I can remember standing by a window when Cousin Susie… told me that my mother was dead. She was very sweet to me, and I must have known that something terrible had happened. Death meant nothing to me, and one fact wiped out everything else—my father was back and I would see him very soon.21
Anna Hall Roosevelt died at the age of twenty-nine of diphtheria. As indicated by Grandmère’s recollections, the gulf that separated mother and daughter was obvious; all that she was capable of relating to was the fact that she and her beloved father would soon be reunited and that “someday I would make a home for him again… and someday we would have a life of our own together.” In order to cope with her mother’s death, Grandmère further retreated into that universe of an idyllic fantasy life to be shared with her father, even if she could not live with him. My great-grandmother’s will had prescribed that her mother was to be guardian of her three children, not their father, and they were immediately installed in the elder Mrs. Hall’s brownstone residence on New York City’s fashionable West Side. Realizing that her grandmother was not prepared to undertake the role of mother to three young children, Grandmère assumed that role with her two little brothers.
Forlorn and completely at a loss following his wife’s death, my great-grandfather fell apart. He now moved to a New York apartment, resumed his life of alcohol and leisure, and assumed an anonymous relationship with a mistress. Despite his wayward ways, he never stopped loving his children, and would involve himself in as many details of their lives as he was allowed to under their grandmother’s watchful eye. For Grandmère, however, her father’s affection proved to be the first and foremost influence on the shaping of her early life. As she would say in later years, she always tried to live up to the ideals that her father had set for her—to be brave, truthful, loyal, and well educated. My great-grandfather wrote to her almost daily, letters she would read, reread, and then answer. He encouraged her in her studies and education, and in learning to ride her pony well. Though physically absent, my great-grandfather maintained a strong emotional link to his daughter. Letters were then, and would continue to be throughout her life, important emotional links to the people Grandmère loved. She wrote letters to all her family constantly in order to maintain an intimacy in relationships even when she was far removed.
Years later, Grandmère would chronicle in her memoirs the state in which Elliott found himself following the death of her mother: “No hope now of ever wiping out the sorrowful years he had brought upon my mother… He had no wife, no children, no hope!”22
But fate’s cruel hand was still not far from Eleanor. The year following her mother’s death, her darling little brother Ellie died of diphtheria at barely four years of age, and once more she was cast into a deepening sense of abandonment and loneliness. Elliott explained in a touching letter to Eleanor that Ellie would be up in heaven next to their mother, but to eight-year-old Eleanor it was a bewildering loss.
My own little Nell—We bury little Ellie tomorrow up at Tivoli by Mother’s side. He is happy in Heaven with her so now you must not grieve or sorrow. And you will have to be a double good Daughter to your father and good sister to your own little Brudie boy [Hall] who is left to us. I know you will my own little Heart. I cannot write more because I am not feeling very well and my heart is too full. But I wished you to know you were never out of my thoughts and prayers for one instant all the time. I put some flowers close by Ellie in your name as I knew you would like me to do. With abiding and most tender devotion and Love I am always,
Your affectionate Father23
By now my great-grandfather’s behavior became so unpredictable and erratic that Grandmother Hall prevented him from visiting his children unless supervised by a nanny or herself. Elliott was restless and desperate, and while Eleanor was on holiday with Hall and her grandmother in Bar Harbor, his final disintegration began. On August 14, 1894, just two months short of her tenth birthday, Grandmère suffered the greatest loss of all: Elliott Roosevelt died. She refused to believe her father was gone forever. Since Grandmother Hall forbid Eleanor and Hall’s attendance at the funeral, Grandmère would simply continue to live her “dream life” with her father. There was no closure provided, and none allowed. The powerful feelings Elliott elicited in his young daughter of powerful but ultimately tragic and flawed love would remain shut down in her heart and one day be awakened again in another powerful relationship.
At his untimely death at the age of thirty-four, my great-grandfather had again been living in Abingdon, Virginia, for two years. The local newspaper noted his death as follows:
DEATH OF MR. ELLIOTT ROOSEVELT
The New York papers announced the death of Mr. Elliott Roosevelt. This gentleman has been a member of this community for the past two years, and although his stay was so brief, it was long enough for him to make his impress as a whole souled, genial gentleman, courteous and kind at all times, with an ever ready cheer for the enterprising or to help the weak. His name was a byword among the needy, and his charities were always as abundant as they were unostentatious. He was public spirited and generous, this much we can truthfully say. His influence and his aid will be missed, and more frequently than is generally known among those to whom it was a boon.
Ensconced in a reality of loneliness and solemnity, Grandmère resided in her own dream world, a world in which “I was the heroine and my father the hero.” As strange as it may seem, her time with Grandmother Hall and her aunts and uncles was deeply healing for her. Her days, no longer punctuated by long holidays abroad and family dramas, acquired peace and structure. Her studies, erratic until then, assumed a new meaning. She went to school every day, read poetry and prose, played the piano, rode her pony, and spent long afternoons in the magnificent nature surrounding the family’s estate at Tivoli. During this time Eleanor immersed herself in literature, reading many books in their original French, including Victor Hugo, Dumas, the Chanson de Roland, and other classic European and American works.
