The Autobiography of Eleanor Roosevelt (5 page)

In the autumn of 1899, when I was fifteen, I sailed for England with my aunt, Mrs. Stanley Mortimer, and her family. She took me in her cabin and told me that she was a poor sailor and always went to bed immediately on getting on the boat. I thought this was the proper procedure and followed suit. As a result, I did not enjoy that trip at all, as most of it was spent in my berth, and I arrived in England distinctly wobbly, never having stayed indoors so long before!

I did not know my beautiful Auntie Tissie as well as I knew my two younger aunts, but I was fond of her and she was always kindness itself to me. I think, even then, she felt more at home in Europe and in England than she did in the United States. She had many friends in that little London coterie known as “The Souls.” She was one of the people whom the word “exquisite” describes best.

It was decided to send me to Mlle. Souvestre’s school, “Allenswood,” at a little place called South Fields, not far from Wimbledon Common and a short distance from London. The school was chosen because my father’s sister, Mrs. Cowles, had gone to Mlle. Souvestre’s school at Les Ruches, outside of Paris, before the Franco-Prussian War. The siege of Paris had been such an ordeal that Mlle. Souvestre left France and moved to England.

The family felt that, as I was to be left alone, it would be pleasanter to know that the headmistress had a personal interest in me. Tissie took me out to see Mlle. Souvestre, and I was left there with the promise that I would spend Christmas with her in London. When she drove away I felt lost and very lonely.

There were a great many rules and the first one was that all had to talk French, and if they used an English word they had to report themselves at the end of the day.

As my first nurse had been a Frenchwoman and I spoke French before I spoke English, it was quite easy for me, but for many of the English girls who had had little French beforehand it was a terrible effort.

On the inside of each bathroom door were pasted the bath rules and I was appalled to find that we had to fight for three baths a week and were limited to ten minutes unless we happened to have the last period, and then perhaps we could sneak another five minutes before “lights out” was sounded!

We had to make our own beds before leaving the room in the morning. When we got out of bed we had to take the bedclothes off and put them on a chair to air. Our rooms were inspected after breakfast and we were marked on neatness and the way we made our beds. Frequently our bureau drawers and closets were examined, and any girl whose bureau drawers were out of order might return to her room to find the entire contents of the drawers dumped on her bed for rearranging. I also saw beds completely stripped and left to be made over again.

The day began with an early breakfast, café au lait, chocolate or milk, rolls and butter. I think eggs were given to those who wanted them.

Mlle. Souvestre, older and white-haired and obliged to take a certain amount of care of her health, never came to breakfast, but we were well watched over by Mlle. Samaia, a dynamic little woman who adored Mlle. Souvestre and waited on her hand and foot, ran all the business end of the school, and gave Italian lessons.

To be in Mlle. Samaia’s good graces you had to show practical qualities. The girls who were singled out by her to hold positions of trust were dependable, could usually do almost anything with their hands, and had the ability to manage and lead their fellow students.

It took me a long time to get into her good graces, for I was a good deal of a dreamer and an American, which to her was an unknown quantity.

Mlle. Souvestre, on the contrary, had a soft spot for Americans and liked them as pupils. A number of her pupils became outstanding women. Auntie Bye, for instance, was one of the most interesting women I have ever known.

My grandfather Roosevelt’s interest in cripples had first been aroused by the fact that he had consulted many doctors in trying to do something for his eldest daughter, Auntie Bye. She was not exactly a hunchback but she had a curious figure, thick through the shoulders, evidently caused by a curvature of the spine. Her hair was lovely, soft and wavy. Her eyes were deep-set and really beautiful, making you forget the rest of the face.

Auntie Bye had a mind that worked as an able man’s mind works. She was full of animation, was always the center of any group she was with, and carried the burden of conversation. When she reached middle age she was already deaf and the arthritis which was finally to cripple her completely was causing her great pain, but never for a minute did her infirmities disturb her spirit. As they increased she simply seemed to become more determined to rise above them, and her charm and vivid personality made her house, wherever she lived, the meeting place for people from the four corners of the earth.

She had great executive ability, poise and judgment, and her influence was felt not only by her sister and brothers but by all her friends. To the young people with whom she came in contact she was an inspiration and one of the wisest counselors I ever knew. She listened more than she talked, but what she said was worth listening to!

From the start Mlle. Souvestre was interested in me because of her affection for Anna, and day by day I found myself more interested in her. This grew into a warm affection which lasted until her death.

Mlle. Souvestre was short and rather stout, she had snow-white hair. Her head was beautiful, with clear-cut, strong features, a strong face and broad forehead. Her hair grew to a peak in front and waved back in natural waves to a twist at the back of her head. Her eyes looked through you, and she always knew more than she was told.

After breakfast we were all taken for a walk on the common—and you had to have a good excuse to escape that walk! From about November it was cold and fairly foggy, and the fog rose from the ground and penetrated the very marrow of your bones—but still we walked!

At home I had begun to shed some of the underclothes which my grandmother had started me out with in my early youth, but here in England in winter I took to warm flannels again, and while we had central heat, which was unusual, one had positively to sit on the radiator to feel any warmth. There were only a few of us who had grates in our bedrooms, and those of us who had open fires were envied by all the others.

I can remember crowding into the dining room in order to get as near the radiator as possible before we had to sit down. Nearly all the English girls had chilblains on their hands and feet throughout most of the winter.

Classes began immediately on our return from the walks, and each of us had a schedule that ran through the whole day—classes, hours for practice, time for preparation—no idle moments were left to anyone. Immediately after lunch we had two hours for exercises, and most of us played field hockey during the winter months.

I was as awkward as ever at games, and had never seen a game of hockey, but I had to play something, and in time made the first team. I think that day was one of the proudest moments of my life. I realize now it would have been better to have devoted the time which I gave to hockey to learning to play tennis, which would have been more useful to me later on.

