[Illustration: ORIGINAL TEXT OF "LITTLE BOY BLUE"
_With drawings in colors by Eugene Field._
The little toy dog is covered with dust
But sturdy and stanch he stands,
And the little toy soldier is red with rust
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys.
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue--
Oh! the years are many--the years are long--
But the little toy friends are true!
Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand--
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder--as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair--
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.]
EUGENE FIELD
A STUDY IN HEREDITY AND CONTRADICTIONS
By SLASON THOMPSON
With Portraits, Views and Fac-Simile Illustrations
VOLUME II
Published, December, 1901
Charles Scribner's Sons
New York
1901
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OUR PERSONAL RELATIONS 1
II. INTRODUCTION TO COLORED INKS 15
III. SOME LETTERS 44
IV. MORE LETTERS 71
V. PUBLICATION OF HIS FIRST BOOKS 107
VI. HIS SECOND VISIT TO EUROPE 138
VII. IN THE SAINTS' AND SINNERS' CORNER 169
VIII. POLITICAL RELATIONS 198
IX. HIS "AUTO-ANALYSIS" 234
X. LAST YEARS 261
XI. LAST DAYS 297
APPENDIX 321
INDEX 341
ILLUSTRATIONS
DRAWINGS IN COLORS AND IN FAC-SIMILE PAGE
ORIGINAL TEXT OF "LITTLE BOY BLUE" _Frontispiece_
_With drawings in colors by Eugene Field._
THE LITTLE DRESS-MAKER 23
_From a drawing by Eugene Field._
A PROPER SONET 26
_From a drawing in colors by Eugene Field._
FIELD AND BALLANTYNE AWAITING THE ARRIVAL OF A
BISCUIT FROM NEW BRUNSWICK 27
_From a drawing by Eugene Field._
THE GOOD KNIGHT SLOSSON'S CASTLE 29
_From a drawing by Eugene Field._
A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS 30, 31
_From drawings by Eugene Field._
HOW MARY MATILDA WON A PRINCE:
_From drawings by Eugene Field._
THE PRINCE ASKING EDDIE MARTIN ABOUT THE
FAIR MARY MATILDA 38
THE PRINCE'S COAT-OF-ARMS--FLIGHT OF THE
FAIR MARY MATILDA--THE AGGRAVATING MIRAGE 40
BROTHER SLOSSON AND HIS OTHER FRIEND
EN ROUTE TO THE WEDDING 42
A STAMP ACCOUNT 57
AN ECHO FROM MACKINAC ISLAND 58
_With drawings by Eugene Field._
A BOWLING CHALLENGE FROM EUGENE FIELD 75
A LETTER FROM EUGENE FIELD CONTAINING
THREE DRAWINGS 78
FIELD'S PORTRAIT OF HIMSELF 88
_"As I would have looked but for the
refining influence of Old Nompy."_
A SCENE IN THE DAILY NEWS OFFICE 99
_From a drawing by Eugene Field._
PAGE OF ADVERTISEMENTS FROM "CULTURE'S GARDEN" 111
"THE ALLIAUNCE" 124
SKETCH AND EPITAPH 168
_From a drawing by Eugene Field._
OFF TO SPRINGFIELD 201
_From a drawing by Eugene Field._
HALF-TONE PLATES FACING PAGE
ROSWELL FIELD 142
FIELD THE COMEDIAN 254
EUGENE FIELD WITH HIS DUTCH RING 302
EUGENE FIELD
CHAPTER I
OUR PERSONAL RELATIONS
In the loving "Memory" which his brother Roswell contributed to the
"Sabine Edition" of Eugene Field's "Little Book of Western Verse," he
says: "Comradeship was the indispensable factor in my brother's life.
It was strong in his youth: it grew to be an imperative necessity in
later life. In the theory that it is sometimes good to be alone he had
little or no faith." From the time of Eugene's coming to Chicago until
my marriage, in 1887, I was his closest comrade and almost constant
companion. At the Daily News office, for a time, we shared the same
room and then the adjoining rooms of which I have spoken. Field was
known about the office as my "habit," a relationship which gave point
to the touching appeal which served as introduction to the dearly
cherished manuscript copy, in two volumes, of nearly one hundred of
his poems, which was his wedding gift to Mrs. Thompson. It was
entitled, in red ink, "Ye Piteous Complaynt of a Forsooken Habbit; a
Proper Sonet," and reads:
_Ye boone y aske is smalle indeede
Compared with what y once did seeke--
Soe, ladye, from yr. bounteous meede
Y pray you kyndly heere mee speke.
