health & strength again--refreshed & tranquillized, soul & body. Good-bye,
beloved Friend.
ANNIE GILCHRIST.
LETTER XV[21]
WALT WHITMAN TO ANNE GILCHRIST
I must write
friend once more at
Since I last wrote, clouds have darkened over me, and still remain.
On the night of 3d January last I was paralyzed, left side, and have
remained so since. Feb. 19 I lost a dear dear sister, who died in St.
Louis leaving two young daughters. May 23d, my dear inexpressibly beloved
mother died in Camden, N. J. I was just able to get from Washington to her
dying bed & sit there. I thought I was bearing it all stoutly, but I find
it affecting the progress of my recovery since and now. I am still feeble,
palsied & have spells of great distress in the head. But there are points
more favourable.
I am up & dressed every day, sleep & eat middling well & do not change
much yet, in flesh & face, only look very old.
Though I can move slowly very short distances, I walk with difficulty &
have to stay in the house nearly all the time. As I write to-day, I feel
that I shall probably get well--though I may not.
Many times during the past year have I thought of you & your children.
Many times indeed have I been going to write, but did not. I have just
been reading over again several of this & last year's letters from you &
looking at the pictures sent in the one of Jan. 24, '72. (Your letters
of Jan. 24, June 3 & July 14, of last year and of Jan. 31, and May 20,
this year, with certainly one other, maybe two) all came safe. Do not
think hard of me for not writing in reply. If you could look into my
spirit & emotion you would be entirely satisfied & at peace. I am at
present temporarily here at Camden, on the Delaware river, opposite
Philadelphia, at the house of my brother, and I am occupying, as I write,
the rooms wherein my mother died. You must not be unhappy about me, as I
am as comfortably situated as can be--& many things--indeed every
thing--in my case might be so much worse. Though my plans are not
definite, my intention as far as anything is on getting stronger, and
after the hot season passes, to get back to Washington for the fall &
winter.
My post office address continues at Washington. I send my love to Percy &
all your dear children.
The enclosed ring I have just taken from my finger, & send to you, with my
love.
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF A TYPICAL WHITMAN LETTER.
FROM THOMAS B. HARNED'S COLLECTION]
LETTER XVI
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN
_Earls Colne
Sept. 4, 1873._
I am entirely satisfied & at peace, my Beloved--no words can say how
divine a peace.
Pain and joy struggle together in me (but joy getting the mastery, because
its portion is eternal). O the precious letter, bearing to me the living
touch of your hand, vibrating through & through me as I feel the pressure
of the ring that pressed your flesh--& now will press mine so long as I
draw breath. My Darling! take comfort & strength & joy from me that you
have made so rich & strong. Perhaps it will yet be given us to see each
other, to travel the last stage of this journey side by side, hand in
hand--so completing the preparation for the fresh start on the greater
journey; me loving and blessing her you mourn, now for your dear
sake--then growing to know & love her in full unison with you.
I hope you will soon get to the sea--as soon as you are strong enough,
that is--& if you could have all needful care & comfort & a dear friend
with you there. For I believe you would get on faster away from Camden--&
that it tends so to keep the wound open & quivering to be where the blow
fell on you--where every object speaks of her last hours & is laden with
heart-stirring associations; though I realize, dearest Friend, that in the
midst of the poignant sorrow come immortal sweet moments--communings, rapt
anticipations. But these would come the same in nature's great soothing
arms by the seashore, with her reviving, invigorating breath playing
freely over you. If only you could get just strong enough prudently to
undertake the journey. When my eyes first open in the morning, often such
tender thoughts, yearning ineffably, pitying, sorrowful, sweet thoughts
flow into my breast that longs & longs to pillow on itself the suffering
head (with white hair more beautiful to me than the silvery clouds which
always make me think of it.) My hands want to be so helpful, tending,
soothing, serving my whole frame to support his stricken side--O to
comfort his heart--to diffuse round him such warm sunshine of love,
helping time & the inborn vigour of each organ that the disease could not
withstand the influences, but healthful life begin to flow again through
every part. My children send their love, their earnest sympathy. Do not
feel anyways called on to write except when inwardly impelled. Your
silence is not dumb to me now--will never again cloud or pain, or be
misconstrued by me. I can feast & feast, & still have wherewithal to
satisfy myself with the sweet & precious words that have now come & with
the feel of my ring, only send any old paper that comes to hand (never
mind whether there is anything to read in it or not) just as a sign that
the breath of love & hope these poor words try to bear to you, has reached
you. And just one word literally that, dearest, when you begin to feel you
are really getting on--to make me so joyful with the news.
