Walt Whitman in Mickle Street Part 8

Horace Traubel writes: "Warren Fritzinger, who attends upon Mr. Whitman and is provided for through a fund steadily replenished by a group of Walt's lovers--and who finds his services a delight--attests that whatsoever the hour or necessity, Whitman's most intimate humor is to the last degree composed and hopeful." ("_In Re Walt Whitman._") Others have written of this period as one of grave neglect; a time when the aged man was deprived of the care and comfort so essential to one in his condition. They underrated both his means and the attention lavished upon him.

"He is old and poor," says one, "and were it not for small contributions from time to time from friends who sympathize with him in his poverty, age and helplessness, would actually suffer for the bare necessaries of life. For many years his income from all sources has not exceeded an average of two hundred dollars, which to a person in his helpless condition goes but a little way even in supplying the roughest and commonest of food and care." And again: "His wants are not many, for he lives simply from necessity and choice; but in his old age and constantly failing health, he needs that comfort and attendance which he has not the means to procure."

The poet himself was neither discontented nor dull. As his infirmities brought new privations, he bowed to the inevitable. He missed the outdoor life keenly, but was grateful for such trips as he could get under Warren's care. As for indoors, conversations if protracted wore upon him, and he could no longer take part in them with anything of his old enthusiasm and vim. But there was no fundamental infirmity of mind, no childishness of senility; he was essentially young in his habits, thought and manner, and remained so until his death. Sometimes, indeed, the flame of mental energy rose high again; and it was never extinguished.

"The body was fading; the vital parts seemed reluctant to die even in their own exhaustion. The soul, the mind, the man were there, and at times in full vigor, while the case was wrecked. Grandly and clearly his mentality stood above the slowly straining and wasting body." (_Thomas Donaldson._)

But others suffered with and through him. Warren had relinquished hope after hope, had on several occasions abandoned his resolve to better himself and get married; his mother's entreaties and the reiterated promises and solicitations of Mr. Whitman's friends, especially his literary executors, were more than he could combat. But with all outward signs of contentment, the confinement soon left visible marks upon him; a second pair of rosy cheeks faded, and from handling the icy wood in the cellar a lasting cold was contracted.

He purchased a writing desk--one that fitted the niche between the chimney and the window in the anteroom--and here he wrote, studied and read when not actively employed; always busy, always within call. When the monotony and confinement became too pressing, he purchased a violin and took music lessons. He declared that this saved him from fits of desperation.

Mr. Whitman himself was not the only old person dependent for comfort upon Mrs. Davis and her sons, for the maternal grandparents of the latter, living in Beardstown, Pennsylvania, octogenarians and both amazingly jealous of the poet, had to be visited, looked after and consoled.

One great annoyance to Warren was Mr. Whitman's aversion to prompt payment. The old man had signified his willingness to purchase his own wood, but he was so delinquent about settling for it that the proprietor of the woodyard, a man whose heart had never been warmed by the poet's effusions, saw no reason why he should warm his body gratis, and so sent him bill after bill, until at length he refused to deliver a load until the previous one was paid for. Be it understood, Mr. Whitman intended to pay for his wood, but he intended to pay in his own time, and not be dictated to; consequently there was a controversy when each load was delivered. "His pride was adamant to anything that seemed concession." (_John T. Trowbridge._)

Warren knew that the old man had money, that right was on the wood-dealer's side, and he would not follow his mother's way of putting people off--telling them that Mr. Whitman was too miserable to be troubled, asking for an extension of time, etc., then paying the bill herself and lacking the courage to present the receipt. No, "Warry"

would approach the subject in such an original fas.h.i.+on and hand the bill to his patient in such an offhand way that it would appeal to him directly, and as a rule the money was counted out with a quiet chuckle.

Eddie Wilkins wrote: "Mr. Whitman is stubborn and self-willed. You can only get along with him by letting him have his own way." Warren would meet the stubbornness and self-will with just as persistent good-nature, and would usually gain his point. He was the only person Walt Whitman never chloroformed with one of his "Ahs!"

