With Walt Whitman in Camden vol. 8 (1996)

     

     To ROBERT EARL BURTON

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME

      [Frontispiece]

     WALT WHITMAN IN HIS CAMDEN BEDROOM, MAY 24, 1891. Photograph by Dr. William Reeder. Courtesy Rare Books and Manuscripts Division, New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations

      [Following page 308]

     DRAFT MANUSCRIPT TITLE PAGE OF GOOD-BYE MY FANCY, 1891. Courtesy Library of Congress, Feinberg Collection.

     ANNE MONTGOMERIE TRAUBEL. Courtesy Library of Congress, Horace L. Traubel Collection.

     HORACE L. TRAUBEL. Courtesy Library of Congress, Horace L. Traubel Collection.

     MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE WRITTEN BY WALT WHITMAN FOR ANNE MONTGOMERIE AND HORACE L. TRAUBEL, 1891. Courtesy Library of Congress, Horace L. Traubel Collection.

     SAMUEL MURRAY, THOMAS EAKINS, WILLIAM O'DONOVAN, AND HARRY THE DOG, C . 1891-3. Photographer unknown. Courtesy Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution, Charles Bregler Archival Collection.

     MRS. MARY OAKES DAVIS, 1891. Platinum Print by Thomas Eakins (19.5x24.1 cm). Courtesy The J. Paul Getty Museum.

     J. W. WALLACE AND R. M. BUCKE IN BOLTON, ENGLAND, AUGUST 1891. Courtesy Library of Congress, Horace L. Traubel Collection.

     THE BOLTON "COLLEGE," MAY 31, 1899. Courtesy Library of Congress, Horace L. Traubel Collection.

LETTERS CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME

      (Including Other Manuscripts of Walt Whitman)

EDITORS' PREFACE

      In 1888, Horace L. Traubel, a young political radical and aspiring writer in Camden, New Jersey, began systematically recording his daily conversations with his friend, Walt Whitman. He continued for four years, until Whitman's death in 1892, amassing a lovingly detailed record whose accuracy, fidelity, and immediacy remain unsurpassed in the history of biography. Traubel published the first three volumes before his death in 1919; the remaining volumes have appeared, one by one, at widely separated intervals. This is the penultimate volume in the series.

      Once again, we must offer our deepest gratitude to the Fellowship of Friends, Inc., and its director, Robert Earl Burton, for so generously funding the preparation and publication of this volume. It is solely Mr. Burton's recognition of the value of this neglected manuscript that has made possible the publication of the final volumes.

      We are also grateful to the many people who participated in the preparation of this manuscript. Judith Grace Bassat, Peter Bishop, Cynthia Hill, Kevin Kelleher, Leigh Morfit, Peter and Paula Ingle, Rosaline Mearns, and Alla Waite gave generously of their time and knowledge. We also thank once again the staff of the Manuscript Room at the Library of Congress and Professor Ed Folsom, editor of the Walt Whitman Quarterly Review.

Apollo, California
August 1994

JEANNE CHAPMAN

ROBERT MACISAAC

      "I suppose every man has his purposes. I had mine--to have no purpose--to state, to capture, the drift of a life--to let things flow in, one after another, take their places, their own way. My worst struggle was not with ideas, anything of that sort, but against the literariness of the age--for I, too, like all others, was born in the vesture of this false notion of literature, and no one so born can entirely--I say entirely--escape the taint. Though, as for me, looking back on the battleground, I pride myself I have escaped the pollution as much as any."