Good-bye, dearest Friend,
ANNE GILCHRIST.
Back again in Marquis Road.
LETTER XVII
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN
_50 Marquis Rd.
Camden Sq.
Nov. 3, '73 London_
MY DEAREST FRIEND:
All the papers have reached me--3 separate packets (with the handwriting
on them that makes my heart give a glad bound). I look through them full
of interest & curiosity, wanting to realize as I do, in things small as
well as things large, my Land of Promise--the land where I hope to plant
down my children--so strong in the faith that they, & perhaps still more
those that come after them will bless me for that (consciously or
unconsciously, it doesn't matter which) I should set out with a cheerful
heart on that errand if I knew the first breath I drew on American soil
would be my last in life. I searched hopeful for a few words telling of
improvement in your health in the last paper. But perhaps it does not
follow from there being no much mention that there is no progress. May you
be steadily though ever so slowly gaining ground, my Darling! Now that I
understand the nature of the malady (a deficient flow of blood to the
brain, if it has been rightly explained to me) I realize that recovery
must be very gradual: as the coming on of it must have been slow &
insidious. And perhaps that, & also even from before the war time with its
tremendous strain, emotional & physical, is part of the price paid for the
greatness of the Poems & for their immortal destiny--the rapt exaltation
the intensity of joy & sorrow & struggle--all that went to give them
their life-giving power. For I have felt many times in reading them as if
the light and heat of their sacred fire must needs have consumed the vital
energies of him in whose breast it was generated, faster then even the
most splendid physique could renew itself. For our sakes, for humanity's
sake, you suffer now, I do not doubt it, every bit as much as the
soldier's wounds are for his country's sake. The more precious, the more
tenderly cherished, the more drawing the hearts that understand with
ineffable yearnings, for this.
My children all continue well in the main, I am thankful to say, though
Beatrice (the eldest girl) looks paler than I could wish and is working
her brains too much and the rest of her too little just at present, with
the hope of getting through the Apothecaries Hall exam. in Arts next
Sept., which involves a good bit of Latin and mathematics. This is all
women can do in England toward getting into the medical profession & as
the Apoth. Hall certificate is accepted for the preliminary studies at
Paris & Zurich, I make no doubt it is also at Philadelphia & New York; so
that she would be able to enter on medical studies, the virtual
preliminary work, when we come. For she continues steadfastly desirous to
win her way into that field of usefulness, & I believe is well fitted to
work there, with her grave, earnest, thoughtful, feeling nature & strong
bodily frame. She is able to enjoy your Poems & the vistas; broods over
them a great deal. Percy is bending his energies now to mastering the
processes that go to the production of the very best quality of copper
such as is used for telegraph wires &c. No easy matter, copper being the
most difficult, in a metallurgical point of view, of all the metals to
deal with & the Company in whose employ he is having hitherto been
unsuccessful in this branch. His looks, too, do not quite satisfy me--it
is partly rather too long hours of work--but still more not getting a good
meal till the end of it. It is so hard to make the young believe that the
stomach shares the fatigue of the rest of the body and that there is not
nervous energy enough left for it to do all its principal work to
perfection after a long, exhausting day. But I hope now I, or rather his
own experience and I together, have convinced him in time, and he promises
me faithfully to arrange for a good meal in the middle of the day however
much grudging the time. My little artist Herby is still chiefly working
from the antique, but tries his hand at home occasionally with oils & to
life & has made an oil sketch of me which, though imperfect in drawing
&c., gives far more the real character & expression of my face than the
photographs. Have you heard, I wonder, of William Rossetti's approaching
marriage? It is to take place early in the New Year. The lady is Lucy
Brown, daughter of one of our most eminent artists (he was the friend who
first put into my hand the "Selections" from your Poems). Lucy is a very
sweet-tempered, cultivated, lovable woman, well fitted, I should say, to
make William Rossetti happy. They are to continue in the old home, Euston
Sq., with Mrs. Rossetti & the sisters, who are one and all fond of Lucy. I
am glad he is going to be married for I think he is a man capable both of
giving and receiving a large measure of domestic happiness. I hope the
dear little girls at St. Louis are well. And you, my Darling, O surely the
sun is piercing through the dark clouds once more and strength & health
and gladness returning. O fill yourself with happy thoughts for you have
filled others with joy & strength & will do so for countless generations,
& from these hearts flows back, and will ever flow, a steady current of
love & the beautiful fruits of love.
