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THE NEGRO IN LITERATURE AND ART
[Illustration: (C) MARY DALE CLARK & CHARLES JAMES FOX
CHARLES S. GILPIN AS "THE EMPEROR JONES"]
The Negro
in Literature and Art
_in the United States_
BY
BENJAMIN BRAWLEY
_Author of "A Short History of the American Negro"_
_REVISED EDITION_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1921
Copyright, 1918, 1921, by
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
TO MY FATHER
EDWARD MACKNIGHT BRAWLEY
WITH THANKS FOR SEVERE TEACHING
AND STIMULATING CRITICISM
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
PREFACE xi
I. THE NEGRO GENIUS 3
II. PHILLIS WHEATLEY 10
III. PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 33
IV. CHARLES W. CHESNUTT 45
V. W. E. BURGHARDT DU BOIS 50
VI. WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE 56
VII. OTHER WRITERS 65
VIII. ORATORS.--DOUGLASS AND WASHINGTON 83
IX. THE STAGE 97
X. PAINTERS.--HENRY O. TANNER 103
XI. SCULPTORS.--META WARRICK FULLER 112
XII. MUSIC 125
XIII. GENERAL PROGRESS, 1918-1921 142
XIV. CHARLES S. GILPIN 156
APPENDIX:
1. THE NEGRO IN AMERICAN FICTION 165
2. STUDY OF BIBLIOGRAPHY 180
ILLUSTRATIONS
CHARLES S. GILPIN AS "THE EMPEROR JONES" _Frontispiece_
PHILLIS WHEATLEY _Facing p._ 10
PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR " 34
CHARLES W. CHESNUTT " 46
W. E. BURGHARDT DU BOIS " 50
WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE " 56
HENRY O. TANNER " 104
META WARRICK FULLER " 112
HARRY T. BURLEIGH " 130
PREFACE
The present volume undertakes to treat somewhat more thoroughly than has
ever before been attempted the achievement of the Negro in the United
States along literary and artistic lines, judging this by absolute
rather than by partial or limited standards. The work is the result of
studies in which I first became interested nearly ten years ago. In 1910
a booklet, "The Negro in Literature and Art," appeared in Atlanta,
privately printed. The little work contained only sixty pages. The
reception accorded it, however, was even more cordial than I had hoped
it might be, and the limited edition was soon exhausted. Its substance,
in condensed form, was used in 1913 as the last chapter of "A Short
History of the American Negro," brought out by the Macmillan Co. In the
mean time, however, new books and magazine articles were constantly
appearing, and my own judgment on more than one point had changed; so
that the time has seemed ripe for a more intensive review of the whole
field. To teachers who may be using the history as a text I hardly need
to say that I should be pleased to have the present work supersede
anything said in the last chapter of that volume.
The first chapter, and those on Mr. Braithwaite and Mrs. Fuller,
originally appeared in the _Southern Workman_. That on the Stage was a
contribution to the _Springfield Republican_; and the supplementary
chapter is from the _Dial_. All are here reprinted with the kind consent
of the owners of those periodicals. Much of the quoted matter is covered
by copyright. Thanks are especially due to Mr. Braithwaite and Mr. J. W.
Johnson for permission to use some of their poems, and to Dodd, Mead &
Co., the publishers of the works of Dunbar. The bibliography is quite
new. It is hoped that it may prove of service.
BENJAMIN BRAWLEY.
North Cambridge, August, 1917.
THE NEGRO IN
LITERATURE AND ART
THE NEGRO IN LITERATURE AND ART
I
THE NEGRO GENIUS
In his lecture on "The Poetic Principle," in leading down to his
definition of poetry, Edgar Allan Poe has called attention to the three
faculties, intellect, feeling, and will, and shown that poetry, that the
whole realm of aesthetics in fact, is concerned primarily and solely
with the second of these. _Does it satisfy a sense of beauty?_ This is
his sole test of a poem or of any work of art, the aim being neither to
appeal to the intellect by satisfying the reason or inculcating truth,
nor to appeal to the will by satisfying the moral sense or inculcating
duty.
The standard has often been criticised as narrow; yet it embodies a
large and fundamental element of truth. If in connection with it we
study the Negro we shall find that two things are observable. One is
that any distinction so far won by a member of the race in America has
been almost always in some one of the arts; and the other is that any
influence so far exerted by the Negro on American civilization has been
primarily in the field of aesthetics. To prove the point we may refer to
a long line of beautiful singers, to the fervid oratory of Douglass, to
the sensuous poetry of Dunbar, to the picturesque style of DuBois, to
the mysticism of the paintings of Tanner, and to the elemental sculpture
of Meta Warrick Fuller. Even Booker Washington, most practical of
Americans, proves the point, the distinguishing qualities of his
speeches being anecdote and brilliant concrete illustration.
