that he was so
profuse in his writing makes some of it diffuse.
It varies very much in merit, but it must be remem-
bered that he did not have the leisure for incubation,
consideration, and revision which the professional
man of letters requires. Most of his writing was
done at high pressure or in extraordinary circum-
stances. Father Zahm, the well-known scientist
and man of letters in the Catholic Church — who
accompanied Roosevelt on a large part of his South
American explorations, and who originally pro-
posed that trip — thus describes his two methods
of work, in an article published in the Outlook not
long after Roosevelt's death:
The articles intended for one of the magazines of which he
was a contributor were dictated to his secretary, and dictated
for the most part immediately after the occurrence of the
events described, while all of the facts were still fresh in his
memory. Descriptions of scenery were rarely delayed more
than one day, usually not more than a few hours. As soon
as he returned from a visit to a museum, a cattle ranch, or a
public gathering of any kind he called his secretary, and we
soon heard the clicking of the keys of the typewriter. And
it mattered not where he happened to be at the time — on a
railway train, or on a steamer, or in a hotel — it was all the
same. The work had to be done, and it was accomplished
at the earliest possible moment. . . .
The articles which appeared in another magazine describ-
172 IMPRESSIONS OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT
ing his hunting experiences in Matto Grosso, unlike those
recounting incidents of his triumphal march through other
parts of South America, were written by his own hand, and
often with the expenditure of great labour. Most people
have come to believe that because Roosevelt wrote so much —
and that often under the most unfavourable conditions — he
must therefore have dashed off his articles for the press with
little or no effort. Nothing is further from the truth. No
one was more painstaking or conscientious than Roosevelt
was in his literary work. I had frequent evidence of this,
especially in the upper Paraguay. Here it often happened
that he received different and contradictory reports regarding
the habits of certain animals, but he would not put in writing
his own opinions about the disputed questions until he had
thoroughly investigated the subject and had satisfied himself
that he had arrived at the truth. . . .
Sometimes his observations were penned after he had re-
turned from a long and tiresome hunt in the jungle. Any
other man would have thrown himself into his hammock and
taken a rest. But not so our Nimrod. He would refresh
himself by a plunge into a stream, if there was one near by,
or by a copious ablution in his portable bath, and then he
would forthwith seat himself at a folding writing table, which
he always carried with him, and set down the experiences of
the day while they were still vividly before his mind. He
would thus continue to write for an hour or two, or even
several hours, according to the time at his disposal. . . .
He wrote with indelible pencil, and, by means of carbon
paper, three copies were made of each article. This was as a
precaution against loss of the manuscript in the mails. He
did not aim at stylistic effects, and never made any attempt
at meretricious adornment of his thoughts. Like Cardinal
Newman, his chief effort was to be clear and to express him-
self in such wise that no one could mistake the meaning he
desired to convey. It is for this reason that the style of his
hunting articles is so graphic and pellucid, and that he was
A MAN OF LETTERS 173
able to make his readers see the marvels of tropical scenery
as he saw them himself.
Robert Bridges, the editor of Scribner's Magazine
— in which Roosevelt's records of his African jour-
ney were first published — also describes his method
of work as a writer:
When he promised a manuscript for a certain date, that
promise was kept absolutely, no matter what intervened.
When he returned from the Spanish-American War and
landed at Montauk, he sent word to the magazine that he
wanted to talk about his proposed story of "The Rough
Riders." Just before he started on that expedition he had
said in a brief interview: "If I come back, you shall have the
first chance at anything I write."
It was, therefore, on the first afternoon after he returned
to his home at Oyster Bay that, on the lawn at Sagamore
Hill, we talked over the book which developed into "The
Rough Riders." It was all perfectly clear in the Colonel's
mind. He knew the grand divisions of his story, although
he had not written a line. There were to be six articles, and
the date was set for the delivery of the first one so that the
serial could begin in the magazine promptly.
Very soon he was nominated for Governor of New York.
I said to him one day: "I suppose this will interfere with
your dates for 'The Rough Riders'?"
"Not at all," he replied; "you shall have the various chap-
ters at the time promised."
As everybody knows, he made a vigorous campaign for
Governor of New York, and was elected, and inaugurated in
the following January. Notwithstanding this arduous and
exciting time, he fulfilled every promise and the book was
delivered on time.
It was the same way with his "Oliver Cromwell," which
174 IMPRESSIONS OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT
was written while he was Governor of New York. He was
a busy man, but his literary work was just as complete as
though he had devoted his whole time to it.
When he was President he sent for me, and, taking me into
his library, opened a drawer in his desk, lifted out a complete
manuscript, put it on the desk, and said in effect:
"It isn't customary for Presidents to publish a book during
office, but I am going to publish this one."
We then went over together the complete manuscript of
"Outdoor Pastimes of an American Hunter." Some of
these papers had been written before. Other chapters were
the product of his hunting trips in Colorado and Louisiana
while President. The book was ready for the printer, title-
page and all. . . .
To him the making of a book was a delight. He knew all
the machinery of it, and he read his proofs with the accuracy
and industry of an expert.
But the literary work that he best enjoyed was writing his
"African Game Trails." The whole book, even the preface,
was written by his own hand, word for word, in triplicate,
in the very heart of Africa. One of the men who was with
him said that no matter how arduous the day in the hunting-
field, night after night he would see the Colonel seated on a
camp-stool, with a feeble light on the table, writing the nar-
rative of his adventures. Chapter by chapter this narrative
was sent by runners from the heart of Africa. Two copies
were despatched at different times. When he got to the
headwaters of the Nile one of the chapters was sent from
Nairobi and the duplicate was sent down the Nile to Cairo.