      W.W. to H.T., August 18, 1891

Wednesday, February 11, 1891

     5:30 P.M. Not with W. except for about 20 minutes. Had been in to see Ferguson today—making preparations for the new volume. W. "glad" I "had paved the way." Said he did not feel well—"congested"—he described it so. Had made me out a long list of pretty nearly everybody under the sun for Stoddart. Forty-six names. Called my attention to a couple of transposed lines in the Lippincott's galley proof—prose. I assured him they must have caught this in proving the pages, but he was uncertain and asked me to see about it—if it was too late to correct. Gave me mail for Post Office—paper for Gilchrist—letters, among others, for Bucke, Kennedy, Stead (Review of Reviews). Did not appear at all cheerful. Complimented me on the galley proof of the Dutch piece. "It is a handsome piece of work—the proof splendidly read, too." Had I Schiller's works, in English, at home? He was "curious to get some greater insight—Schiller is a man who, from what scattered glimpses I can get, satisfies, uplifts me: a great sampler." He spoke of my cold hand, "You don't know how grateful it is to me: an immediate flavor of out-of-doors." He had saluted me, "You come with the sunset: welcome! Welcome!"

     Left with him Mrs. O'Connor's letter enclosing Scudder's. Down in an hour or so to get it. "Attracted towards the project."

     I was reading [Robert Louis] Stevenson's "Whitman." Did not think much of it. "Nor I," he said. "It amounts to nothing."

Thursday, February 12, 1891

     Then in an envelope he had thrust a dozen English penny stamps—marked it, "here are some English stamps"—and asked me to give them to Stoddart. "I received them today from somebody who owed me money—they are no good to me," descanting then upon international postage. "Someday we will come to that, too: even now we might have an international five-cent stamp—it invites us." Postage "very cheap": "When I think of the letters we can send as far as California for the mere song, I am forced to say the man would be a hog to complain of the cost."

     No word from Bucke today. W. "glad the meter has appeared at last"—thought it would "emerge in the end to something substantial."

     Hailing when I came. He had "enjoyed the sound." Had held my hand in his some time "to feel its out-of-door cheer, vigor: it has the warmth, smell, of the fresh air—a healthy cold."

     W. said, "I am rather disappointed that Scudder's letter is so inconclusive. It leaves the fate of the book uncertain."

     I found, as I had guessed to W. , that the proof-reader at Lippincott's had properly transposed defective lines in proofing pages. This man in a great rage about W. 's inconsistent punctuations and spellings and abbreviations. I admitted, but told him he should have changed as W. would have wanted him. "I was afraid," he said.

Friday, February 13, 1891

Saturday, February 14, 1891

     5:10 P.M. W. seemed improved—talked freely and heartily. Yet confessed himself moved by General Sherman's death, reported this afternoon (1:50). Had just eaten dinner. "It helped me on my feet." Gave me letter, "I had it from Bucke today"—and another—an old one. "Bucke urges me to autobiographize myself! Well—well!"

     Referred to the American generals. "Yes, they are mostly gone—all the first-class fellows—we have a number of the third and fourth class yet. We have had no one from the keel up so American as Grant. Sherman? No—not Sherman. There was a good deal of stuff in Porter—Admiral Porter—who died yesterday. If not a star of the first magnitude, he was a star. There is a

     W. said that Harry Bonsall had mentioned our prospective Lippincott's pieces in Post. "It was several days ago—in four or five lines. Harry is distinctly favorable to us. I always count on him. Why don't you often send him items? He likes them." And W. asked again, "What has become of John Russell Young? He was one of our men." We discussed Cleveland's silver letter, which Republican papers try to say has destroyed all hope of his new nomination. W. remarked, "Damn 'em! They don't want him nominated, but before that time comes this and a hundred other things will have blown over. I think the letter one of the best things he has done. I don't understand all the intricacies of the question, but have some general judgments. The smart man in the Press—the fourth column man—today gets off a twit, that Grover has made the most reputation on the smallest capital, etc.—to which I might answer, if it deserved an answer (and, it does not)—that so do all strong men make much out of little things—simple, direct, manly method."

     W. had seen mention of himself in Press editorial—"Three-Score-and-Ten"—this morning: "Seventy-one counts in its list Signor Crispi, John Ruskin, Walt Whitman, Sir Lyon Playfair, and General William T. Sherman, who, it is hoped, will rally and

Sunday, February 15, 1891

     W. continues—no worse, no better.

     Some good words from him. "I knew a fellow down there in Washington—a curious character—given to wise sayings. One of these was, speaking of the army commissary—'You know, any how, the army travels on its belly!' That is true in more senses than appear on the surface."