When you next send me a paper, if you feel that you are getting on ever so
little, dearest friend, just a dash under the word _London_. I have looked
back at all your old addresses & I see you never do put any lines, so I
shall know it was not done absently but really means you are better. And
how that line will gladden my eyes, Darling!
Love from us all. Good-bye.
ANNE GILCHRIST.
LETTER XVIII
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN
_50 Marquis Rd.
Camden Sq., N. W.
Dec. 8, 1873._
MY DEAREST FRIEND:
The papers with Prof. Young's speech came safely & I read it, my hand in
yours, happy and full of interest. Are you getting on, my Darling? When I
know that you no longer suffer from distressing sensations in the head &
can move without such effort and difficulty, a hymn of thankfulness will
go up from my heart. Perhaps this week I shall get the paper with the line
on it that is to tell me so much--or at least that you are well on your
way towards it. And what shall I tell you about? The quiet tenor of our
daily lives here? but that is very restricted, though, I trust, as far as
it goes, good & healthful. O the thoughts and hopes that leap from across
the ocean & the years! But they hide themselves away when I want to put
them into words. Do not think I live in dreams. I know very well it is
strictly in proportion as the present & the past have been busy shaping &
preparing the materials of a beautiful future, that it really will be
beautiful when it comes to exist as a present, seeing how it needs must be
entirely a growth from all that has preceded it & that there are no sudden
creations of flowers of happiness in men & women any more than in the
fields. But if the buds lie ready folded, ah, what the sunshine will do!
What fills me with such deep joy in your poems is the sense of the large
complete acceptiveness--the full & perfect faith in humanity--in _every
individual unit of humanity_--thus for the first time uttered. That alone
satisfies the sense of justice in the soul, responds to what its own
nature compels it to believe of the Infinite Source of all. That too
includes within its scope the lot as well as the man. His infinite,
undying self must achieve and fulfil itself out of any & all experiences.
Why, if it takes such ages & such vicissitudes to compact a bit of
rock--fierce heat, & icy cold, storms, deluges, crushing pressure & slow
subsidences, as if it were like a handful of grass & all sunshine--what
would it do for a man!
_Dec. 18._
The longed-for paper has come to hand. O it _is_ a slow struggle back to
health, my Darling! I believe in the main it is good news that is
come--and there is the little stroke I wanted so on the address. But for
all that, I feel troubled & conscious--for I believe you have been a great
deal worse since you wrote--and that you have still such a steep, steep
hill to climb.
Perhaps if my hand were in yours, dear Walt, you would get along faster.
Dearer and sweeter that lot than even to have been your bride in the full
flush & strength and glory of your youth. I turn my face to the westward
sky before I lie down to sleep, deep & steadfast within me the silent
aspiration that every year, every month & week, may help something to
prepare and make fitter me and mine to be your comfort and joy. We are
full of imperfections, short-comings but half developed, but half
"possessing our own souls." But we grow, we learn, we strive--that is the
best of us. I think in the sunshine of your presence we shall grow fast--I
too, my years notwithstanding. May the New Year lead you out into the
sunshine again--shed out of its days health & strength, so that you tread
the earth in gladness again. This with love from us all. Good-bye, dearest
Friend.
ANNE GILCHRIST.
Herby was at a Conversation last night where were many distinguished men &
beautiful women. Among the works of art displayed on the walls was a fine
photograph of you.
19th, afternoon.