Everyone must have observed a striking characteristic of the homes of
Negroes of the peasant class in the South. The instinct for beauty
insists upon an outlet, and if one can find no better picture he will
paste a circus poster or a flaring advertisement on the walls. Very few
homes have not at least a geranium on the windowsill or a rosebush in
the garden. If also we look at the matter conversely we shall find that
those things which are most picturesque make to the Negro the readiest
appeal. Red is his favorite color simply because it is the most
pronounced of all colors. Goethe's "Faust" can hardly be said to be a
play primarily designed for the galleries. One never sees it fail,
however, that in any Southern city this play will fill the gallery with
the so-called lower class of Negro people, who would never think of
going to another play of its class, but different; and the applause
never leaves one in doubt as to the reasons for Goethe's popularity. It
is the suggestiveness of the love scenes, the red costume of
Mephistopheles, the electrical effects, and the rain of fire that give
the thrill desired--all pure melodrama of course. "Faust" is a good show
as well as a good play.
In some of our communities Negroes are frequently known to "get happy"
in church. Now a sermon on the rule of faith or the plan of salvation is
never known to awaken such ecstasy. This rather accompanies a vivid
portrayal of the beauties of heaven, with the walls of jasper, the
angels with palms in their hands, and (_summum bonum!_) the feast of
milk and honey. And just here is the dilemma so often faced by the
occupants of pulpits in Negro churches. Do the people want scholarly
training? Very often the cultured preacher will be inclined to answer in
the negative. Do they want rant and shouting? Such a standard fails at
once to satisfy the ever-increasing intelligence of the audience itself.
The trouble is that the educated minister too often leaves out of
account the basic psychology of his audience. That preacher who will
ultimately be the most successful with a Negro congregation will be the
one who to scholarship and culture can best join brilliant imagination
and fervid rhetorical expression. When all of these qualities are
brought together in their finest proportion the effect is irresistible.
Gathering up the threads of our discussion so far, we find that there is
constant striving on the part of the Negro for beautiful or striking
effect, that those things which are most picturesque make the readiest
appeal to his nature, and that in the sphere of religion he receives
with most appreciation those discourses which are most imaginative in
quality. In short, so far as the last point is concerned, it is not too
much to assert that the Negro is thrilled not so much by the moral as by
the artistic and pictorial elements in religion.
But there is something deeper than the sensuousness of beauty that makes
for the possibilities of the Negro in the realm of the arts, and that is
the soul of the race. The wail of the old melodies and the plaintive
quality that is ever present in the Negro voice are but the reflection
of a background of tragedy. No race can rise to the greatest heights of
art until it has yearned and suffered. The Russians are a case in point.
Such has been their background in oppression and striving that their
literature and art are to-day marked by an unmistakable note of power.
The same future beckons to the American Negro. There is something very
elemental about the heart of the race, something that finds its origin
in the African forest, in the sighing of the night-wind, and in the
falling of the stars. There is something grim and stern about it all,
too, something that speaks of the lash, of the child torn from its
mother's bosom, of the dead body riddled with bullets and swinging all
night from a limb by the roadside.
So far we have elaborated a theory. Let us not be misunderstood. We do
not mean to say that the Negro can not rise to great distinction in any
sphere other than the arts. He has already made a noteworthy beginning
in pure scholarship and invention; especially have some of the younger
men done brilliant work in science. We do mean to say, however, that
every race has its peculiar genius, and that, so far as we can at
present judge, the Negro, with all his manual labor, is destined to
reach his greatest heights in the field of the artistic. But the impulse
needs to be watched. Romanticism very soon becomes unhealthy. The Negro
has great gifts of voice and ear and soul; but so far much of his talent
has not soared above the stage of vaudeville. This is due most largely
of course to economic instability. It is the call of patriotism,
however, that America should realize that the Negro has peculiar gifts
which need all possible cultivation and which will some day add to the
glory of the country. Already his music is recognized as the most
distinctive that the United States has yet produced. The possibilities
of the race in literature and oratory, in sculpture and painting, are
illimitable.
* * * * *
Along some such lines as those just indicated it will be the aim of the
following pages to study the achievement of the Negro in the United
States of America. First we shall consider in order five representative
writers who have been most constantly guided by standards of literary
excellence. We shall then pass on to others whose literary work has been
noteworthy, and to those who have risen above the crowd in oratory,
painting, sculpture, or music. We shall constantly have to remember that
those here remarked are only a few of the many who have longed and
striven for artistic excellence. Some have pressed on to the goal of
their ambition; but no one can give the number of those who, under hard
conditions, have yearned and died in silence.
II
PHILLIS WHEATLEY
On one of the slave ships that came to the harbor of Boston in the year
1761 was a little Negro girl of very delicate figure. The vessel on
which she arrived came from Senegal. With her dirty face and unkempt
hair she must indeed have been a pitiable object in the eyes of would-be
purchasers. The hardships of the voyage, however, had given an unusual
brightness to the eye of the child, and at least one woman had
discernment enough to appreciate her real worth. Mrs. Susannah Wheatley,
wife of John Wheatley, a tailor, desired to possess a girl whom she
might train to be a special servant for her declining years, as the
slaves already in her home were advanced in age and growing feeble.
Attracted by the gentle demeanor of the child in question, she bought
her, took her home, and gave her the name of Phillis. When the young
slave became known to the world it was customary for her to use also the
name of the family to which she belonged. She always spelled her
Christian name P-h-i-l-l-i-s.
