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Show I " : . , v. ' . .wwimw i yrw- i mnu V &n I IQtWbNT) B L Mr. Wilson as Seen by One "1 1 Prof, Stockton Axson, Brother of President's First Wife, Writes An Intimate Sketch Portraying Home Life of Nation s Leading Man, By STOCKTON AXSON, in New York Times ! The New Fork Times published the following intimate ) personal sketch of Woodrow Wilson, the man, written by Pro- fessor Stockton Axson, whose sister, Ellen Louise Axson, was I the president's first wife. Professor Axson not only had close personal relations with the president for thirty-five ears, but he served under him when Mr. Wilson was president of Princeton from 1899 to 1904 and professor from 1904 to 1913, when he joined the faculty of Rice institute, Houston, Texas, as professor of English. ; There are many who can analyze and assess Wilson the ;.. statesman, known to all the world, but the ranks are thinning ; among those who have known the man intimately since his j young manhood. Woodrow Wilson belongs to the world; is j it then in bad taste for one who has had the great privilege of $ 'seeing him at close range for thirty-five years to talk about j him familiarly to the world? My keenest embarrassment arises from my wonder about what Mr. Wilson himself will say if he should ever read this j article, for it has never pleased him to have his personal affairs intimately talked about, and yet the only reason why I should j write at all is that I am in a position to talk about him person- ally and that the country has a right to know what manner of i man is president. ) " I do not suppose that I myself know when I first heard j Woodrow Wilson's name mentioned; probably in my earliest h childhood; for between his family and mine there has always J been an intimacy. His mother's sister was Mrs. James Bones, ;i and the Boneses were our next door neighbors in Rome, Ga. j Jessie and Marian Bones were my childhood companions, J Helen being much younger; and the names of Woodrow Wil- 1 son's father and mother, Uncle Joe and Aunt Jessie, were as I familiar to me as the names of mv own uncles and aunts. I But I very distinctly remember the first time that anybody talked to me in detail about Woodrow Wilson; it was my father, in a letter written to me when I was away at school. Like u Dr. Joseph Wilson, my father was a i Presbyterian minister, and, also like Dr. Wilson, he practiced more than ,' he preached. I think my father went v on the theory that his example would do more for my upbringing than i wordy precepts, and so the first hom- i ' ily he ever delivered to me was in the i ' form of a long letter written just 4 after Woodrow Wilson had ended a i visit to his relatives in Rome. My Ijj father made this young man, ten jj years older than myself, his text, de- jj scribed him, and held him up to mo t' ' as a pattern of young manhood. I Jj ', recall one phrase, virtually verbatim: L "I can think of nothing that would 1; I make me so happy as to have a son l: like that." h That letter was written thirty-four K , years ago, but I remember it vividly r both because it was practically the li only private sermon my father ever I: preached to me, and because the wish K expressed was fulfilled, not in the v way he was hoping, by my transfor-I; transfor-I; mation, but by Woodrow Wilson him-K him-K self becoming my father's son by marls mar-ls rlage. My father lived to know of the I- engagement, though he died before I' the marriage. I; It was in 1883 that Woodrow Wil- l1 son and Ellen Axson became engag- ed. She was visiting friends in the r North Carolina mountains when my I, father fell seriously ill. He had me I; summon her home by telegram my r mother had died two years before, and R my sister was the responsible mem- P ber of the family. She went to Ashe- r vllle to catch a train, but as she had V to wait several hours for It she went t to a hotel and wbiled away the time fe reading by a window. As fate would I1 have it, Woodrow Wilson, who was I' driving In the mountains, passed the t hotel, chanced to look up, and saw j. her profile at the window. The two 1 had been together in Rome the prev- I ious summer, and it needed just the v unexpected encounter In the North I. Carolina mountains to show them ! what life meant for each and for both I' of them. I Unforgettable for me Is the con- f verBation which my sister and I had I on the night of her arrival home. In I the earlier part of the evening she had been anxious about my father, I but when he had at last been, made f comfortable and had fallen asleep, I sho Joined mo in the little sitting f room, her dear face flushed, her eyes 1 bright "Can you keep a secret?" she I asked and upon my intimation that I I could sho told me that she was en- I gaged to bo married, the manner of I the meeting, and her joy. "He is the I greatest man in the world," she said,, I "and the best," In that faith she nev- er faltered in all the years that followed. fol-lowed. Of the many mental pictures which I have of my sister three at this moment mo-ment stand out with peculiar vividness; vivid-ness; the way she look that night when she told me of her engagement, the way she looked when she held their first-born in her arms, waiting for him to come from a distant place for the first sight of his child, and the way she looked in the little cottage cot-tage in Princeton the night that he was elected president of the United O O I It 1. 