THE PRESIDENT
It is said that killing a man will not prevent him from going to Chicago,
and you may be certain that nothing will prevent an American from getting
himself elected President of the United States if he can possibly manage
it.
The United States Presidency is believed by the patriotic American to be
the very finest position that mortal man could possibly desire to occupy,
outshining in glory and honour, if not exactly in importance, all “the
effete thrones of Yurrup” rolled into one paroxysm of purple. Tremendous
and almighty as the United States Presidency may be, however, its real
lustre and attraction for the American imagination lies in the fact that
it is within the possible attainment of any and every United States
citizen who does not happen to be a nigger. Of course, your United States
President has sometimes been a very different affair from the United
States Presidency. But that is neither here nor there; because a man who
can write “President U.S.” after his name is, on the face of it, clearly
entitled to think that he casts a large shadow. And he does.
Though the history books will tell you otherwise, astute people—which
phrase includes a fair handful of Americans—are of opinion that the
Republic of the United States has had only a matter of three Presidents.
The first of them was George Washington, who, let it be said, set the
fashion of not relishing the job; the second of them was Abraham Lincoln,
rail splitter, lawyer, statesman and martyr; and the third American
President—one blushes with pride to name him—is none other than Theodore
Roosevelt, now more or less happily reigning.
I am no great hand at either history or biography, so that the reader of
these pages will be spared the usual entertaining biographical details. I
am not even aware if Mr. Roosevelt arrived at the White House by way of
the traditional Log Cabin, or whether he took a pleasanter, less stony
and less circuitous route. It is sufficient for me to have reasonable
hearsay evidence that he is there, and that he has filled up frantically
every hour of his time since he got there.
For the ruler of a great state Mr. Roosevelt is, to say the least, an
appealing and exciting figure. He may be said fairly to out-rival
anything of the kind that has hitherto been offered us this side of the
Atlantic—with one diverting and rhetorical Teutonic exception.
In Mr. Roosevelt you have the following popular and captivating elements:
He is:—
A Dutchman.
An American.
A Diplomat.
A Soldier.
A Lawn-Tennis Champion.
A Cow-boy.
A Big Game Shooter.
A Strong Man.
An Anti-Malthusian.
A Hand-Shaker-of-All-Comers.
A Stump Orator.
A Spelling Reformer.
An Apostle of the Strenuous Life.
A Husband.
A Father.
A Family Man.
A Deacon.
A Humourist.
A Pugilist.
A Harriman-hunter.
A Hardy Horseman.
A Dog Fancier.
An Author.
A Judge of White Mice.
A San Juan Hero.
A Nobel Prize Winner.
A Statesman of the First Order.
A Hustler;
and
President of the United States of America.
Probably it has never been possible to compile such an inventory in
favour of any other example of the human species, and when one looks down
its massive proportions one is at no loss to understand why the American
people consider themselves to be the very finest people on earth and
entirely denuded of flies.
In a comparatively short if variegated career President Roosevelt has
accomplished so much that is extraordinary that one never knows where
he is likely to break out afresh. Before his term of office is out he
may conceivably become many other things besides those I have listed.
It would not surprise me if he turned Vegetarian or King. Nothing
is too high for him, nothing too humble, nothing too exceptional or
unconventional, nothing too imperial. And withal there is a rugged and
stern and solid dignity about him. He wields the big stick throughout
his vast dominions, and spanks down evildoers as a housewife spanks down
wasps. At home he stands no nonsense; abroad he wants peace, perfect
peace, but equally stands no foolery. People of all nations admire him
and wave banners over his head and cheer him to the echo. He is a sort
of quick-firer, strong in the arm and lively in the head, and built by
heaven to rule over the people of the United States.
In many respects President Roosevelt appears to be a sort of republican
replica of no less a personage than Wilhelm II. of Germany. The parallel
between the two potentates is interesting and diverting and to some
extent disconcerting. That they are friends, that they think together on
certain big subjects, that they have exchanged telegrams, that they love
each other, and that they have both been a trifle flighty at times cannot
be doubted.
The really interesting point about Mr. Roosevelt is that he may be
reckoned to stand for the finest expression and exemplar of the American
people. A nation that can manufacture such a President must be possessed
of national characteristics altogether out of the common. He is the
absolute personification of the United States. He is absolutely fearless,
he is absolutely honest, he is absolutely magnificent. Someday he may be
absolutely absolute.
You may be sure that President Roosevelt will go down to posterity as
the beau ideal of American Presidents. In the eye of the Americans he
has made few if any mistakes, and though there is a party in the States
that can be very bitter about him and very rude to him, their bark is
considerably worse than their bite, and secretly they glory in him.
By dint of a good deal of adroitness he has succeeded in keeping his
diplomatic end up in Europe and particularly in England, and nobody
between Tipperary and the Great Wall of China has hard words for him. The
world recognises in him a great genius—unparalleled in modern times.
If ever an American had sound reason to look back with satisfaction on a
well-spent life, Mr. Roosevelt is the man. And if ever republic had just
cause to thank Providence for its luck in the matter of a President, the
United States is that Republic.
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