[Illustration: PHILLIS WHEATLEY]
Phillis Wheatley was born very probably in 1753. The poem on Whitefield
published in 1770 said on the title-page that she was seventeen years
old. When she came to Boston she was shedding her front teeth. Her
memory of her childhood in Africa was always vague. She knew only that
her mother _poured out water before the rising sun_. This was probably a
rite of heathen worship.
Mrs. Wheatley was a woman of unusual refinement. Her home was well known
to the people of fashion and culture in Boston, and King Street in which
she lived was then as noted for its residences as it is now, under the
name of State Street, famous for its commercial and banking houses. When
Phillis entered the Wheatley home the family consisted of four persons,
Mr. and Mrs. Wheatley, their son Nathaniel, and their daughter Mary.
Nathaniel and Mary were twins, born May 4, 1743. Mrs. Wheatley was also
the mother of three other children, Sarah, John, and Susannah; but all
of these died in early youth. Mary Wheatley, accordingly, was the only
daughter of the family that Phillis knew to any extent, and she was
eighteen years old when her mother brought the child to the house, that
is, just a little more than ten years older than Phillis.
In her new home the girl showed signs of remarkable talent. Her childish
desire for expression found an outlet in the figures which she drew with
charcoal or chalk on the walls of the house. Mrs. Wheatley and her
daughter became so interested in the ease with which she assimilated
knowledge that they began to teach her. Within sixteen months from the
time of her arrival in Boston Phillis was able to read fluently the most
difficult parts of the Bible. From the first her mistress strove to
cultivate in every possible way her naturally pious disposition, and
diligently gave her instruction in the Scriptures and in morals. In
course of time, thanks especially to the teaching of Mary Wheatley, the
learning of the young student came to consist of a little astronomy,
some ancient and modern geography, a little ancient history, a fair
knowledge of the Bible, and a thoroughly appreciative acquaintance with
the most important Latin classics, especially the works of Virgil and
Ovid. She was proud of the fact that Terence was at least of African
birth. She became proficient in grammar, developing a conception of
style from practice rather than from theory. Pope's translation of Homer
was her favorite English classic. If in the light of twentieth century
opportunity and methods these attainments seem in no wise remarkable,
one must remember the disadvantages under which not only Phillis
Wheatley, but all the women of her time, labored; and recall that in any
case her attainments would have marked her as one of the most highly
educated young women in Boston.
While Phillis was trying to make the most of her time with her studies,
she was also seeking to develop herself in other ways. She had not been
studying long before she began to feel that she too would like to make
verses. Alexander Pope was still an important force in English
literature, and the young student became his ready pupil. She was about
fourteen years old when she seriously began to cultivate her poetic
talent; and one of the very earliest, and from every standpoint one of
the most interesting of her efforts is the pathetic little juvenile
poem, "On Being Brought from Africa to America:"
'Twas mercy brought me from my pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there's a God--that there's a Saviour too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye--
"Their colour is a diabolic dye."
Remember, Christians, Negroes black as Cain
May be refined, and join th' angelic train.
Meanwhile, the life of Phillis was altogether different from that of the
other slaves of the household. No hard labor was required of her, though
she did the lighter work, such as dusting a room or polishing a table.
Gradually she came to be regarded as a daughter and companion rather
than as a slave. As she wrote poetry, more and more she proved to have a
talent for writing occasional verse. Whenever any unusual event, such as
a death, occurred in any family of the circle of Mrs. Wheatley's
acquaintance, she would write lines on the same. She thus came to be
regarded as "a kind of poet-laureate in the domestic circles of
Boston." She was frequently invited to the homes of people to whom Mrs.
Wheatley had introduced her, and was regarded with peculiar interest and
esteem, on account both of her singular position and her lovable nature.
In her own room at home Phillis was specially permitted to have heat and
a light, because her constitution was delicate, and in order that she
might write down her thoughts as they came to her, rather than trust
them to her fickle memory.
Such for some years was the course of the life of Phillis Wheatley. The
year 1770 saw the earliest publication of one of her poems. On the first
printed page of this edition one might read the following announcement:
"A Poem, By Phillis, a Negro Girl, in Boston, On the Death of the
Reverend George Whitefield." In the middle of the page is a quaint
representation of the dead man in his coffin, on the top of which one
might with difficulty decipher, "G. W. Ob. 30 Sept. 1770, Aet. 56." The
poem is addressed to the Countess of Huntingdon, whom Whitefield had
served as chaplain, and to the orphan children of Georgia whom he had
befriended. It takes up in the original less than four pages of large
print. It was revised for the 1773 edition of the poems.
In 1771 the first real sorrow of Phillis Wheatley came to her. On
January 31st Mary Wheatley left the old home to become the wife of Rev.
John Lathrop, pastor of the Second Church in Boston. This year is
important for another event. On August 18th "Phillis, the servant of Mr.
Wheatley," became a communicant of the Old South Meeting House in
Boston. We are informed that "her membership in Old South was an
exception to the rule that slaves were not baptized into the church." At
that time the church was without a regular minister, though it had
lately received the excellent teaching of the Rev. Dr. Joseph Sewell.