1 1 I were married (he was studying at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore) Balti-more) in the manse of the Independent Indepen-dent Presbyterian church In Savannah, Savan-nah, Ga,, his father and her grandfather grand-father officiating, I remember how he and I chatted about the books In my grandfather's bookcases while we waited for the bride to come downstairs. down-stairs. I also remember a less Idyllic circumstance, how bliss was jarred and the scent of orange blossoms temporarily tem-porarily annulled while two small boys, the bridegroom's nephew, Wilson Wil-son Howe, and the bride's brother, Edward Axson, "mixed it up" In a gorgeous fight over some difference in boyish opinions. The bride was much shocked; but I caught a twinkle twin-kle in the bridegroom's eye, which seemed to say, "Let's separate them; but don't let's be in too desperate haste about it." Their first homo was at Bryn Mawr, Penn., where he was a member of the newly founded college for women; their second home was in MIddletown, Conn., where he was professor in Wesleyan University; their third home was in Princeton, N. J., where ho was professor for twelve years and president for eight; then came the wider life as governor of New Jersey Jer-sey and president of the United States. As soon as they had a home in Bryn Mawr they sent for our little .orphan brother Edward, and he was 1 a member of their household until he married. Probably the sharpest blow my Bister ever suffered was when Edward, Ed-ward, his young wife, and their baby were all drowned together. Her nat-uraliy nat-uraliy strong constitution broke temporarily, tem-porarily, for he was as her son rather than her brother. I myself became a member of their family for a year In MIddletown, and over since have been practically a member of it, for during the long years In Princeton, though 1 had my own apartments, I used their house as If it were my own home. And our young sister, Margaret (now Mrs. Elliott), had the same privileges. All of which would indicate that when Woodrow Wilson married he married a family as well as a wife, and that is not very far from tho truth. IC ho ever knew any difference between her President Woodrow Wilson. relatives and his own he never indicated indi-cated it. And his blood became as her blood. I have never known a case where each adopted tho other's family so completely. He oven used to refer to her dead father and mother by the childhood names by which sho always called them. I think he would probably prob-ably say now that one of his favorite uncles was her Uncle Tom Dr. Thomas Hoyt of Philadelphia. Once when Uncle Tom was visiting "us" in MIddletown, Mr. Wilson broke into a soft chuckle while he and I were sitting sit-ting alone. "What are you laughing at?" I asked. Ho replied: "To think how I blacked black-ed Uncle Tom's boots this morning. Passing his bedroom door, I saw that he had put his boots outside, naturally nat-urally assuming that all self-respecting people keep a man. I knew Bridget Brid-get wouldn't black them, and Annie could not, so there was nothing to do but tacklo the job myself." It occurs to me, as I write down this true episode, that he might very well have sent me to do It, seeing that I was only a college student, while he was a professor, and, besides is was my Uncle Tom, anyway. But Woodrow Wilson would not do that simply because he was too considerate consider-ate the most considerate man I ever knew as well as the most generous and the most tenderesl. So there Is a presidential picture to go along with Lincoln splitting rails, and Garfield on a canalboat, and Grant driving a dray Wilson blacking Uncle Tom's boots Uncle Tom by marriage. It is hard for me to speak in moderate mod-erate terms of the beauty of the Wilson's Wil-son's married life that married life which I saw so intimately for more than 25 years. They say '.'the bravest are the tenderest," and this strongest man in all the world today has always been bo gentle in his homo life that ho has appeared to some too domestic. domes-tic. In the days of the unfortunate colleglato quarrels in Princeton, one charge that used to bo made against him was that he was so shut up in his home Hfo that he did not know men and