Edith Kermit Roosevelt

Zusatztext "Marvelously full-blooded! engagingly written." -- Newsweek "An endlessly engrossing book! at once of historical and human importance... Morris's indefatigably busy camera catches everything that is catchable. The result is a narrative that one will want to return to and mull over! conscious of the hundred and one details that might have been missed the first time around! and with a reader's freedom to speculate that Morris admirably denies herself." --R.W.B. Lewis! The Washington Post "Morris excels at putting Edith in her place in charge of the First Family at a heady time in American history." -- Newsweek "A splendid biography... One reads on! intrigued by the character that emerges." -- Chicago Sun-Times "This biography represents craftsmanship of the highest order." -- The Christian Science Monitor "A story as fascinating and well-written as a novel." -- Worcester Telegram "A superb life story enchantingly told." -- Richmond Times-Dispatch "A warmly vivid account of a refined! intelligent! and gracious lady and a contribution to the history of an era." --David H. Burton! St. Joseph's University Informationen zum Autor Sylvia Jukes Morris Klappentext Edith Kermit Carow grew up in New York City in the same circles as did Theodore Roosevelt. But only after TR's first wife died at age twenty-two did the childhood friends forge one of the most successful romantic and political partnerships in American history. Sylvia Jukes Morris's access to previously unpublished letters and diaries brings to full life her portrait of the Roosevelts and their times. During her years as First Lady (1901-09), Edith Kermit Roosevelt dazzled social and political Washington as hostess, confidante, and mother of six, leading her husband to remark, "Mrs. Roosevelt comes a good deal nearer my ideal than I do myself." Chapter Two Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra And Edith with golden hair . . . -Longfellow A thick veil descends on Carow family history after the closing of the Tyler home. Were it not for a few glimpses culled from Edith's association with the Roosevelts, and from the nostalgia of her old age, little could be told. She was to become an avid collector of information concerning her early ancestors, but throughout her life she compulsively destroyed data on her more immediate family, especially Charles Carow. Mother . . . never told us stories about her childhood at all, complained her future stepdaughter. The reason why Edith did not reminisce was simple: the subject pained her. Despite her taciturnity, a few facts are certain. First, Charles was a failure in business; second, he was an alcoholic; third, he fell down the hold of one of his ships, hit his head, and was never quite stable afterward; fourth, Gertrude became increasingly hypochondriac; and, fifth, the family standard of living went into decline. At first, however, this decline was barely perceptible. During the war years, at least, life for the Carows went normally. On April 18, 1865, Gertrude's last child, Emily, was born and was placed, along inside of a wall where the snow ceased and it was quite warm. We then went on until we came to a small hole through which we saw a red flame inside the mountain. I put my alpine stock in and it caught fire right away. The smoke nearly suffacated us. We then went on and saw a larger hole through which I could fall if I liked. We put some pebbles down and they came up with pretty good force. We here sat down to lunch. We ate some of the eggs boiled in Vesuvius sand. Ellie and I played with some soildiers and then we began the decent. This was on the opposite side of the mountain. I was the last, then Mama with Papa on one and a guide on the other side of her and then the rest. We went down the side in loose dirt in which I sunk ...

"Marvelously full-blooded, engagingly written."
--Newsweek

"An endlessly engrossing book, at once of historical and human importance... Morris's indefatigably busy camera catches everything that is catchable. The result is a narrative that one will want to return to and mull over, conscious of the hundred and one details that might have been missed the first time around, and with a reader's freedom to speculate that Morris admirably denies herself."
--R.W.B. Lewis, The Washington Post

"Morris excels at putting Edith in her place in charge of the First Family at a heady time in American history."
--Newsweek

"A splendid biography... One reads on, intrigued by the character that emerges."
--Chicago Sun-Times

"This biography represents craftsmanship of the highest order."
--The Christian Science Monitor

"A story as fascinating and well-written as a novel."
--Worcester Telegram

"A superb life story enchantingly told."
--Richmond Times-Dispatch

"A warmly vivid account of a refined, intelligent, and gracious lady and a contribution to the history of an era."
--David H. Burton, St. Joseph's University

Autorentext
Sylvia Jukes Morris

Klappentext
Edith Kermit Carow grew up in New York City in the same circles as did Theodore Roosevelt. But only after TR's first wife died at age twenty-two did the childhood friends forge one of the most successful romantic and political partnerships in American history. Sylvia Jukes Morris's access to previously unpublished letters and diaries brings to full life her portrait of the Roosevelts and their times. During her years as First Lady (1901-09), Edith Kermit Roosevelt dazzled social and political Washington as hostess, confidante, and mother of six, leading her husband to remark, "Mrs. Roosevelt comes a good deal nearer my ideal than I do myself."

Leseprobe
Chapter Two
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra
And Edith with golden hair . . .
-Longfellow

A thick veil descends on Carow family history after the closing of the Tyler home. Were it not for a few glimpses culled from Edith’s association with the Roosevelts, and from the nostalgia of her old age, little could be told. She was to become an avid collector of information concerning her early ancestors, but throughout her life she compulsively destroyed data on her more immediate family, especially Charles Carow. “Mother . . . never told us stories about her childhood at all,” complained her future stepdaughter.

The reason why Edith did not reminisce was simple: the subject pained her. Despite her taciturnity, a few facts are certain. First, Charles was a failure in business; second, he was an alcoholic; third, he fell down the hold of one of his ships, hit his head, and was never quite stable afterward; fourth, Gertrude became increasingly hypochondriac; and, fifth, the family standard of living went into decline.

At first, however, this decline was barely perceptible. During the war years, at least, life for the Carows went normally. On April 18, 1865, Gertrude’s last child, Emily, was born and was placed, along inside of a wall where the snow ceased and it was quite warm. We then went on until we came to a small hole through which we saw a red flame inside the mountain. I put my alpine stock in and it caught fire right away. The smoke nearly suffacated us. We then went on and saw a larger hole through which I could fall if I liked. We put some pebbles down and they came up with pretty good force. We here sat down to lunch. We ate some of the eggs boiled in Vesuvius sand. Ellie and I played with some soildiers and then we began the decent. This was on the opposite side of the mountain. I was the last, then Mama with Papa on one and a guide on the other side of her and then the rest. We went down the side in loose dirt in which I sunk up to my knees.

The decent was verry steep. Mama was so exausted she could hardly walk. When we got to the bottom we mounted our hor…

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