This was a troublous time in the history of Boston. Already the storm of
the Revolution was gathering. The period was one of vexation on the part
of the slaves and their masters as well as on that of the colonies and
England. The argument on the side of the slaves was that, as the
colonies were still English territory, they were technically free, Lord
Mansfield having handed down the decision in 1772 that as soon as a
slave touched the soil of England he became free. Certainly Phillis must
have been a girl of unusual tact to be able under such conditions to
hold so securely the esteem and affection of her many friends.
About this time, as we learn from her correspondence, her health began
to fail. Almost all of her letters that are preserved were written to
Obour Tanner, a friend living in Newport, R. I. Just when the two young
women became acquainted is not known. Obour Tanner survived until the
fourth decade of the next century. It was to her, then, still a young
woman, that on July 19, 1772, Phillis wrote from Boston as follows:
MY DEAR FRIEND,--I received your kind epistle a few days ago;
much disappointed to hear that you had not received my answer
to your first letter. I have been in a very poor state of
health all the past winter and spring, and now reside in the
country for the benefit of its more wholesome air. I came to
town this morning to spend the Sabbath with my master and
mistress. Let me be interested in your prayers that God will
bless to me the means used for my recovery, if agreeable to his
holy will.
By the spring of 1773 the condition of the health of Phillis was such as
to give her friends much concern. The family physician advised that she
try the air of the sea. As Nathaniel Wheatley was just then going to
England, it was decided that she should accompany him. The two sailed in
May. The poem, "A Farewell to America," is dated May 7, 1773. It was
addressed to "S. W.," that is, Mrs. Wheatley. Before she left America,
Phillis was formally manumitted.
The poem on Whitefield served well as an introduction to the Countess of
Huntingdon. Through the influence of this noblewoman Phillis met other
ladies, and for the summer the child of the wilderness was the pet of
the society people of England. Now it was that a peculiar gift of
Phillis Wheatley shone to advantage. To the recommendations of a strange
history, ability to write verses, and the influence of kind friends, she
added the accomplishment of brilliant conversation. Presents were
showered upon her. One that has been preserved is a copy of the
magnificent 1770 Glasgow folio edition of "Paradise Lost," given to her
by Brook Watson, Lord Mayor of London. This book is now in the library
of Harvard University. At the top of one of the first pages, in the
handwriting of Phillis Wheatley, are these words: "Mr. Brook Watson to
Phillis Wheatley, London, July, 1773." At the bottom of the same page,
in the handwriting of another, are these words: "This book was given by
Brook Watson formerly Lord Mayor of London to Phillis Wheatley & after
her death was sold in payment of her husband's debts. It is now
presented to the Library of Harvard University at Cambridge, by Dudley
L. Pickman of Salem. March, 1824."
Phillis had not arrived in England at the most fashionable season,
however. The ladies of the circle of the Countess of Huntingdon desired
that she remain long enough to be presented at the court of George III.
An accident--the illness of Mrs. Wheatley--prevented the introduction.
This lady longed for the presence of her old companion, and Phillis
could not be persuaded to delay her return. Before she went back to
Boston, however, arrangements were made for the publication of her
volume, "Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral," of which more
must be said. While the book does not of course contain the later
scattered poems, it is the only collection ever brought together by
Phillis Wheatley, and the book by which she is known.
The visit to England marked the highest point in the career of the young
author. Her piety and faith were now to be put to their severest test,
and her noble bearing under hardship and disaster must forever speak to
her credit. In much of the sorrow that came to her she was not alone,
for the period of the Revolution was one of general distress.
Phillis remained in England barely four months. In October she was back
in Boston. That she was little improved may be seen from the letter to
Obour Tanner, bearing date the 30th of this month:
I hear of your welfare with pleasure; but this acquaints you
that I am at present indisposed by a cold, and since my arrival
have been visited by the asthma.
A postscript to this letter reads:
The young man by whom this is handed to you seems to be a very
clever man, knows you very well, and is very complaisant and
agreeable.
The "young man" was John Peters, afterwards to be her husband.
A great sorrow came to Phillis in the death on March 3, 1774, of her
best friend, Mrs. Wheatley, then in her sixty-fifth year. How she felt
about this event is best set forth in her own words in a letter
addressed to Obour Tanner at Newport under date March 21, 1774:
DEAR OBOUR,--I received your obliging letter enclosed in your
Reverend Pastor's and handed me by his son. I have lately met
with a great trial in the death of my mistress; let us imagine
the loss of a parent, sister or brother, the tenderness of all
were united in her. I was a poor little outcast and a stranger
when she took me in; not only into her house, but I presently
became a sharer in her most tender affections. I was treated by
her more like her child than her servant; no opportunity was
left unimproved of giving me the best of advice; but in terms
how tender! how engaging! This I hope ever to keep in
remembrance. Her exemplary life was a greater monitor than all
her precepts and instructions; thus we may observe of how much
greater force example is than instruction. To alleviate our
sorrows we had the satisfaction to see her depart in
inexpressible raptures, earnest longings, and impatient
thirstings for the _upper_ courts of the Lord. Do, my dear
friend, remember me and this family in your closet, that this
afflicting dispensation may be sanctified to us. I am very
sorry to hear that you are indisposed, but hope this will find
you in better health. I have been unwell the greater part of
the winter, but am much better as the spring approaches. Pray
excuse my not writing you so long before, for I have been so
busy lately that I could not find leisure. I shall send the 5
books you wrote for, the first convenient opportunity; if you
want more they shall be ready for you. I am very affectionately
your friend,
PHILLIS WHEATLEY.