the ways of men. Of course a man of Woodrow Wll- son's genius for rapid perception learns more about men in the flash of an eye than slower men learn of each other in whole long afternoons of clubroom gossip over their highballs. high-balls. But In the charge there is this much truth that Mr. Wilson's own fireside fire-side has always boon dearer to him than the thronged marts of casual contacts. If I were asked to name tho leading and governing characteristic of this man, I should reply: "That is not easy, for he Is a man of commanding command-ing genius, and genius is necessarily complex; but certainly one of his leading lead-ing traits is deep affection. Sometimes Some-times In his public dealings ho Is forced to harden his heart deliberately deliberate-ly in order that he may do justice, but so soon as he can follow his own instinct there emerges, above all his intellectuality and all his iron firmness firm-ness of will, his affection." 4In the family circle he can give this affection free reign, and hence he probably never feels so completely himself as when he gathers with wife and daughters and a few chosen friends around the fireside, and allows al-lows his spirit to move him whither it Hstcth. He simply cannot live without affection, for this, our American Ameri-can great man, Is no superman, but human to the core of him. In tho long years of his and my sister's sis-ter's . life together, they were more completely ono than any two people with whom I have been thrown into intimate contact. They took color from each other, as water and sky reflect re-flect each other's moods. Their tastes In books, pictures, statues, and architecture archi-tecture coalesced. He taught her to love his prose favoritos, Burko and Bagehot and BIrrell (the first Birrell book I ever saw was an inscribed gift book from him to her) ; she taught him to love her poetic favorites, especially es-pecially Wordsworth and Browning; ho had a deep and true instinct for architecture, which he Imparted to her, and sho in turn quickened his discrimination for color in landscape painting and In nature for sho had a skill In color that would have made her a distinguished artist had sho not mado her painting secondary to her great career as wlfo and mother. It Interests me to observe how the three girls have shared their parents' tastes and talents: Margaret has her father's passion for music; Eleanor, Mrs. McAdoo, her mother's gift for painting; In young childhood, Jessie, Mrs. Sayre, had something of her father's tasto for literary expression and of her mother's taste for art, but as she developed these were overshadowed overshad-owed by that which both her parents had In common, a strong humanitarian humanitari-an Instinct, which sought satisfaction in settlement work until she was married. mar-ried. Wo often hear It said of a married pair so often that It has become a sort of "bromide" "A crosB word never passed between that couple." I have been honestly trying to think if I ever heard anything approaching an altercation between Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, Wil-son, and I cannot recall even a shadow of such. And yet these were no weaklings; but two spirited people, peo-ple, each with a power of conviction possible only to very strong characters. charac-ters. They would sometimes differ In their opinions, but their relationship was so rooted in mutual love and loyalty loy-alty that their differences were casual cas-ual and superficial, never fundamental. fundamen-tal. I have seen Mr. Wilson humorously assume the role of a browbeaten and henpecked person, unallowed to hold an opinion, when his wife would say in her impetuous way, "Woodrow, you know you don't think that!" and he would smile and say, "Madam, I was venturing to think that I thought that until I was corrected." At one time, when the girls were growing up, ho Used to laugh and quote Chief Justice Fuller, who remarked that his "jurisdiction "juris-diction extended over all tho United States except the Fuller family." I have sometimes wondered how a family fam-ily composed of varying and very positive posi-tive elements ever contrived, to live in such absolute and undisturbed harmony har-mony as did the Wilson family, and I have come to the conclusion that such a result can be attained only In one way, not by any prescription, or plan or domestic "scheme" of action, but only by enthroning love supreme that where love Is always master, overy day and every hour there must , be harmony. In tho Wilson household love is always law. It has alwayB beon love mingled with delightful humor and good humor. hu-mor. Of all the fictions that popular fallacy would weave around a conspicuous con-spicuous man, surely those who know Mr. Wilson must find It the strangest that he ia supposed by some to bje a cold and mirthless man. A dozen