When we came in at four o’clock we found on the schoolroom table big slices of bread about half an inch thick, sometimes spread with raspberry jam, more often with plain butter. Those who were delicate were given a glass of milk.

Then we studied until the bell rang, which sent us scurrying to dress for dinner. Fifteen minutes were allowed to change shoes and stockings and dress.

One day a week we did our mending in the period after four
P
.
M
.—under supervision, of course—in the school room.

In the evenings we worked again, though occasionally we were allowed to go down to the gym and dance. Most of our lessons were in French, though Miss Strachey, a member of the well-known literary family, gave us classes in Shakespeare; and of course we had German, Latin and music.

Mlle. Souvestre held her history classes in her library, a charming and comfortable room lined with books and filled with flowers, looking out on a wide expanse of lawn, where really beautiful trees gave shade in summer and formed good perches for the rooks and crows in winter.

We sat on little chairs on either side of the fireplace. Mlle. Souvestre carried a long pointer in her hand, and usually a map hung on the wall. She would walk up and down, lecturing to us. We took notes, but were expected to do a good deal of independent reading and research. We wrote papers on the subjects assigned and labored hard over them. This was the class we enjoyed beyond any other.

A few of us were occasionally invited in the evening to Mlle. Souvestre’s study, and those were red-letter days. She had a great gift for reading aloud and she read to us, always in French, poems, plays and stories. If the poems were those she liked, occasionally she read them over two or three times and then demanded that we recite them to her in turn. Here my memory trained at home stood me in good stead, and I found this an exhilarating way to spend an evening.

I did not know that my grandmother and my aunts had written about me before I arrived, so I felt that I was starting a new life, free from all my former sins. This was the first time in my life that my fears left me. If I lived up to the rules and told the truth, there was nothing to fear.

I had a bad habit of biting my nails. In short order that was noticed by Mlle. Samaia, who set out to cure me. It seemed a hopeless task, but one day I was rereading some letters of my father’s, which I always carried with me, and I came across one in which he spoke of making the most of one’s personal appearance, and from that day forward my nails were allowed to grow.

By the first Christmas holidays I was quite at home and happy in school. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were spent with my Mortimer family at Claridge’s Hotel in London. It did not seem right to have a small tree on a table in a hotel. We had always had a big one at home, but Auntie Tissie saw to it that I had a stocking and many gifts, and the day was a happy one, on the whole.

I had been invited to spend a few days with Mrs. Woolryche-Whittemore and her family in the north of England. Her husband was rector of a church at Bridgenorth, in Shropshire, and she had five little girls, one or two about my own age. She was Douglas Robinson’s sister and held closely to her American ties, so that, though I could only be considered a connection by marriage, I was made to feel like a real relative and taken into the family and treated like one of the children. I enjoyed every minute of that visit, which was my first glimpse of English family life.

For breakfast there was food on one of the sideboards in covered dishes with lamps under them to keep the food warm, and everyone helped himself to whatever he found. High tea was served in the schoolroom about four-thirty in the afternoon, and the children’s father joined us sometimes and shared our bread and jam and tea and cake. Those who were very hungry could have an egg. Long walks and drives, endless games, and books on hand for any unoccupied moments made life full for the days I stayed there.

I had traveled up alone and was going back alone. There had been a good deal of discussion as to how I was to get over to Paris to see Auntie Tissie once more before she left for Biarritz. I was to live with a French family for the rest of my holiday, in order to study French.

It was finally decided to engage one of the English inventions, a visiting maid, with good references, to travel from London to Paris with me. I had never seen her but I picked her out without any difficulty in the station and went on to Paris.

I really marvel now at my confidence and independence, for I was totally without fear in this new phase of my life. The trip across the Channel was short, and I managed to find myself a windy corner to keep from being ill, but I was glad enough, once through the customs and on French soil, to curl up in the compartment of the train, and drink café au lait poured out of those big cans that were carried up and down the platforms.

We reached Paris in the early hours of the morning. The maid went with me as far as my aunt’s hotel. I spent a few hours with her and was then taken over by Mlle. Bertaux. Actually, there were two Mlles. Bertaux and their mother. They had a simple but comfortable apartment in one of the less fashionable parts of Paris, and this was to be my first glimpse of French family life.

The furniture was stuffed, as I remember it, and was of an entirely nondescript period. There was, of course, no bathroom, but hot water was brought by the
bonne à tout faire
mornings and evenings, and a little round tin tub was available if you felt you must have it.

Meals were good, but different from anything I had known. Soups were delicious, and inferior cuts of meat were so well cooked that they were as palatable as our more expensive cuts. A vegetable was a course in itself, and at each place at the table were little glass rests for your knife and fork, which were not taken out with your plate as you finished each course. The household was run with extreme frugality, and yet they lived well. The two Mlles. Bertaux were excellent guides and charming, cultivated women.

The wide avenues, beautiful public buildings and churches, everything combined to make Paris for me the most exciting city I had ever been in. I saw much of it with Mlle. Bertaux on that first visit, but chiefly we did the things that a visitor should do, not the things which, later, came to mean to me the real charm of Paris.

Mlle. Souvestre had arranged that I should go back to England under Mlle. Samaia’s care, and after a delightful holiday I went back to school, hoping that I should have another chance to stay with the Bertaux family.

School life itself was uneventful, but in the world outside great excitement reigned. I had hardly been conscious of our Spanish War in 1898, though I had heard a great deal about the sinking of the
Maine
and about Uncle Ted and his Rough Riders. My grandmother and her family lived completely outside the political circles of the day and took little interest in public affairs. But I remember the joy and excitement when Uncle Ted came back and went to Albany as governor of New York.