After the death of Mrs. Wheatley Phillis seems not to have lived
regularly at the old home; at least one of her letters written in 1775
was sent from Providence. For Mr. Wheatley the house must have been a
sad one; his daughter was married and living in her own home, his son
was living abroad, and his wife was dead. It was in this darkening
period of her life, however, that a very pleasant experience came to
Phillis Wheatley. This was her reception at the hands of George
Washington. In 1775, while the siege of Boston was in progress, she
wrote a letter to the distinguished soldier, enclosing a complimentary
poem. Washington later replied as follows:
CAMBRIDGE, _Feb. 2, 1776_.
MISS PHILLIS,--Your favor of the 26th of October did not reach
my hand till the middle of December. Time enough, you say, to
have given an answer ere this. Granted. But a variety of
important occurrences continually interposing to distract the
mind and to withdraw the attention, I hope, will apologize for
the delay and plead my excuse for the seeming, but not real
neglect. I thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of
me, in the elegant lines you enclosed, and however undeserving
I may be of such encomium and panegyric, the style and manner
exhibit a striking proof of your poetical talents, in honor of
which, and as a tribute justly due to you, I would have
published the poem, had I not been apprehensive that while I
only meant to give the world this new instance of your genius,
I might have incurred the imputation of vanity. This and
nothing else determined me not to give it place in the public
prints. If you should ever come to Cambridge or near
headquarters, I shall be happy to see a person so favored by
the muses, and to whom Nature has been so liberal and
beneficent in her dispensations.
I am, with great respect,
Your obedient humble servant,
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Not long afterwards Phillis accepted the invitation of the General and
was received in Cambridge with marked courtesy by Washington and his
officers.
The Wheatley home was finally broken up by the death of Mr. John
Wheatley, March 12, 1778, at the age of seventy-two. After this event
Phillis lived for a short time with a friend of Mrs. Wheatley, and then
took an apartment and lived by herself. By April she had yielded to the
blandishments of John Peters sufficiently to be persuaded to become his
wife. This man is variously reported to have been a baker, a barber, a
grocer, a doctor, and a lawyer. With all of these professions and
occupations, however, he seems not to have possessed the ability to make
a living. He wore a wig, sported a cane, and generally felt himself
superior to labor. Bereft of old friends as she was, however, sick and
lonely, it is not surprising that when love and care seemed thus to
present themselves the heart of the woman yielded. It was not long
before she realized that she was married to a ne'er-do-well at a time
when even an industrious man found it hard to make a living. The course
of the Revolutionary War made it more and more difficult for people to
secure the bare necessaries of life, and the horrors of Valley Forge
were but an aggravation of the general distress. The year was further
made memorable by the death of Mary Wheatley, Mrs. Lathrop, on the 24th
of September.
When Boston fell into the hands of the British, the inhabitants fled in
all directions. Mrs. Peters accompanied her husband to Wilmington,
Mass., where she suffered much from poverty. After the evacuation of
Boston by the British troops, she returned thither. A niece of Mrs.
Wheatley, whose son had been slain in battle, received her under her own
roof. This woman was a widow, was not wealthy, and kept a little school
in order to support herself. Mrs. Peters and the two children whose
mother she had become remained with her for six weeks. Then Peters came
for his wife, having provided an apartment for her. Just before her
departure for Wilmington, Mrs. Peters entrusted her papers to a daughter
of the lady who received her on her return from that place. After her
death these were demanded by Peters as the property of his wife. They
were of course promptly given to him. Some years afterwards he returned
to the South, and nothing is known of what became of the manuscripts.
The conduct of her husband estranged Mrs. Peters from her old
acquaintances, and her pride kept her from informing them of her
distress. After the war, however, one of Mrs. Wheatley's relatives
hunted her out and found that her two children were dead, and that a
third that had been born was sick. This seems to have been in the winter
of 1783-84. Nathaniel Wheatley, who had been living in London, died in
the summer of 1783. In 1784 John Peters suffered imprisonment in jail.
After his liberation he worked as a journeyman baker, later attempted to
practice law, and finally pretended to be a physician. His wife,
meanwhile, earned her board by drudgery in a cheap lodging-house on the
west side of the town. Her disease made rapid progress, and she died
December 5, 1784. Her last baby died and was buried with her. No one of
her old acquaintances seems to have known of her death. On the Thursday
after this event, however, the following notice appeared in the
_Independent Chronicle_:
Last Lord's Day, died Mrs. Phillis Peters (formerly Phillis
Wheatley), aged thirty-one, known to the world by her
celebrated miscellaneous poems. Her funeral is to be this
afternoon, at four o'clock, from the house lately improved by
Mr. Todd, nearly opposite Dr. Bulfinch's at West Boston, where
her friends and acquaintances are desired to attend.