And now a later post has brought me the other No. of the _Graphic_ with
your own writing in it--so full of life and spirit, so fresh & cheerful &
vivid, dear Friend, it seems to scatter all anxious sad thoughts to the
winds. And are you then really back at Washington, I wonder, or have you
only visited it in spirit, & written the recollection of former evenings?
I shall have none but cheerful thoughts now. I shall reread it
carefully--read it to the young folk at tea to-night.
LETTER XIX
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN
_50 Marquis Rd.
Camden Sq.
London
26 Feb., 1874._
MY DEAREST FRIEND:
Glad am I when the time comes round for writing to you again--though I
can't please myself with my letters, poor little echoes that they are of
the loving, hoping, far-journeying thoughts so busy within. It has been a
happy time since I received the paper with the joyful news you were back
at Washington, well on your way to recovery, able partially to resume
work--scenting from afar the fresh breeze & sunshine of perfect health--by
this time, not from afar, perhaps. The thought of that makes dull days
bright & bright days glorious to me too. I note in the New York _Graphic_
that a new edition of "Leaves of Grass" was called for--sign truly that
America is not so very slowly & now absorbing the precious food she needs
above all else? Perhaps, dear Friend, even during your lifetime will begin
to come the proof you will alone accept--that "your country absorbs you as
affectionately as you have absorbed it." I have had two great pleasures
since I last wrote you. One is that Herby has read with a large measure of
responsive delight "Leaves of Grass" quite through, so that he now sees
you with his own eyes & has in his heart the living, growing germs of a
loving admiration that will grow with his growth & strengthen every fibre
of good in him. Also he read & took much pride in my "letters," now shown
him for the first time. Percy has had a fortnight's holiday with us, and
looks better in health, though still not altogether as I could wish. He
says he is getting such good experience he would not care just yet to
change his post even for better pay. Music is his greatest pleasure--he
seems to get more enjoyment out of that than out of literature, & is
acquiring some practical skill.
To-day (Feb. 25th) is my birthday, dearest Friend--a day my children
always make very bright & happy to me: and on it they make me promise to
"do nothing but what I like all day." So I shall spend it with you--partly
in finishing this letter, partly reading in the book that is so dear to
me--for that is indeed my soul coming into the presence of your
soul--filled by it with strength & warmth & joy. In discouraged moods,
when oppressed with the consciousness of my own limitations, failures,
lack of many beautiful gifts, I say to myself, "What sort of a bird with
unfledged wings are you that would mate with an eagle? Can your eyes look
the sun in the face like his? Can you sustain your long, lifelong flights
upward? Can you rest in dizzy rocks overhanging dark, tempestuous abysses?
Is your heart like his, a great glowing sun of Love?" Then I answer, "Give
me Time." I can bide my time--a long, long growing & unfolding time. That
he draws me with such power, that my soul has found the meaning of itself
in him--the object of all its deep, deathless aspirations in comradeship
with him, means, if life is not a mockery clean ended by death, that the
germs are in me, that through cleaving & loving & ever striving up & on I
shall grow like him--like but different--the correlative--what his soul
needs & desires; and if when I reach America he is not so drawn towards
me,--if seeing how often I disappoint myself, needs must that he too is
disappointed, still I can hold bravely, lovingly on to this
inextinguishable faith & hope--with the added joy of his presence,
sometimes winning from him more & more a dear friendship, yielding him
some joy & comfort--for he too turns with hope, with yearning, towards
me--bids me be "satisfied & at peace!" So I am, so I will be, my darling.
Surely, surely, sooner or later I shall justify that hope, satisfy that
yearning. This is what I say to myself & to you this 46th birthday. Have I
said it over & over again? That is because it is the undercurrent of my
whole life. The _Tribune_ with Proctor's "Lecture on the Sun" (& a great
deal besides that interests me) came safe. A masterly lecture. And two
days ago came the Philadelphia paper with Prof. Morton's speech--deeply
interesting. And as I read these things, the feeling that they have come
from, & been read by, you turns them into Poems for me.
Good-bye, my dearest Friend.
ANNE GILCHRIST.
W. Rossetti's marriage is to be the end of next month. Had a pleasant chat
with Mr. Conway, who took supper with us a week or two ago.