Still is yr. Slosson my supporte,
As once y was his soul's delite--
Holde hym not ever in yr. courte--
O lette me have hym pay-daye nite!
One nite per weeke is soothly not
Too oft to leese hym from yr. chaynes;
Thinke of my lorne impoverisht lotte
And eke my jelous panges and paynes;
Thinke of ye chekes y stille do owe--
Thinke of my quenchlesse appetite--
Thinke of my griffes and, thinking so,
Oh, lette me have hym pay-daye nite!_
Along the border of this soulful appeal was engrossed, in a woful
mixture of blue and purple inks: "Ye habbit maketh mone over hys sore
griffe and mightylie beseacheth the ladye yt she graunt hym ye lone of
her hoosband on a pay-daye nite."
Through those years of comradeship we were practically inseparable
from the time he arrived at the office, an hour after me, until I bade
him good-night at the street-car or at his own door, when, according
to our pact, we walked and talked at his expense, instead of supping
late at mine. The nature of this pact is related in the following
verse, to which Field prefixed this note: "While this poem is printed
in all the 'Reliques of Ye Good Knights' Poetrie,' and while the
incident it narrates is thoroughly characteristic of that Knightly
Sage, the versification is so different from that of the other ballads
that there is little doubt that this fragment is spurious. Prof. Max
Beeswanger (Book III., page 18, old English Poetry) says that these
verses were written by Friar Terence, a learned monk of the Good
Knight's time."
_THE GOOD KNIGHT TO SIR SLOSSON
The night was warm as summer
And the wold was wet with dew,
And the moon rose fair,
And the autumn air
From the flowery prairies blew;
You took my arm, ol' Nompy,
And measured the lonely street,
And you said, "Let's walk
In the gloom and talk--
'Tis too pleasant to-night to eat!"
And you quoth: "Old Field supposin'
Hereafter we two agree;
If it's fair when we're through
I'm to walk with you--
If it's foul you're to eat with me!"
Then I clasped your hand, ol' Nompy,
And I said: "Well, be it so."
The night was so fine
I didn't opine
It could ever rain or snow!
But the change came on next morning
When the fickle mercury fell,
And since, that night
That was warm and bright
It's snowed or it's rained like--well.
Have you drawn your wages, Nompy?
Have you reckoned your pounds and pence?
Harsh blows the wind,
And I feel inclined
To banquet at your expense!_
The "Friar Terence" of Field's note was the Edward J. McPhelim to
whom reference has already been made, who often joined us in our
after-theatre symposiums, but could not be induced to walk one block
if there was a street-car going his way.
As bearing on the nature of these "banquets," and the unending source
of enjoyment they were to both of us, the following may throw a
passing light:
_Discussing great and sumptuous cheer
At Boyle's one midnight dark and drear
Two gentle warriors sate;
Out spake old Field: "In sooth I reck
We bide too long this night on deck--
What, ho there, varlet, bring the check!
Egad, it groweth late!"
Then out spake Thompson flaming hot:
"Now, by my faith, I fancy not,
Old Field, this ribald jest;
Though you are wondrous fair and free
With riches that accrue to thee,
The check to-night shall come to me--
You are my honored guest!"
But with a dark forbidding frown
Field slowly pulled his visor down
And rose to go his way--
"Since this sweet favor is denied,
I'll feast no more with thee," he cried--
Then strode he through the portal wide
While Thompson paused to pay._
Speaking of "the riches that accrued" to Field it may be well to
explain that when he came to Chicago from Denver he was burdened with
debts, and although subsequently he was in receipt of a fair salary,
it barely sufficed to meet his domestic expenses and left little to
abate the importunity of the claims that followed him remorselessly.
He lived very simply in a flat on the North Side--first on Chicago
Avenue, something over a mile from the office, later on in another
flat further north, on La Salle Avenue, and still later, and until he
went to Europe, in a small rented house on Crilly Place, which is a
few blocks west of the south end of Lincoln Park.