Early in April, 1890, the poet was asked to read his Lincoln lecture at the Art Club rooms in Philadelphia, and he agreed. He was just recovering from a bad spell, and Mrs. Davis did her best to dissuade him from such an undertaking, but without avail; he summoned up his resolution once more and had his own way. With the a.s.sistance of Warren and others, he dressed and painfully dragged himself to the place of destination, and there, before a gay and crowded a.s.sembly, he appeared for the last time in public as a speaker. But the effort was too great, and when the reading was ended and the congratulations over, he was taken home in a suffering and nearly unconscious condition and carried to his bed, where, exhausted and worn out, he was for some days obliged to remain. However, on May 31 he was sufficiently recovered to attend a birthday dinner at Reiser's in Philadelphia. When the guests were a.s.sembled--some fifty or sixty in number--Warren wheeled him into the room, where without leaving his chair he joined in the convivialities of the occasion. He did not fear to dissipate a little at events like this, nor did he always pause at the point of prudence, for he knew that in whatsoever state he might reach home the best of after-care awaited him there.

During the spring and summer the chair rides were resumed whenever he was at his best, and he entered into the enjoyment with zest and appreciation. When feeling particularly well he would make up for lost time, until the rolling chair with its distinguished occupant and handsome boyish-looking propeller was often seen by the hour as it pa.s.sed through the streets of Camden and adjacent suburbs. This chair stimulated the interest of the neighbors and whenever it was carried to the sidewalk the news spread quickly, so that by the time Mrs. Davis appeared with Warren, helping the old man down the stoop, they had a good-sized and extremely attentive audience. No doubt they had long since ceased to look upon Mr. Whitman as a mysterious personage, but they comprehended that he was not one of them, and everything new connected with him still excited their curiosity.

Warren's advent at a season when he was so needed was indeed a blessing to his mother. Now she could count upon her time and arrange for her work, could go out with no anxiety as to home matters, and could have the kitchen to herself when she wished.

The heat of this summer debilitated the invalid more than that of the previous one, or even of the famous (or dreadful) one of 1887, devoted so exhaustingly to art. For days the old man would now be too overcome for any outing, and would be glad instead to sit on the sidewalk, as of old, in the shade of his cherished tree. He spent some evenings with friends, and occasionally went out to a Sunday dinner or to meet certain people; but this became too strenuous, and the after-effects too serious.

The chair rides, though so often interrupted, were continued until late in the fall.

"Was out in wheel-chair yesterday, November 8, from twelve to two-thirty."

He made a few visits to the river, and seated in his chair took his last boat rides across it. In October he visited Philadelphia for the last time.

XIV

FRIENDS, MONEY, AND A MAUSOLEUM

"_Christmas Day, 1890, was spent by Walt Whitman in giving himself and all his family a Christmas present for all eternity. He went out to Harleigh Cemetery, a suburb of Camden, to select a site for a tomb._"--WILLIAM SLOANE KENNEDY.

On the evening of October 21, Colonel Robert Ingersoll gave a lecture in Horticulture Hall, Philadelphia, for the benefit of Mr. Whitman. The subject was "Liberty in Literature."

This form of a.s.sistance to the poet was suggested to Colonel Ingersoll by Mr. Johnston of New York, one of Walt's oldest and most valued friends, who came to Camden to talk the matter over and make the necessary arrangements. Mr. Whitman took unusual interest in the project and was desirous of being present. Mr. Johnston, who had great confidence in Mrs. Davis and much regard for her opinion, consulted her upon the subject. She said that recent cool weather had done much for the old man, and barring unlooked-for accidents, she believed that he could be counted upon. Mr. Whitman himself, who was well aware that his later appearances in public had proved a great tax upon his strength, declared his intention of husbanding the little that remained for the event. This he did; the evening arrived, the weather was favorable, and all was well.