years ago I think any Intimate acquaintance ac-quaintance of Mr. Wilson could have said that ono of his most obvious qualities was an incorrigible playfulness. playful-ness. Graver people thought he was too much that way, for he would joke In the midst of the most serious discussions dis-cussions and controversies. His fund of anecdote (in ono way he is the most provoking of men, for it is next to impossible to tell him a new story he has heard them all and Invented some), his gleeful delight In nonsense rhymes, his atrocities in pun-making, an Inheritance from his father, from whom ho has derived so many and more commendable traits, all these things aro pronounced in Wood-row Wood-row Wilson, together with that finest of all humor, character humor, the knack of word portrayal por-trayal of people In Incongruous settings. If you want to laugh until your breath forsakes you, get Wood-row Wood-row Wilson to tell you the story of how a certain "educator" startled President Harrison with a sudden eruption of oratory twenty-five years ago. Not the least delightful part of it is that, while he is relating it, he apparently forgets that the wheel has come full circle and he himself Is now in the exalted seat occupied by President Harrison when that entrancing en-trancing bit of comedy unrolled. These humorous characteristics are still in President Wilson, but it Ib hardly strange if they are less habitually habit-ually on the surface than they used to be before tho burdens of a whole world in turmoil were laid upon his shoulders. Even before the weight pressed upon him, his inherent Scotch sternnoss had begun to assert -itself. He went through some rough experiences experi-ences at Princeton, and I have heard him say, both in public and private, that he felt a stiffening of the fibre within him, found it less easy to relax at will into playfulness. It .merely means that, as years and responsibilities responsibili-ties increased, he became more purposeful. pur-poseful. There Is a fact which he himself is probably unaware of, but which I am sure is historically correct. A change came over him at just about the time that great and sweeping changes were taking place in our conceptions of nationality in those important years that lie between 189G aud 1900. Absurd Ab-surd as it may appear, previous to that I used to feel that he and I were mentally somewhat alike. There was ten years difference in our ages, and the difference between genius and the lack of it. But, with all that, there was some remote resemblance in the workings of our minds even my per. ceptlve Bister used to see iL He and I would talk together for hours on end, conversations largely speculative. But gradually I felt that a. change was taking place. For one thing, he had been through an illness, fromj which he emerged more vigorous than "before. He had always been a purposeful pur-poseful man, but now he was a man of fixed and resolute purpose. He was as affectionate and companionable as ever, but he did not have time now for such prolonged and "drifting" conver-sations. conver-sations. Tho task was calling him. And I must believe that besides the merely personal chango his own nature na-ture was unconsciously reflecting the big and basic changes which were taking tak-ing place in the nation and in national na-tional conceptions, changes that were leading America out of isolation into world-relationships. Perhaps he was, all unconsciously, enduring his vigils, preparatory to the great conflict that lay ahead of him in the dim mists of futurity. He grew more and more impatient im-patient of merely theoretical discussions; discus-sions; he must handle facts In all their difficult reality. I often heard him exclaim, "I am so tired of a merely talking profession! I want to do something'" some-thing'" This was before he became president of Princeton. In short, he was growing into what ho has now become, a man with the surest and the firmest hold on the facts of things. That is why he seems Inconsistent to some shallow people. They think In term of an abstract theory, are logical and futile'. He deals with facts, and, in crowded times like these, facts change, chemically chemi-cally even while you are looking at them; because he deals with realities, not theories, ho sometimes seems self-contradictory self-contradictory and is always effective. effec-tive. There is another and kindred thing about him which perplexes some people; peo-ple; though the tenderest of men, ho 1b the least sentimental. Once, since he has been president of tho United States, I was much exercised over tho case of a man who had come under tho national laws in a way that seemed to , me merely technical; he was tochnl- IH cally guilty, but virtually Innocent; and so I did what I have seldom con- sented to do; I wrote a long letter to Mr. Tumulty, to be