LETTER XX
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN
_March 9th, 1874._
With full heart, with eyes wet with tears of joy & I know not what other
deep emotion--pain of yearning pity blent with the sense of
grandeur--dearest Friend, have I read and reread the great, sacred Poem
just come to me.[22] O august Columbus! whose sorrows, sufferings,
struggles are more to be envied than any triumph of conquering warrior--as
I see him in your poem his figure merges into yours, brother of Columbus.
Completer of his work, discoverer of the spiritual, the ideal America--you
too have sailed over stormy seas to your goal--surrounded with mocking
disbelievers--you too have paid the great price of health--our Columbus.
Your accents pierce me through & through.
Your loving ANNIE.
LETTER XXI
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN
_50 Marquis Rd.
Camden Sq.
May 14, 1874._
MY DEAREST FRIEND:
Two papers have come to hand since I last wrote, one containing the
memoranda made during the war--precious records, eagerly read & treasured
& reread by me.
How the busy days slip by one so like another, yet each with its own fresh
& pleasant flavour & scent, as like and as different as the leaves on a
tree, or the plants in the hedgerows. Days they are busy with humble
enough occupations, but lit up for me not only with the light of hope, but
with the half-hidden joy of one who knows she has found what she sought
and laid such strong hold upon it that she fears nothing, questions
nothing--no life, or death, nor in the end, in her own imperfections,
flaws, shortcomings. For to be so conscious of these, and to love and
understand you so, are proofs [that] the germs of all are in her, &
perhaps in the warmth & joyous sunshine of your presence would grow fast.
Anyhow, distance has not baffled her, and time will not. A great deal of
needlework to be done at this time of year; for my girls have not time for
any at present; it is not a good contrast or the right thing after longish
hours of study--much better household activity of any sort. If they would
but understand this in schools & colleges for girls & young women. No
healthier or more cheerful occupation as a relief from study, could be
found than household work--sweeping, scrubbing, washing, ironing,
cooking--in the variety of it, & equable development of the muscles, I
should think equal to the most elaborate gymnastics. I know very well how
I have felt, & still feel, the want of having been put to these things
when a girl. Then the importance afterwards of doing them easily & well &
without undue fatigue, to all who aim to give practical shape to their
ardent belief in equality & fair play for all. In domestic life under one
roof, at all events, it is already feasible to make the disposals without
ignominious distinctions--not all the rough bodily work, never ending,
leisure all to the other; but a wholesome interchange and sharing of
these. Not least too among the advantages of taking an active share in
these duties is the zest, the keen relish, it gives to the hours not too
easily secured for reading & music. Besides, I often think that just as
the Poem Nature is made up half of rude, rough realities and homely
materials & processes, so it is necessary for women to construct their
Poem, Home, on a groundwork of homeliest details & occupations, providing
for the bodily wants & comforts of their household, and that without
putting their own hands to this, their Poem will lack the vital, fresh,
growing, nature-like quality that alone endures, and that of this soil
will grow, with fitting preparation & culture, noble & more vigorous
intellectual life in women, fit to embody itself in wider spheres
afterwards--if the call comes.
This month of May that comes to you so laden with great and sorrowful &
beautiful & tender memories, and that is your birth-month too, I cannot
say that I think of you more than at any other time, for there is no month
nor day that my thoughts do not habitually & spontaneously turn to you,
refer all to you--yet I seem to come closer because of the Poems that tell
me of what relates to that time; but most of all when I think of your
beloved Mother, because then I often yearn, more than I know how to bear,
to comfort you with love and tender care and silent companionship. May is
in a sense (& a very real one) my birth-month too, for in it were your
Poems first put into my hand. I wish I were _quite sure_ that you no
longer suffer in your head, and that you can move about without effort or
difficulty--perhaps before long there will be a paper with some paragraph
about your health, for though we say to ourselves no news is good news, it
is a very different thing to have the absolute affirmation of good news.
My children are all well and hearty, I am thankful to say, & working
industriously. Grace means to study the best system of kindergarten
teaching--I fancy she is well suited for kindergarten teaching & that it
is very excellent work.