The house referred to was situated on or near the present site of the
Revere House in Bowdoin Square. The exact site of the grave of Phillis
Wheatley is not known.
At the time when she was most talked about, Phillis Wheatley was
regarded as a prodigy, appearing as she did at a time when the
achievement of the Negro in literature and art was still negligible. Her
vogue, however, was more than temporary, and the 1793, 1802, and 1816
editions of her poems found ready sale. In the early years of the last
century her verses were frequently to be found in school readers. From
the first, however, there were those who discounted her poetry. Thomas
Jefferson, for instance, said that it was beneath the dignity of
criticism. If after 1816 interest in her work declined, it was greatly
revived at the time of the anti-slavery agitation, when anything
indicating unusual capacity on the part of the Negro was received with
eagerness. When Margaretta Matilda Odell of Jamaica Plain, a descendant
of the Wheatley family, republished the poems with a memoir in 1834,
there was such a demand for the book that two more editions were called
for within the next three years. For a variety of reasons, especially an
increasing race-consciousness on the part of the Negro, interest in her
work has greatly increased within the last decade, and as copies of
early editions had within recent years become so rare as to be
practically inaccessible, the reprint in 1909 of the volume of 1773 by
the A. M. E. Book Concern in Philadelphia was especially welcome.
Only two poems written by Phillis Wheatley after her marriage are in
existence. These are "Liberty and Peace," and "An Elegy Sacred to the
Memory of Dr. Samuel Cooper." Both were published in 1784. Of "Poems on
Various Subjects," the following advertisement appeared in the _Boston
Gazette_ for January 24, 1774:
This Day Published
Adorn'd with an Elegant Engraving of the Author,
(Price 3s. 4d. L. M. Bound,)
POEMS
on various subjects,--Religious and Moral,
By Phillis Wheatley, a Negro Girl.
Sold by Mess's Cox & Berry,
at their Store, in King-Street, Boston.
N. B.--The subscribers are requested to apply for their
copies.
The little octavo volume of 124 pages contains 39 poems. One of these,
however, must be excluded from the enumeration, as it is simply "A
Rebus by I. B.," which serves as the occasion of Phillis Wheatley's
poem, the answer to it. Fourteen of the poems are elegiac, and at least
six others are occasional. Two are paraphrases from the Bible. We are
thus left with sixteen poems to represent the best that Phillis Wheatley
had produced by the time she was twenty years old. One of the longest of
these is "Niobe in Distress for Her Children Slain by Apollo, from
Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book VI, and from a View of the Painting of Mr.
Richard Wilson." This poem contains two interesting examples of
personification (neither of which seems to be drawn from Ovid), "fate
portentous whistling in the air," and "the feather'd vengeance quiv'ring
in his hands," though the point might easily be made that these are
little more than a part of the pseudo-classic tradition. The poem, "To
S. M., a Young African Painter, on seeing his works," was addressed to
Scipio Moorhead, a young man who exhibited some talent for drawing and
who was a servant of the Rev. John Moorhead of Boston. From the poem we
should infer that one of his subjects was the story of Damon and
Pythias. Of prime importance are the two or three poems of
autobiographical interest. We have already remarked "On Being Brought
from Africa to America." In the lines addressed to William, Earl of
Dartmouth, the young woman spoke again from her personal experience.
Important also in this connection is the poem "On Virtue," with its
plea:
Attend me, Virtue, thro' my youthful years!
O leave me not to the false joys of time!
But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
One would suppose that Phillis Wheatley would make of "An Hymn to
Humanity" a fairly strong piece of work. It is typical of the restraint
under which she labored that this is one of the most conventional things
in the volume. All critics agree, however, that the strongest lines in
the book are those entitled "On Imagination." This effort is more
sustained than the others, and it is the leading poem that Edmund
Clarence Stedman chose to represent Phillis Wheatley in his "Library of
American Literature." The following lines are representative of its
quality:
Imagination! Who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
Th' empyreal palace of the thundering God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above;
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.
Hardly beyond this is "Liberty and Peace," the best example of the later
verse. The poem is too long for inclusion here, but may be found in
Duyckinck's "Cyclopedia of American Literature," and Heartman and
Schomburg's collected edition of the Poems and Letters.
It is unfortunate that, imitating Pope, Phillis Wheatley more than once
fell into his pitfalls. Her diction--"fleecy care," "vital breath,"
"feather'd race"--is distinctly pseudo-classic. The construction is not
always clear; for instance, in the poem, "To Maecenas," there are three
distinct references to Virgil, when grammatically the poetess seems to
be speaking of three different men. Then, of course, any young writer
working under the influence of Pope and his school would feel a sense
of repression. If Phillis Wheatley had come on the scene forty years
later, when the romantic writers had given a new tone to English poetry,
she would undoubtedly have been much greater. Even as it was, however,
she made her mark, and her place in the history of American literature,
though not a large one, is secure.