These blue canvas envelopes often arrived much battered and
stained, but never did a single chapter miss.
Brander Matthews, one of the very best of
American contemporary critics of literature, in
A MAN OF LETTERS 175
an article in Munseys Magazine on "Theodore
Roosevelt as a Man of Letters," has said that:
Roosevelt's style is firm and succulent; and its excellence
is due to his having learned the lesson of the masters of Eng-
lish. He wrote well because he had read widely and deeply,
because he had absorbed good literature for the sheer delight
he took in it. Consciously or unconsciously he enriched his
vocabulary, accumulating a store of strong words which he
made flexible, bending them to do his bidding. But he was
never bookish in his diction; he never went in quest of recon-
dite vocables, because his taste was refined, and because he
was ever seeking to be "understanded of the people."
Of Roosevelt's autobiography, Brander Mat-
thews adds that, while it has a lasting character
as a human document, it is open to the criticism
that it sounds like "an improvisation." It was an
improvisation — at least in part. It came about in
this way. After the turmoil of the Progressive
campaign — in which the partisan passions of the
country were deeply stirred and which resulted in
Roosevelt's defeat — it seemed to us desirable, both
for him and for the Outlook, that if possible his pen
should take a vacation, for a time at least, from
controversial political topics. We cast about to see
what suggestion we could make to him that might
turn his attention to other subjects and at the same
time give him the opportunity to furnish our
readers with that which they had come to look
176 IMPRESSIONS OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT
for from him; that is to say, contributions on politi-
cal, social, and industrial questions. It was my
brother, I think, who suggested that if we could
get him to write some of his reminiscences both
objects would be accomplished. I went to him,
therefore, and asked him if he would not give us
some chapters of autobiographical reminiscences.
He demurred at first very decidedly. "I do not
want to write about myself/' he said. "More-
over, I am sure Mrs. Roosevelt would not like it."
But I urged him to let me come down to Oyster
Bay and interview him with a stenographer.
"When the result is put in shape," I said, "you
can look it over and if you and Mrs. Roosevelt
do not like it we can 'kill' it — to use the technical
phrase of a newspaper office — and no harm is done.
If, however, the result is satisfactory we can try
another interview and continue them as long as
you have the patience and inclination to do so."
This plan struck him as feasible, and I met him
at Sagamore Hill by appointment. The stenog-
rapher was Frank Harper a young Englishman
whom we had engaged to be Mr. Roosevelt's pri-
vate secretary and who had travelled with us in
that capacity during the European trip. I warned
Harper to efface himself as much as possible so that
Roosevelt would be as little conscious as we could
A MAN OF LETTERS 177
make him that his words were being taken down;
and I also instructed him to make a record of
everything — questions, answers, interpolations,
comments, etc. — without any regard to whether
his notes made a coherent whole or not. Roosevelt
sat down with me in his study.
"Now, Mr. Roosevelt," I said, "I am not going
to ask you to dictate anything to Harper to-day.
I am simply going to ask you some questions, get
you to tell me some of the stories you have told
me from time to time about your early life, and
Harper will take the notes which I will give you
later as memoranda which you can use later in writ-
ing your recollections. You have told me you
were a sickly boy and yet from the time I first knew
you you have been an extraordinarily vigorous and
athletic man. What kind of a boyhood and educa-
tion did you have that could have produced such a
striking result out of such an inauspicious begin-
ning?" (I have said elsewhere, I think, that
Roosevelt was one of the most delightful table talk-
ers and raconteurs that I ever listened to.)
My question interested him, and he began to tell
something about his boyhood, his father, his
mother, his bringing up in the Twentieth Street
home, his narrative, fresh and extemporaneous,
being full of humour and anecdote. Suddenly,
178 IMPRESSIONS OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT
catching sight of Harper, he straightened up and
began to dictate in a more formal and literary
vein. I did not interrupt, but waited until he
said something, in the course of what had now
become a somewhat formal essay, that gave me a
chance to ask him a question or two, reminding
him, perhaps, of some anecdote that he had told
me previously. Thus diverting him from what had
quite apparently become a self-conscious and awk-
ward feeling that he was writing a formal paper
about himself, I started him off again, forgetful of
the stenographer, on a current of reminiscential talk.
In this way the afternoon was spent. When
Harper's voluminous notes were written I took
them to my own home and worked a day or two
upon them, striking out the questions and ir-
relevant remarks. By cutting up the typewritten
pages and pasting them together again I adjusted
the sequence and chronology of the story (for we
had skipped in our conversation from boyhood
to Harvard and from Harvard back to boyhood
again as my questions had suggested ideas and
recollections to Roosevelt). This was done, of
course, without adding a single word to anything
he had said or changing a single sentence. I had
a fair copy made of this re-arrangement, which
formed a consecutive narrative and composed the
A MAN OF LETTERS 179
first chapter of his autobiography, and submitted
it to him. He was satisfied with the result and
needed no further intervention on my part. With
his usual quickness of perception he caught the
idea which I was very desirous of getting before
him, and completed the autobiography himself
largely on the lines laid down in the first chapter.
He occasionally fell into the argumentative and
essay style later on in the volume and I think some-
what overloaded it with appendices and documen-
tary evidence. It has always seemed to me,