Grandmère in front of the Hall family home in Tivoli, 1894. Her aunt Maude is in the horse cart.
Her grandmother provided her with security, and for the first time Eleanor became the center of attention and gained the approval and devotion of the adults around her. She was still introverted, painfully shy, and gawkily tall, yet she displayed a constant desire to care for and please those around her in order to be noticed and loved, a trait forever etched in her character. Her life was not intentionally cloistered, although Grandmother Hall was a strict disciplinarian and guardian, but it was far from that experienced by other girls her age and status. She had few friends and only occasional playmates. She frequently visited her father’s relatives in Oyster Bay, her uncle Ted and aunt Edith. TR was an affectionate and loving uncle to the daughter of his “poor Ellie,” and Grandmère genuinely loved this bear of a man, who would literally sweep her into his arms in a huge hug upon her arrival. Edith, although concerned about Eleanor’s plainness and social awkwardness, was prophetic, seeing in Eleanor something that others had failed to recognize. “Poor little soul, she is very plain,” she told Auntie Bye. “Her mouth and teeth have no future, but… the ugly duckling may turn out to be a swan.”
Grandmère’s fondness for her Oyster Bay relatives, and particularly her uncle Ted, lasted throughout her life. In many ways he became the father figure she had so desperately sought, and she another daughter in his already bulging family. Indeed, her reverence for her uncle would in time cause her to be torn between that devotion and her own husband’s eventual political designs.
During the next few years Eleanor became a devotee of classical ballet, primarily because her grandmother thought this would be a marvelous way for her to acquire elegant posture, grace, and decorum. But Eleanor was also keen to become a professional singer, as she loved singing and practiced assiduously. It was in these adolescent years that she became intensely interested in her studies, and although still shy and at times painfully lonely, she learned that discipline and
application were conducive to positive feelings of self-worth.
With her pony also in Tivoli, where she began to find some harmony after the harrowing years of early childhood.
Allenswood
Although her grandmother’s house now represented a refuge for Grandmère, she still lived a cloistered existence. Whenever she visited her Oyster Bay Roosevelt family she felt socially awkward, shy, and unsophisticated in dress compared with her more lively cousins; she felt an outsider in the world and society to which she had been born.
Once again Cousin Alice would recall that Grandmère’s feelings of inadequacy were caused by her unhappy childhood and had little to do with reality:
Many aspects of Eleanor’s childhood were indeed very unhappy but she had a tendency, especially later in life, to make out that she was unattractive and rejected as a child, which just wasn’t true. She claimed that nobody liked her. Well, we all liked her. She made a big thing about having long legs and wearing short dresses. Well, as far as I was concerned I envied her long legs and didn’t notice her short skirts, if indeed they were short. She was always making herself out to be an ugly duckling but she was really rather attractive…. I think that Eleanor today would have been considered a beauty, not in the classical sense but as an attractive, rather unusual person in her own right.24
Grandmère’s poor self-image was a cause for sadness and concern to her family. When she turned fifteen her aunts finally decided to help her regain her luminosity and spirit. Auntie Bye had been educated at an English boarding school run by the formidable Mademoiselle Marie Souvestre, a remarkable teacher who had done wonders for Bye, imparting her with confidence, a solid education, knowledge of languages, and the experience of living and traveling in Europe. In fact, once when Anna and Elliott were touring France they visited Marie Souvestre in Paris, and my great-grandmother was greatly impressed by her. On her deathbed Anna conveyed her wishes that Mademoiselle Souvestre might also educate her daughter. At first reluctant about the idea, Grandmother Hall eventually acceded to the persuasion of the aunts. She too became convinced that time at a school abroad would be the best gift for the young teenage girl.
Grandmère with her youngest brother Gracie Hall, New York City, 1898.
Allenswood was located in Wimbledon Park, on the western outskirts of London. It was a small school offering the daughters of Europe’s aristocracy and America’s patrician class a wide-ranging education with emphasis on social responsibility and personal independence. Marie Souvestre was the daughter of the esteemed French philosopher and novelist Emile Souvestre, and was a luminary presence in the liberal intellectual circles and community of radical thinkers that included John Morley, Joseph Chamberlain, Leslie Stephen, and Jane Maria Grant (Lady Strachey). Mademoiselle Souvestre founded two schools, Les Ruches in Paris, which she had been forced to close when the Germans invaded during the Franco-Prussian War, and Allenswood. The schools were distinguished because they offered a more sophisticated educational program than most finishing schools in fin de siècle Europe, and Mademoiselle Souvestre took the education of young women seriously at a time when most girls were denied access to colleges and universities. Both Les Ruches and later Allenswood were considered feminist and progressive and were responsible for the education of several generations of notable and remarkable women.