By arrangement with the business office, Field's salary was paid to
Mrs. Field weekly, she having the management of the finances of the
family. Field, Ballantyne, and I were the high-priced members of the
News staff at that time, but our pay was not princely, and two of us
were engaged in a constant conspiracy to jack it up to a level more
nearly commensurate, as we "opined," with our respective needs and
worth. The third member of the trio, who personally sympathized with
our aspirations and acknowledged their justice, occupied an executive
position, where he was expected to exercise the most rigorous economy.
Moreover, he had a Scotsman's stern and brutal sense of his duty to
get the best work for the least expenditure of his employer's money.
It was not until Field and I learned that Messrs. Lawson & Stone were
more appreciative of the value of our work that our salaries gradually
rose above the level where Ballantyne would have condemned them to
remain forever in the sacred name of economy.
I have said that Field's weekly salary--"stipend," he called it--was
paid regularly to Mrs. Field. I should have said that she received all
of it that the ingenious and impecunious Eugene had not managed to
forestall. Not a week went by that he did not tax the fertility of his
active brain to wheedle Collins Shackelford, the cashier, into
breaking into his envelope for five or ten dollars in advance. These
appeals came in every form that Field's fecundity could invent. When
all other methods failed the presence of "Pinny" or "Melvin" in the
office would afford a messenger and plan of action that was always
crowned with success. "Pinny" especially seemed to enter into his
father's schemes to move Shackelford's sympathy with the greatest
success. He was also very effective in moving Mr. Stone to a
consideration of Field's requests for higher pay.
In his "Eugene Field I Knew," Francis Wilson has preserved a number of
these touching "notes" to Shackelford, in prose and verse, but none of
them equals in the shrewd, seductive style, of which Field was master,
the following, which was composed with becoming hilarity and presented
with befitting solemnity:
_A SONNET TO SHEKELSFORD
Sweet Shekelsford, the week is near its end,
And, as my custom is, I come to thee;
There is no other who has pelf to lend,
At least no pelf to lend to hapless me;
Nay, gentle Shekelsford, turn not away--
I must have wealth, for this is Saturday.
Ah, now thou smil'st a soft relenting smile--
Thy previous frown was but a passing joke,
I knew thy heart would melt with pity while
Thou heardst me pleading I was very broke.
Nay, ask me not if I've a note from Stone,
When I approach thee, O thou best of men!
I bring no notes, but, boldly and alone,
I woo sweet hope and strike thee for a ten.
December 3d, 1884._
There is no mistaking the touch of the author of "Mr. Billings of
Louisville" in these lines, in which humor and flattery robbed the
injunction of Mr. Stone against advancing anything on Field's salary
of its binding force. Having once learned the key that would unlock
the cashier's box, he never let a week go by without turning it to
some profitable account. But it is only fair to say that he never
abused his influence over Mr. Shackelford to lighten the weekly
envelope by more than the "necessary V" or the "sorely needed X."
I have dwelt upon these conditions because they explain to some extent
our relations, and why, after we had entered upon our study of early
English ballads and the chronicles of knights and tourneys, Field
always referred to himself as "the good but impecunious Knight,
_sans peur et sans monnaie_," while I was "Sir Slosson," "Nompy,"
or "Grimesey," as the particular roguery he was up to suggested.
It was while I was visiting my family in the province of New
Brunswick, in the fall of 1884, that I received the initial evidence
of a particular line of attack in which Field delighted to show his
friendship and of which he never wearied. It came in shape of an
office postal card addressed in extenso, "For Mr. Alexander Slason
Thompson, Fredericton, New Brunswick"--the employment of the baptismal
"Alexander" being intended to give zest to the joke with the postal
officials in my native town. The communication to which the attention
of the curious was invited by its form read:
CHICAGO, October 6th, 1884.
GRIMESEY:
Come at once. We are starving! Come and bring your wallet with you.
EUGENE F----D.
JOHN F. B----E.
Of course the postmaster at Fredericton read the message, and I was
soon conscious that a large part of the community was consumed with
curiosity as to my relations with my starving correspondents.