     "I am glad you hear of the Colonel's return!" he said again. "And what it suggests! The vast distance—the thousands of miles—travelled in a couple of days! There is a history—prophecy—in it!"

     Referring to McKinley's speech the other day—in which he denounced free traders as British leaguers and all that—W. said, "It is the preacher over again: if you are not a Christian, what the devil do you know about religion? If you do not bathe in our little tub, what do you know about the great sea? It is all one—the scream of localism."

Monday, February 16, 1891

     JJ

     I cabled as soon as I could get free of the Bank.

     W. said, "Why—yes: that is genuine: I can remember writing such a postal—but I don't know who to." And after a pause,

Tuesday, February 17, 1891

     Gave me the Ellis book ("The New Spirit"). "It is worth while," he said. "It has the making of something: I don't know what, but something."

Wednesday, February 18, 1891

     Then, "I am at last about ready with the book: you have urged me to it. I will let you have the first copy Monday morning. It is wonderful, the disposition of the human critter to postpone, to put off: to postpone and postpone—then to think and postpone again—and after all the arguments are in and more too, to find new temptations to postponement, and all that indefinitely." And again, "I want to get this in type, anyway. It will be my last volume—my finale—without a doubt. I know it is not impossible there may be another volume still—but it is not likely—it is not a thing within any reasonable likelihood. So this will really be my good-bye!" Then into details. "You might drop in on Ferguson someday this week and tell him. My first point will be to get all the batch of copy—the poetry—into galleys at once: it probably would fill about four—I want to read that division with some sort of continuity." And further, "My idea would be, that he should put a couple of men on it—no more—and that I might keep these busy, but of course all that is subject to the situation in the office."

     W. spoke in the most affectionate terms of Wallace. "He seems to be in an architect's office—a draughtsman there—what-not—but sick, sick, sick—oh! much of the time—poor fellow!" But, "He is a noble fellow—genuine. I wonder if the country there grows many such?"

     Open Court review of Ingersoll's Whitman [lecture] almost avoids mention of Whitman himself.

Thursday, February 19, 1891

     5:10 P.M. W. looks very much better—indeed, is better—saying to me, "I feel a fine turn for the good—or think I do—which is about the same thing. I have written Johnston and Wallace—telling them this." I had been to Ferguson's—seen Myrick—arranged for him to start one man on the book Monday: Myrick said he could not give us two till the big Bible is out of their hands. W.: "I am content—at least, must be: it is the best we can do, no doubt, but I hope his one man will be a good man." I said, "If he isn't, that proof-reader is between us." W. then, "It is true—yes, true—but against stupidity even the gods fight in vain. But after all, I guess you are right." Said he felt "relieved" himself "to have the matter in something like shape."

     I left Chadwick's (manuscript) reply to my "spirituality" paragraph in last Conservator. W. said, "I shall like to hear what he says." On his lap the local papers. "I have been reading about the funeral of Sherman today. It is a great account."

     At 5th and Chestnut this afternoon I had passed a man so like O'Connor I paused and looked after him as long as he was in sight. When I told this to W. he exclaimed, "So like him, you say? So like him?" And then with eagerness, "But how did he walk, how?" —explaining after some further speech from me—"O'Connor's walk struck you at once: it was fawn-like—full of grace—light, soft as a feather. To me it always had infinite meanings."

     What did W. know of James Redpath, now also dead? "Not a great deal, perhaps—yet I knew him well, too, and he was very favorable to us—to 'Leaves of Grass': treated us handsomely at all times—when on the North American—before—since. You know, of course, he was an Englishman—came to this country—went to Kansas. You have heard the descriptions of the typical New England woman—that she had 'views.' Well, James had

     Remarked, clapping the paper in his lap, "The General's son seems to prove he was a Catholic." I said, "I don't think it makes much difference what he proves." W. then, "Nor do I, it makes no difference at all." What did he think of the protest that Shakespeare was the poet, not of feudalism but of the modern? "I can see how people should get, hold, that view—how he could in a sense be called the poet of the modern. But of the modern-modern? No, no, no—he had no glimpse of it!"