Grandmère sailed to England accompanied by her aunt Tissie and Tissie’s husband, Stanley Mortimer, who had lived in England for many years. Her aunt and uncle would become traveling companions for Eleanor during her holidays from school, and she also visited them in London, where her aunt introduced her to new people and experience. From the beginning, Grandmère and Marie Souvestre were drawn to each other like magnets. Entirely bilingual, Grandmère was well prepared for the French-speaking school, and from the first day she sat opposite Mlle. Souvestre and chatted away in perfect French. Quickly becoming one of the teacher’s favorite students, she was immediately included in Mlle. Souvestre’s more intimate student circle. Sitting close to her at dinner and engaging in lively, thought-provoking conversation, Grandmère would often be invited into the teacher’s study in the evenings to read and discuss literature or philosophy, recite poems, or improvise theatrical pieces. Eleanor delighted and flourished in the attention and privilege bestowed upon her and bonded with the teacher in the most influential relationship in her life, second only to the rapport she had shared with her own father. Uniquely different in a Victorian world that believed education would drive women to madness and sterility, Mlle. Souvestre demanded that her students take themselves and their studies seriously, encouraging them to apply their own understanding, ideals, and convictions to problems and demanding that they work hard and thoroughly. She was dismissive of shoddy work habits and laziness, punishing such frivolous behavior harshly during her lessons. Under her guidance and tutoring, the girls at Allenswood learned to work hard, consider deeply, research their facts accurately and astutely, develop their intelligence, and converse with ability on any and every topic from the arts to philosophy to languages, music, and history. It was truly a unique liberal arts education, one not universally afforded young women of the day.
Mademoiselle Souvestre, Grandmère’s mentor and most beloved teacher.
Grandmére, second from left in the second row, with her schoolmates at Allenswood.
During her three years at Allenswood, Grandmère thrived and blossomed into a young woman, one whose presence and opinions were greatly admired and sought after by the other students. In her first year she quickly emerged as a class leader, creating a circle of friends she would keep up with for the rest of her life. Marie Souvestre encouraged her to dress well, and, as the girls exercised and played field sports every day for at least two hours despite the sometimes bleak and wet English weather, Grandmère lost her physical awkwardness and gained a gracefulness of movement not before evident.
It was at Allenswood, under the loving care and gentle guidance of Mlle. Souvestre, that the ugly duckling began her transformation into a swan, as predicted by her aunt Edith. It was under the tutelage of this remarkable woman that Grandmère was instilled with the deep sense of public duty and social idealism that would be the exacting marks for the remainder of her life. Allenswood provided her with an emotional and psychological stability of the “home” she had missed for so many years, and Mlle. Souvestre helped her discover that the character of her person lay beneath the façade of her looks. For the next three years Grandmère was transformed, if not reborn. Not all of her insecurities, nor the affect of her earlier life, would or could be obscured entirely, but the essence of her personality had begun to take shape.
In her second year at Allenswood, Grandmère was invited to accompany Mlle. Souvestre in her travels across Europe, and together they visited Italy, France, and Germany. Left in charge of all the details of packing, purchasing tickets, and making arrangements, Grandmère found this responsibility thrilling and learned much in their journeys, considering these times “one of the most momentous things that happened in my education.” She was allowed to wander through the streets of Florence and Paris on her own, and for the first time in her life she experienced the freedom that comes from being trusted and valued, two feelings she had been unable to share with her mother and grandmother.
Grandmère, second from left in the second row, with her schoolmates at Allenswood.
Leaving Allenswood at the end of her third year was heart wrenching for eighteen-year-old Eleanor. She was being called home by her family “to come out” in society, but she felt quite sure that she would soon return to the school to teach. She exchanged many affectionate letters with Mlle. Souvestre, chronicling her sadness and nostalgia as well as details of her new life in America. In the archives at Hyde Park I discovered a letter that Mlle. Souvestre wrote to Grandmère, a letter that vividly explains the profound feelings of love and care this teacher had for young Eleanor:
Allenswood
Wimbledon Par
London 5 October 1902
Dear Child
I have just given to your aunt Mrs. Robinson the picture you requested. If by chance she should forget to give it to you, ask her for it, for she will surely have it among her belongings.
Yesterday, quantities of letters from you arrived at Allenswood. There were none for me among the ones I distributed, but I hope I shall be luckier next week…
Dear child, my mind is so divided in respect to you. I should like to know that you are happy, and yet how I fear to hear that you have been unable to defend yourself against all the temptations which surround you; evenings out, pleasure, flirtations. How all this will estrange you from all that I knew you to be!…
Ah! how we miss you here, my dear child. There are many new girls and, as is their habit, the English girls do not know how to welcome them, and leave them in the corner. You would have known how to make them feel rapidly at ease, and happy in circumstances so different from their usual lives…
You never told me how your money problems were resolved. Have you the control of a definite sum given you as long as you are a minor, or does someone simply pay your expenses, without your having to worry about balancing your expenses against a definite sum given you?
Till soon, my good child. Winter is coming, the flowers are dying in the garden, the horizon is hidden behind a heavy, motionless curtain of gray mists, the sad days are beginning in this country where they are sadder than anywhere else. I wish you what we lack: light and sun.
Grandmère Page 8