Hers was a great soul. Her ambition knew no bounds, her thirst for
knowledge was insatiable, and she triumphed over the most adverse
circumstances. A child of the wilderness and a slave, by her grace and
culture she satisfied the conventionalities of Boston and of England.
Her brilliant conversation was equaled only by her modest demeanor.
Everything about her was refined. More and more as one studies her life
he becomes aware of her sterling Christian character. In a dark day she
caught a glimpse of the eternal light, and it was meet that the first
Negro woman in American literature should be one of unerring piety and
the highest of literary ideals.
III
PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
Incomparably the foremost exponent in verse of the life and character of
the Negro people has been Paul Laurence Dunbar. This gifted young poet
represented perfectly the lyric and romantic quality of the race, with
its moodiness, its abandon, its love of song, and its pathetic irony,
and his career has been the inspiration of thousands of the young men
and women whose problems he had to face, and whose aspirations he did so
much to realize.
Dunbar was born in Dayton, Ohio, June 27, 1872. His parents were
uneducated but earnest hard-working people, and throughout his life the
love of the poet for his mother was ever a dominating factor. From very
early years Dunbar made little attempts at rhyming; but what he
afterwards called his first poetical achievement was his recitation of
some original verses at a Sunday School Easter celebration when he was
thirteen years old. He attended the Steele High School in Dayton, where
he was the only Negro student in his class; and by reason of his modest
and yet magnetic personality, he became very popular with his
schoolmates. In his second year he became a member of the literary
society of the school, afterwards became president of the same, as well
as editor of _The High School Times_, a monthly student publication, and
on his completion of the course in 1891 he composed the song for his
class. Somewhat irregularly for the next two or three years Dunbar
continued his studies, but he never had the advantage of a regular
college education. On leaving the high school, after vainly seeking for
something better, he accepted a position as elevator boy, working for
four dollars a week. In 1893, at the World's Columbian Exposition in
Chicago, he was given a position by Frederick Douglass, who was in
charge of the exhibit from Hayti. "Oak and Ivy" appeared in 1893, and
"Majors and Minors" in 1895. These little books were privately printed;
