Part 11

Questioned concerning his habits and methods of literary work, he says he carries some sheets of paper loosely fastened together and pencils upon these "the rough draft of his thought" wherever the thought comes to him. Thus, "Leaves of Grass" was composed on the Brooklyn ferry, on the top of stages amid the roar of Broadway, at the opera, in the fields, on the sea-shore. "Drum Taps" was written amid war scenes, on battle-fields, in camps, at hospital bedsides, in actual contact with the subjects it portrays with such tenderness and power. The poems thus born of spontaneous impulse are finally given to the world in a crisp diction which is the result of much study and thought; every word is well considered,--the work of revision being done "almost anywhere" and without the ordinary aids to literary composition. In late years he wrote mostly upon the broad right arm of his chair.

Complete equipment for his work was derived from contact with Nature in her abounding moods, from sympathetic intimacy with men and women in all phases of their lives, and from life-long study of the best books; these--Job, Isaiah, Homer, Dante, Shakespeare--have been his teachers, and possibly his models, although he has never consciously imitated any of them. His matter and manner are alike his own; he has not borrowed Blake's style, as Stedman believed, to recast Emerson's thoughts, as Clarence Cook alleged. His style would naturally resemble that of the Semitic prophets and Gaelic bards,--"the large utterance of the early gods,"--because inspired by familiarity with the same objects: the surging sea, the wind-swept mountain, the star-decked heaven, the forest primeval.

[Sidenote: His Literary Work--Its Aims]

His purpose, the moral elevation of humanity, he trusts is apparent in every page of his book. By his book he means "Leaves of Grass," the real work of his life, representing the truest thoughts and the highest imaginings of forty years, to which his other work has been incidental and tributary. After its eight periods of growth, "hitches," he calls them, he completes them with the annex, "Good-bye my Fancy," and thinks his record for the future is made up; "hit or miss, he will bother himself no more about it."

When questioned concerning the lines whose "naked naturalness" has been an offence to many, he impressively avers that he has pondered them earnestly in these latest days, and is sure he would not alter or recall them if he could.

[Sidenote: His Religious Trust]

While not professing a moral regeneration or confessing the need of it, he yet assures us, "No array of words can describe how much I am at peace about God and about death." The author of "Whispers of Heavenly Death" cannot be an irreverent person; the impassioned "prayer"--

"That Thou, O God, my life hast lighted With ray of light, ineffable, vouchsafed of Thee. For that, O God, be it my latest word, here on my knees, Old, poor, and paralyzed, I thank Thee.... I will cling to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me. Thee, Thee, at least, I know"--

is not the utterance of an irreligious heart. One who has known Whitman long and well testifies that he was always a religious _exalté_, and his stanzas show that his musings on death and immortality are inspired by fullest faith. As we listen to him, calmly discoursing upon the great mysteries,--which to him are now mysteries no longer,--we wonder how many of those who call him "beast" or "atheist" can confront the vast unknown with his lofty trust, to say nothing of actual thanksgiving for death itself!

"Praised be the fathomless universe For life and joy, for objects and knowledge curious, And for love, sweet love,--but praise! praise! praise! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death."

We who survive him will not forget his peaceful yielding of himself to "the sure-enwinding arms," nor the abounding trust breathed in his last message, sent back from the mystic frontier of the shadowy realm: "Tell them it makes no difference whether I live or die."

[Sidenote: Readings]

In our chat he discloses a surprising knowledge of men and things, and a more surprising lack of knowledge of his own poetry. More than once it strangely appears that the visitor is more familiar with the lines under discussion than is their author. When this is commented upon he laughingly says, "Oh, yes, my friends often tell me there is a book called 'Leaves of Grass' which I ought to read." So when we, about to take leave, ask him to recite one of his shorter poems, he assures us he does not remember one of them, but will read anything we wish. We ask for the wonderful elegy, "Out of the Cradle endlessly Rocking," and afterward for the night hymn, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed," and his compliance confers a never-to-be-forgotten pleasure. He reads slowly and without effort, his voice often tremulous with emotion, the lines gaining new grandeur and pathos as they come from his lips.