But this served merely as a prelude to what was to follow. My visit
was cut short by an assignment from the Daily News to visit various
towns in Maine to interview the prominent men who had become
interested, through James G. Blaine, in the Little Rock securities
which played such a part in the presidential campaigns of 1876 and
1884. For ten days I roved all over the state, making my headquarters
at the Hotel North, Augusta, where I was bombarded with postal cards
from Field. They were all couched in ambiguous terms and were well
calculated to impress the inquisitive hotel clerk with the impecuniosity
of my friends and with the suspicion that I was in some way responsible
for their desperate condition. Autograph hunters have long ago stripped
me of most of these letters of discredit, but the following, which has
escaped the importunity of collectors of Fieldiana, will indicate their
general tenor:
CHICAGO, October 10th, 1884.
If you do not hasten back we shall starve. Harry Powers has come to
our rescue several times, but is beginning to weaken, and the
outlook is very dreary. If you cannot come yourself, please send
certified check.
Yours hungrily,
E.F.
J.F.B.
The same postal importunities awaited me at the Parker House while in
Boston, and came near spoiling the negotiations in which I was engaged,
for the News, for the, till then, unpublished correspondence between
Mr. Blaine and Mr. Fischer, of the Mulligan letters notoriety. My
assignment as staff correspondent called for visits to New York,
Albany, and Buffalo on my way home, and wherever I stopped I found
proofs that Field was possessed of my itinerary and was bound that I
should not escape his embarrassing attentions.
There is no need to tell that of all anniversaries of the year
Christmas was the one that appealed most strongly to Eugene Field's
heart and ever-youthful fancy. It was in his mind peculiarly the
children's festival, and his books bear all the testimony that is
needed, from the first poem he acknowledged, "Christmas Treasures," to
the last word he wrote, that it filled his heart with rejoicings and
love and good will. But there is an incident in our friendship which
shows how he managed to weave in with the blessed spirit of Christmas
the elfish, cheery spirit of his own.
We had spent Christmas Eve, 1884, together, and, as usual, had expended
our last dime in providing small tokens of remembrance for everyone
within the circle of our immediate friends. I parted from him at the
midnight car, which he took for the North Side. Going to the Sherman
House, I caught the last elevator for my room on the top floor, and it
was not long ere I was oblivious to all sublunary things.
Before it was fairly light the next morning I was disturbed and finally
awakened by the sound of voices and subdued tittering in the corridor
outside my door. Then there came a knock, and I was told that there was
a message for me. Opening the door, my eyes were greeted with a huge
home-knit stocking tacked to it with a two-pronged fork and filled with
a collection of conventional presents for a boy--a fair idea of which
the reader can glean from the following lines in Field's handwriting
dangling from the toe:
_I prithee, gentle traveller, pause
And view the work of Santa Claus.
Behold this sock that's brimming o'er
With good things near our Slason's door;
Before he went to bed last night
He paddled out in robe of white,
And hung this sock upon the wall
Prepared for Santa Claus's call.
And said, "Come, Santa Claus, and bring
Some truck to fill this empty thing."
Then back he went and locked the door,
And soon was lost in dream and snore.
The Saint arrived at half-past one--
Behold how well his work is done:
See what a wealth of food and toy
He brought unto the sleeping boy:
An apple, fig, and orange, too,
A jumping-jack of carmine hue,
A book, some candy, and a cat,
Two athletes in a wrestling spat,
A nervous monkey on a stick,
And honey cake that's hard and thick.
Oh, what a wealth of joy is here
To thrill the soul of Slason dear!
Touch not a thing, but leave them all
Within this sock upon the wall;
So when he wakes and comes, he may
Find all these toys and trinkets gay,
And thank old Santa that he came
Up all these stairs with all this game._
If I have succeeded in conveying any true impression of Eugene Field's
nature, the reader can imagine the pleasure he derived from this game,
in planning it, in providing the old-fashioned sock, toys, and
eatables, and in toiling up six flights of stairs after he knew I was
asleep, to see that everything was arranged so as to attract the
attention of the passing traveller. The success of his game was fully
reported to him by his friend, the night clerk--now one of the best
known hotel managers in Chicago--and mightily he enjoyed the report
that I had been routed out by the early wayfarer before the light of
Christmas broke upon the slumbering city.