laid before tho president at his convenience. A friend of mine, porsonally more concerned Kl with the case than I, read me a long Bl letter which he had framed, in which, among other things, he appealed to the .president to relieve the pitiful an- fl xlety of the accused man's wife and parents. I advised him to cut that out, and said: "The president can-not can-not and will not act on those grounds. :H He must do what seems to him jus- ifl tice, however much his sympathies may excite him to mercy. Show him the essential justice of what we aro asking for an stop there." iH The case was examined by the de-partmcnt de-partmcnt of justice, which decided that the man's technical guilt was too Hl manifest to warrant the department's Interference with the due course of H law. Then the president stepped in H and pardoned the man outright, not KH because he had a family whose hearts would break, but because in the high- KH er justice the man was innocent. KH This Is the "austerity" of Woodrow jEH Wilson, the austerity of a man whoso flH conscience will not permit him to govern his public actB by private sentU HH ments, who cannot use public offices IH to advance the fortunes of those for Kl whom he feels a personal affection, who must keep his judgment cool, even when his heart is yearning, the austerity of a man whose heart can break, but can never be permitted to HH get beyond his own control. Only a few of us know what Wood- flH row Wilson was really undergoing in VH the summer and autumn of 1914, when tj the world was catching fire from the lH war, and the foundations of his own IH life were crumbling under him. Just as the war opened my sister died. wt "I cannot help thinking," he said, Hl "that perhaps she was taken so that J she might be spared the spectacle of Hll some awful calamity." IjH I was at the White house a great deal that autumn and I know that it is no exaggerated use of words to say that he was the loneliest man in all the world. I remember in particular a few bitter days when there were H only three of us in the family circles. H With characteristic solicitude for oth- H ers and Spartan fortitude he had de- H liberately and peremptorily thinned , the household for the welfare of oth- i ers. He had compelled Margaret and H Jessie and Frank Sayre, to go to the j H summer home in New Hampshire for a H change of air. He had forced even Dr. Grayson to take a few dayB rest, for H he saw that the doctor himself was ; H in danger of illness after the strain ' H of Mrs. Wilson's illness and death. i H Mr. and Mrs. McAdoo remained in H Washington and were much at the . H White house, but they also had their own homo and obligations. H I can see the lonely figure of the IH president now, walking down the long JH hallway, the hair so much whitened IH in the few months. His intimate friends often expressed to me the wish H that the president could marry again, -H as he was utterly desolate. H We who love him feel that God Him- I self must have directed the circum- ;H stances which brought Mrs. Gait into H tho White house circle. But for her we can only surmise what might havo ,H happened, for not even the strongest " H man in the world could bear up indef- H initely under that dumb grief. Sun-light Sun-light and grace radiate from Mrs. Gait. Her nature is big and generous 'H and health-giving, and in that pres- H ence the president found new life, ; found that love without which he can- J not live. Their love for each other is " H perfect and we all love her, both for ' what she has done for him and for herself, for to know her is to love H She has entered this great career I as simply, as unaffectedly, as unselfishly unsel-fishly as Ellen Axson entered into the obscure carer of the young lawyer who was abandoning law for a new 1 and untried life of scholarship and teaching. To neither woman has condition, con-dition, high or low, meant anything; to both Woodrow Wilson has meant all. I have lifted the veil from some pretty sacred things and I wonder if I should have done so. My sustaining sustain-ing thought is that some day these things would have to be set forth, for men like Woodrow Wilson being to the world at large, and ultimately the I secrets of their lives must be mado , known to the world. The future biog- i rapher will relate in detail what I havo mado Woodrow Wilson impersonal. Bu in greatly conspicuous office there is already something of the impersonality imperson-ality of death, and so I have, though not without misgiving, set down some things which it would be sacrilege to publish if Woodrow Wilson were still safe in tho obscurity of a college professorship. Because he Is what he is in public, it is perhaps true that the public has some right to know what i ho is in prlyato and so I have written writ-ten these things, every word of which , is literal truth. 1 |