Every possible exertion had been spared him, and he started off in high spirits. An easy carriage had been secured, and he reached the hall without fatigue; even in better condition than had been antic.i.p.ated. He was accompanied by a friend, and by Warren and Mrs. Davis, for both Mr.

Johnston and Colonel Ingersoll had insisted upon her being one of the party. On alighting from the carriage and entering the hall, Mrs. Davis was given a seat in the audience not far from the stage, and Mr. Whitman and Warren were taken behind the scenes, where the lecturer and some gentlemen awaited them. An armchair had been placed for the poet by the speaker's stand. A few moments before the lecture began, he came upon the stage and seated himself. He was greeted with enthusiasm by the overflowing house, and when the eloquent speaker had closed his fine address, he arose, came forward and spoke a few words. This was his last appearance in public.

Colonel Ingersoll had engaged a room in a nearby hotel, where at the close of the lecture a small company were invited to partake of a collation and pa.s.s an informal, social hour. When all were seated at the table, the Colonel handed Mr. Whitman $870 as his share of the proceeds, and upon doing so remarked to Mrs. Davis: "That sum will keep you all in comfort this winter." But like all other sums received by Mr. Whitman, it was deposited unbroken in the bank.

Mr. Whitman stood this exertion well, but the reaction came later; the borrowed strength gave out, and the winter found him much the worse for wear. He came downstairs a number of times in October and November, and had occasional outings, but he pa.s.sed the time chiefly in his own room, and the big chair which Warren and his mother had carried up and down stairs, to the place where it was needed for the time being, was never again taken below. He sat up much less, however, and would lie upon his back for hours, with his eyes partially closed and his hands crossed upon his breast.

Letters came with kind wishes and friendly words; these he appreciated, though he could seldom answer them. Yet he still read and wrote a little, still looked over his newspapers and periodicals, and the acc.u.mulating litter therefore received its weekly contributions; but at his mother's earnest request Warren did not interfere. When little things were carried upstairs, the old man would often ask that they might be left. If any article were taken up he would usually say, "Leave it a while longer; I may want it by and by." This accounts for the soiled dishes frequently seen in his room.

Old friends and new ones were constant, and seemed to devise ways in which they could shower attentions upon the sick man. The oysterman in the next street sent word that he was at all times welcome to a free share of his stock in trade, and there was no time when oysters were not kept unopened in the cellar; but Mr. Whitman beyond doubt overstepped the bounds of the donor's generous intentions when he treated his company so lavishly to stews and half-sh.e.l.ls, also when he ordered supplies for his young men friends in return for services they rendered him. Mrs. Davis and Warren did not approve of this, and each was ashamed to visit the little place so many times; they without money, and the oysters without price.

Did Mr. Whitman, in truth, have an accurate or an undeveloped knowledge of the cost of living?

Eddie Wilkins writes: "Oh, he knows the value of money, and is very careful with his own."

His benevolence to the sick and wounded soldiers during a great part of the civil war is an old and often repeated story, but in this he was to a great extent the almoner of others. His self-sacrificing labors as a volunteer visiting nurse were his own free-will offering, and from them came his long years of suffering, for his early paralysis was the result of these exhaustive and unremitted efforts.

"His devotion surpa.s.sed the devotion of woman." (_John Swinton, in a letter to the New York Herald_, April 1, 1876.)

Most of the time while he was living in Was.h.i.+ngton he occupied a small room up three flights of stairs. He had but little furniture and no dishes; he ate out of paper bags and subsisted upon a very meagre sum of money. This sufficed for that period of his life, when he was in "his splendid prime." (_John Swinton._) He had health, strength and only himself to think of; and taking a house of his own in after years--humble as was the one in Mickle Street--did not seem to mature in him any realizing sense of the intrinsic value of money, or reveal to him his own pecuniary obligations. He never seemed to question what housekeeping involved, never seemed to pause and think that certain responsibilities rested upon him alone, or feel that he might be wronging others, especially those whose services he accepted and whose embarra.s.sments he never inquired into, never offered to relieve. But Mrs. Davis, conservative, conscientious, and true to him, did not disclose his domestic failures or discuss them with others. His financial standing was not revealed to his English friends, and remained quite a secret until the Christmas season of this year, when he was given a site for a grave in Harleigh Cemetery.