And this--alas that it must be!--is our final recollection of one of the world's immortals: a hoar and reverend bard,--"old, poor, and paralyzed," yet clinging to the optimistic creeds of his youth,--throned in his great chair among his books, with the waning light falling like a benediction upon his uplifted head, his face and eyes suffused with the exquisite tenderness of his theme, and all the air about him vibrating with the tones of his immortal chant to Death,--the "dark mother always gliding near with soft feet."

Another hand-clasp, a prayerful "God keep you," and we have left him alone in the gathering twilight.

[Sidenote: His Future Fame]

We will not here discuss his literary merits. The encomiums of Emerson, Thoreau, Burroughs, Sanborn, Stedman, Ruskin, Tennyson, Rossetti, Buchanan, Sarrazin, etc., show what he is to men of their intellectual stature; but will he ever reach the great, struggling mass for whose uplifting he wrought? His own brave faith is contagious, and we may discern in the wide-spread sorrow over his death, in the changed attitude of critics and reviewers, as well as in the largely increased demand for his books, evidences of his general acceptance.

His day is coming,--is come. He died with its dawn shining full upon him.

INDEX

Abbot, C. C., 104.

Agassiz, 49, 104, 115.

Alcott, Bronson, 21, 73, 78, 92, 144; Orchard House, 54; Wayside, 58.

Alcott, L. M., 21, 54, 102; Grave, 78; Homes, 21, 55.

Aldrich, 91, 111, 140; In Boston, 92; Ponkapog, 146.

Amesbury, 124.

Auburndale, 146.

Austin, J. G., 102.

Bartlett, G. B., 25, 34, 41.

Bartol, Dr., 48, 94.

Beecher, H. W., 176, 185.

Benson, Carl, 184.

Berkshire, 155-198.

Billings, Josh, 193.

Boston, 83-102.

Bridge, Horatio, 34, 182.

Brook Farm, 147.

Brown, John, 20, 23.

Bryant, W. C., 174, 188, 189, 207.

Burritt, Elihu, 176.

Cambridge, 103.

Carter, Robert, 109.

Channing, W. E., 24, 41, 50, 72, 186; Homes, 22, 24, 52.

Clarke, J. F., 27, 76.

Clough, Arthur, 49, 104, 118.

Concord, 17-80; Battle-Field, 43; River, 39.

Conway, Moncure, quoted, 29, 48.

Cooke, Rose Terry, 193.

Corner Book-Store, Boston, 87.

Curtis, G. W., 33, 48, 148, 149.

Cushman, Charlotte, 114, 193.

Dana, C. A., 149.

Dana, R. H., 105.

Danvers, Oak-Knoll, 138.

Day with Walt Whitman, 201.

Deerfield Arch, 173.

Deland, Margaret, 93.

Elmwood, 110.

Emerson, R. W., 26, 27, 28, 36, 41, 43, 69, 86, 144, 175; Grave, 77; Home, 45.

Emerson, William, 26, 29, 35.

Ethan Brand, 166.

Fanny Fern's Grave, 115.

Felton, Professor, 104.

Field, H. M., 190.

Fields, Annie, 89, 91.

Fields, J. T., 65, 87; Home, 89.

Fuller, Margaret, 48, 53, 86, 115, 149; Brattle House, 105.

Gail Hamilton, 66, 139.

Garrison, W. L., 85, 102, 139.

Gilder, R. W., 211.

Gladden, Washington, 164.

Grant, Robert, 89, 99.

Gray, Asa, 105.

Graylock, 158, 167, 174, 184.

Guiney, L. I., 99, 102; Home, 146.

Hale, E. E., 94; Study and Abode, 100.

Hale, Lucretia P., 99.