     Had laid out a copy of Burroughs' book for Wallace. Later I wrote Wallace and sent it off. Says he "realized the weight of my argument against the extraneous matter" in "Good-Bye My Fancy"—but is not yet disposed to give a final decision.

     Discussed Saturday's Critic reference to autograph. W. said, "I am at a loss about that: I guess somebody else must have put in the lines. I remember the autograph—it was asked for—but haven't the least remembrance of the other, at least, that is as I see it now, though I know my memory is so bad nowadays, it will not do for me to swear to it. The lady's letter is only a few days old, anyhow."

Friday, February 20, 1891

     We discussed the new book. W. said again, "Oh yes boy! It will be my last—my last! I haven't the least doubt of it now." Spoke of his "relieved day," that it had put him "in the humor for work again."

Saturday, February 21, 1891

Sunday, February 22, 1891

     Did not see W. today: but found that he had paged and arranged the preface and poems—packed them in a couple of paste boards—had written on the top, and a note to Ferguson.

     Letter from Bucke of 8th:

8 Feb 1891

My dear Horace

     Many thanks for your kind note of 4th and W. your kind and deep interest in my welfare—I feel it more than I can say—I ought to have sent you & W. word oftener while I was sick but really it never occurred to me that you would worry about it—the chief reason was that I never looked upon the illness as the least serious and did not have the sense to think that persons a long way off—knowing less abt. it might imagine it was so or at least fear it might be so. But at all events it is gone by now and I am as well as usual (which I hope is well enough to satisfy anyone).

     If you can make the (soi-disant) liberals (or even a few of them) understand that L[eaves] of G[rass] contains the vital religious fire of today well and good—you will have done a good work—and at least it is worth trying—good luck to you in the enterprise! But really it sometimes looks to me (of late years) as if all this was useless—that those who have it in them to see, see anyhow—and that those who have not will not see or hear "even though one rose from the dead to tell them." But this no doubt is an exaggeration the other way—it is well for us to work anyway for our own sakes if not for the sake of others—therefore work my dear boy "while it is still day—for the night" etc. etc.

     Yes, Horace, I know I am too much of a savage for the New York folk (and for many others)—but after all who and what is the "friendly and flowing savage"? Is he behind or ahead of our boasted civilization?

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Some time ago I said "From this moment I ordain myself loosed from all limits." And I find it a very good way to live—let each one do as it suits him. "I am for those who are not mastered—whose tempers cannot be mastered—whom laws, theories, conventions can not master." I am for living the new life and getting the good of it—do you know what that means? I am not worrying abt. what folk think or say.

Love to you dear Horace

RM Bucke

Monday, February 23, 1891

     Took manuscript to Ferguson's today—talking with both Ferguson and Myrick. Will start at once, giving me first proofs Wednesday. Received note from Bucke today.

     Walked in Wissahickon and in park with Anne. Then later on to Camden again and to W.'s (after supper) at 7:45 P.M.

     W. in very good mood. Harned came in just after I got seated. W. by no means uneasy, yet said, "I am in bad enough way still, Tom—though not as bad as was." Harned spoke of Scovel. "He was up to the house—wants to get your obituary—says his daughters were here and gave you up." W. laughed. "Yes, they were here—I suppose I was pretty bad. Let him go on with the obituary!" Asked about weather, saying, "I would not dare to go out, mild as it may seem." I left 20 copies of Conservator with W. this morning when I went for manuscript—which he had left with Warren for me. He now reported, "I have sent them all away. When you come again, bring at least as many more!" But "no sign of Lippincott's." As to the proofs, "Oh! They must give them to me as I ask—the full batch of poems. You see, I want to 'make up' with them—they are not now arranged as I wish them to stand. I must arrange page after page, one poem, one strain, one thought, with respect to another. For that the entire batch is necessary one sitting!" I promised him I would have a more thorough understanding with Myrick tomorrow. Harned referred to his trip to Washington. W. advised him, "I want you to go see my friend J. Hubley