Dunbar had to assume full responsibility for selling them, and not
unnaturally he had many bitter hours of discouragement. Asking people to
buy his verses grated on his sensitive nature, and he once declared to a
friend that he would never sell another book. Sometimes, however, he
succeeded beyond his highest hopes, and gradually, with the assistance
of friends, chief among whom was Dr. H. A. Tobey, of Toledo, the young
poet came into notice as a reader of his verses. William Dean Howells
wrote a full-page review of his poems in the issue of _Harper's Weekly_
that contained an account of William McKinley's first nomination for the
presidency. Dunbar was now fairly launched upon his larger fame, and
"Lyrics of Lowly Life," published by Dodd, Mead & Co. in 1896,
introduced him to the wider reading public. This book is deservedly the
poet's best known. It contained the richest work of his youth and was
really never surpassed. In 1897 Dunbar enhanced his reputation as a
reader of his own poems by a visit to England. About this time he was
very busy, writing numerous poems and magazine articles, and meeting
with a success that was so much greater than that of most of the poets
of the day that it became a vogue. In October, 1897, through the
influence of Robert G. Ingersoll, he secured employment as an assistant
in the reading room of the Library of Congress, Washington; but he gave
up this position after a year, for the confinement and his late work at
night on his own account were making rapid inroads upon his health. On
March 6, 1898, Dunbar was married to Alice Ruth Moore, of New Orleans,
who also had become prominent as a writer. Early in 1899 he went South,
visiting Tuskegee and other schools, and giving many readings. Later in
the same year he went to Colorado in a vain search for health. Books
were now appearing in rapid succession, short story collections and
novels as well as poems. "The Uncalled," written in London, reflected
the poet's thought of entering the ministry. It was followed by "The
Love of Landry," a Colorado story; "The Fanatics," and "The Sport of the
Gods." Collections of short stories were, "Folks from Dixie," "The
Strength of Gideon," "In Old Plantation Days," and "The Heart of Happy
Hollow." Volumes of verse were "Lyrics of the Hearthside," "Lyrics of
Love and Laughter," "Lyrics of Sunshine and Shadow," as well as several
specially illustrated volumes. Dunbar bought a home in Dayton, where he
lived with his mother. His last years were a record of sincere
friendships and a losing fight against disease. He died February 9,
1906. He was only thirty-three, but he "had existed millions of years."
[Illustration: PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR]
Unless his novels are considered as forming a distinct class, Dunbar's
work falls naturally into three divisions: the poems in classic English,
those in dialect, and the stories in prose. It was his work in the Negro
dialect that was his distinct contribution to American literature. That
this was not his desire may be seen from the eight lines entitled, "The
Poet," in which he longed for success in the singing of his "deeper
notes" and spoke of his dialect as "a jingle in a broken tongue." Any
criticism of Dunbar's classic English verse will have to reckon with the
following poems: "Ere Sleep Comes Down to Soothe the Weary Eyes," "The
Poet and His Song," "Life," "Promise and Fulfillment," "Ships That Pass
in the Night," and "October." In the pure flow of lyrical verse the
poet rarely surpassed his early lines:[1]
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
How questioneth the soul that other soul--
The inner sense which neither cheats nor lies,
But self exposes unto self, a scroll
Full writ with all life's acts unwise or wise,
In characters indelible and known;
So, trembling with the shock of sad surprise,
The soul doth view its awful self alone,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
[Footnote 1: As stated in the Preface, we are under obligations to Dodd,
Mead & Co. for permission to use the quotations from Dunbar. These are
covered by copyright by this firm, as follows: "Ere Sleep Comes Down to
Soothe the Weary Eyes," "The Poet and his Song," and "Life," 1896;
"Lullaby," 1899; and "Compensation," 1905.]
"The Poet and his Song" is also distinguished for its simplicity and its
lyric quality:
A song is but a little thing,
And yet what joy it is to sing!
In hours of toil it gives me zest,
And when at eve I long for rest;
When cows come home along the bars,
And in the fold I hear the bell,
As night, the Shepherd, herds his stars,
I sing my song, and all is well.
* * * * *
Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,
My garden makes a desert spot;
Sometimes a blight upon the tree
Takes all the fruit away from me;
And then with throes of bitter pain
Rebellious passions rise and swell;
But life is more than fruit or grain,
And so I sing, and all is well.
The two stanzas entitled "Life" have probably been quoted more than any
other lines written by the poet:
A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in,
A minute to smile and an hour to weep in,
A pint of joy to a peck of trouble,
And never a laugh but the moans come double;
And that is life.
A crust and a corner that love makes precious,
With a smile to warm and the tears to refresh us;
And joy seems sweeter when cares come after,
And a moan is the finest of foils for laughter;
And that is life.
"Promise and Fulfillment" was especially admired by Mrs. Minnie Maddern
Fiske, who frequently recited it with never-failing applause. Of the
poet's own reading of "Ships that Pass in the Night" on one occasion,
Brand Whitlock wrote: "That last evening he recited--oh! what a voice he
had--his 'Ships that Pass in the Night.' I can hear him now and see the
expression on his fine face as he said, 'Passing! Passing!' It was
prophetic."
Other pieces, no more distinguished in poetic quality, are of special
biographical interest. "Robert Gould Shaw" was the expression of
pessimism as to the Negro's future in America. "To Louise" was addressed
to the young daughter of Dr. Tobey, who, on one occasion, when the poet
was greatly depressed, in the simple way of a child cheered him by her
gift of a rose. "The Monk's Walk" reflects the poet's thought of being a
preacher. Finally, there is the swan song, "Compensation," contributed
to _Lippincott's_, eight exquisite lines:
Because I had loved so deeply,
Because I had loved so long,
God in his great compassion
Gave me the gift of song.
Because I have loved so vainly,
And sung with such faltering breath,
The Master in infinite mercy
Offers the boon of Death.
The dialect poems suffer by quotation, being artistic primarily as
wholes. Of these, by common consent, the masterpiece is, "When Malindy
Sings," a poem inspired by the singing of the poet's mother. Other
pieces in dialect that have proved unusually successful, especially as
readings, are "The Rivals," "A Coquette Conquered," "The Ol' Tunes," "A
Corn-Song," "When de Co'n Pone's Hot," "How Lucy Backslid," "The Party,"
"At Candle-Lightin' Time," "Angelina," "Whistling Sam," "Two Little
Boots," and "The Old Front Gate." Almost all of these poems represent
the true humorist's blending of humor and pathos, and all of them
exemplify the delicate and sympathetic irony of which Dunbar was such a
master. As representative of the dialect verse at its best, attention
might be called to a little poem that was included in the illustrated
volume, "Candle-Lightin' Time," but that, strangely enough, was omitted
from both of the larger editions of the poems, very probably because the
title, "Lullaby," was used more than once by the poet:
Kiver up yo' haid, my little lady,
Hyeah de win' a-blowin' out o' do's,
Don' you kick, ner projick wid de comfo't,
Less'n fros'll bite yo' little toes.
Shut yo' eyes, an' snuggle up to mammy;
Gi' me bofe yo' han's, I hol' 'em tight;
Don' you be afeard, an' 'mence to trimble
Des ez soon ez I blows out de light.
Angels is a-mindin' you, my baby,
Keepin' off de Bad Man in de night.
Whut de use o' bein' skeered o' nuffin'?
You don' fink de da'kness gwine to bite?
Whut de crackin' soun' you hyeah erroun' you?--
Lawsy, chile, you tickles me to def!--
Dat's de man what brings de fros', a-paintin'
Picters on de winder wid his bref.
Mammy ain' afeard, you hyeah huh laughin'?
Go 'way, Mistah Fros', you can't come in;
Baby ain' erceivin' folks dis evenin',
Reckon dat you'll have to call ag'in.
Curl yo' little toes up so, my 'possum--
Umph, but you's a cunnin' one fu' true!--
Go to sleep, de angels is a-watchin',
An' yo' mammy's mindin' of you, too.