Hamilton, Gail, 66, 139.

Harris, Professor, 56.

Haverhill, 122.

Hawthorne, 27, 41, 50, 53, 85, 88, 91; Berkshire, 155-198; Brook Farm, 149; Manse, 28-39; Salem, 128-138; Sleepy Hollow, 75-77; Wayside, 59-67.

Headley, J. T., 187, 195.

Higginson, T. W., 94, 99, 104.

Hilliard, George, 34, 66, 91.

Hoar, Elizabeth, 25.

Hoar, Judge, 27.

Holmes, 84; Boston Abodes, 91, 95; Cambridge, 103; Grave, 114; Pittsfield, 192.

House of the Seven Gables, 132, 193, 194.

Howarth, Clementine, 209.

Howe, Julia W., 98.

Howells, 49, 66; Homes, 97, 105, 117.

Jamaica Plain, 145.

Jewett, Sarah Orne, 91.

Kemble, Fanny, 169, 186, 188, 193.

Kossuth, Louis, 49, 187.

Larcom, Lucy, 139.

Lathrop, G. P., 59.

Lathrop, Rose H., 195.

Laurel Lake, 185.

Lenox (Hawthorne), 176-198.

Little Men, 21.

Little Women, 21, 55, 78.

Longfellow, 106, 110, 139, 192; Grave, 114; Home, 107; Wayside Inn, 118.

Lowell, J. R., 43, 118; Elmwood, 110; Mount Auburn, 113.

Marshfield, 142.

Martineau, Harriet, 85, 106.

Melville, Herman, 177, 185, 188; Arrow-Head, 190.

Monument Mountain, 168, 179, 187.

Moulton, L. C., 93, 98.

Mount Auburn, 113.

Natural Bridge, 169.

North Adams, 158-171.

Norton, Professor, 104.

Oak-Knoll, 138.

Old Manse, 28-39.

Orchard House, 53-56.

Parker, Theodore, 49, 85.

Parkman, Francis, 94, 113; Home, 145.

Parsons, T. W., 118, 119, 120.

Parton, James, 115; Study, 140.

Peabody, Elizabeth, 29, 54, 145.

Phelps-Ward, Mrs., 91, 125, 139.

Phillips, Wendell, 49, 85.

Pittsfield, 190-193.

Plymouth, 144.

Prescott, W. H., 86.

Ripley, Ezra, 28, 33, 34.

Ripley, Mrs. Samuel, 29, 35, 48.

Salem, 128.

Sanborn, F. B., 20-24.

Scarlet Letter, 95, 135, 136.

Sedgwick, Catherine, 176, 189, 190.

Septimius Felton, 55, 60-65.

Silas Lapham, 97, 99.

Sleepy Hollow, 75-80.

Sprague, Charles, 86.

Stockbridge, 189; Bowl, 176, 181; Glen, 189.

Stone, J. A., 25.

Sudbury, 118.

Summer School of Philosophy, 55, 56.

Sumner, Charles, 85, 92, 124.

Swinburne, A. C., 210.

Tanglewood, 183.

Thaxter, Celia, 91, 139, 140.

Thoreau, 19, 22, 27, 33, 41, 50, 63, 76, 169, 174; Abodes, 20, 24; Walden, 68-74.

Ticknor, George, 94.

Walden Pond, 68.

Wayside, The, 58.

Wayside Inn, The, 118.

Webster, Daniel, 19; Marshfield, 142.

Wheildon, William, 25.

Whipple, E. P., 66, 76, 91.

Whitefield, George, 140.

Whitman, Walt, 50; A Day with, 201; Leaves of Grass, 212, 213.

Whittier, 90, 93; Homes, 122, 124, 138; Scenes, 122, 123, 124, 126; Sepulchre, 127.

Williamstown, 173.

Willis, N. P., 84, 115.

Woodworth; Old Oaken Bucket, 141.

Zenobia, 40, 150.

* * * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original.