It is not unreasonable to believe that he had special designs in putting money so quietly aside, one of which--and the greatest, perhaps--was to build a family vault. It has been said that it was for this very purpose he acc.u.mulated money; h.o.a.rded, accepted and saved in the most minute of things. Thomas Bailey Aldrich often told the delightful story of a certain $9.00 which Whitman borrowed from him--magnificently, but also irrevocably--in Pfoff's restaurant on Broadway.

After he had accepted and secured the site, he spoke freely of his wishes and intentions regarding the tomb. He specified that certain members of his family should be placed in it, and requested in particular that his parents should be brought from Long Island to sleep with them there.

It was to be of granite, ma.s.sive and commodious; and on a projection above the door was to be a granite statue of himself, standing. His ideas were excessive, and the expense far beyond his means; still, he may have thought that the proceeds accruing from his book would warrant an extravagance for death that he never vouchsafed to life. The tomb was begun according to his orders, but was finished on a much smaller scale--as it now stands--and just in time to lay him therein.

When it became known that preparations had been made to erect this costly mausoleum, it dawned upon some of his friends that he had a way of keeping things to himself. It certainly did seem strange that some of them should pay a monthly tax for his support when he had means of his own, and could contemplate such an expenditure as this. In truth people were getting tired of the constant drain upon their purses, and many had long questioned why they should so frequently be called upon, and wondered what _could_ become of the money that flowed in large and small streams into the Whitman exchequer. A few even suspected Mrs. Davis of appropriating it, and of this--unknown to her--she was accused. She was also charged with wastefulness, neglect of the invalid, and gross incompetence.

The poet still kept his affairs to himself, and "it may be he thought that what he received from his admirers was but a portion of the debt they owed him." (_William Sloane Kennedy._)

January and February of this winter were hard months to the sick man. He suffered with severe headaches, la.s.situde and inertia, added to which he had long and obstinate spells of indigestion. He remarked to some old friends that he suffered somewhat from want of persons to cheer him up; most visitors came to him to confess their own weakness and failures, and to disburden themselves of their sorrows. It was just the opposite disposition in his two constant attendants that made their companions.h.i.+p so agreeable to him. Warren's witty and playful sallies always provoked a quiet smile, and his mother's "inventive thoughtfulness" was rewarded with an appreciative, approving look.

During March he made some gain, but it was not until April 15 that he got out of doors to enjoy the suns.h.i.+ne and invigorating air. With his rides new courage came to him, and in May he was able to be taken to the cemetery to witness the progress made on the tomb. But in the last ten months of his life he was so worn by pain, and had so aged, that his restful, reliable home comforts were the dearest of all earthly things to him.

XV

THE LAST BIRTHDAY PARTY

"_There was one more birthday dinner celebrated with his friends in the Mickle Street house on May 31, 1891. Whitman was seventy-two. That privacy, which is the normal privilege of old age, was one of the kinds of happiness which he didn't experience._"--BLISS PERRY.

"_Munching a little bread dipped in champagne and talking about Death.

He had never been more picturesque._"--BLISS PERRY.

On May 31, when Mr. Whitman had reached the age of seventy-two, his last birthday (as it proved) was celebrated by a dinner given in his own home. This arrangement was adopted as the only means of ensuring his presence, and the gathering was the final social event in that little house.

The managing committee was composed of young men, most of whom knew nothing of the limited dimensions of the place, and had not reflected upon the incongruity of their undertaking; nor, until the plans were all made, arrangements nearly completed and the invitations issued, was Mrs.

Davis told what was to take place. When the youngest of the three literary executors, who had devised and was at the head of the scheme, finally informed her, she said she feared that such a thing as seating thirty-six people in the parlors was impracticable; however, she would do her best in helping them to carry out their wishes.