FEINBERG/WHITMAN LITERARY FILE Prose "Self-Criticism & Comment" (Sept. 6, 1890). Newspaper clippings. Box 34 Folder 41 Includes Arts, collections & notations. Also includes verso letter from Richard M Bucke, Aug. 27, 1890. and envelope. 364 1890 6 September Self Criticism & Comment. A. M. & clippings. (4p, & envelope. 8 x 14, 21 x 13 1/2, 21 X 13, 21 1/2 x 14, env. 10 X 22 1/2 cm.) Written in ink on four pieces of paper--two of them, the verso of a letter with Asylum for the Insane, London, Ontario letterhead torn in two pieces (27 Aug 1890 Yours of 24th enclosing "Rejoinder" and Boston Herald editorial came to hand yesterday. I had not seen the "Rejoinder" before and have not understood you when you mentioned it in letters. I have (of course) read it, think it very strong and fine--have sent for the Critic of 16th to have it in original shape & better print. I do not think you have ever written a better piece of prose than these few paragraphs and I marvel that you can still wield your pen with so much vigor. That one sentence: "Yet the lesson of nature undoubtedly is to proceed with single purpose toward the result necessitated and for which the time has arrived &c." is worth a shelf full of ordinary criticism. Would you please (if you have one left) send me another "Rejoinder" on printed slip-- if you ever sent me one it miscarried--never reached me. I shall (over) depend on you to send the Symonds letter. All well here. Meter all right but getting on slowly R M Bucke), other two blank sheets cut from larger sheets--on all of them pasted a clipping about Whitman from the Springfield Republican of 23 July 1875, and in an envelope with Traubel's notation in a corner (see Notes Sept. 6 '90), 119 words (in Whitman's hand, in red below), plus clipping: ( if used, might be one of the first §'s--perhaps the very first A sharp critic some time ago said, "I doubt whether Walt Whitman's writings can be realized, except through first knowing or getting a true notion of the corporeal man and his manners, and coming in rapport with them. His form, physiognomy, gait, vocalization--the very touch of him, and the glance of his eyes upon you--all have closely to do with the subtlest meaning of his verse. His manners exemplify his book. Even a knowledge of his ancestry, with the theory he entertains, and which is justified by his own case, of what he calls 'the best motherhood,' would light up many portions of his poems." / It may be worth while to give a personal picture of him during his career in Virginia and the war-times. John [John] Burroughs, the [more] 2 366 ornithologist and litterateur, in his "Notes," thus draws Whitman's portrait, transcribing verbatim a letter from an officer at Washington, under date of November 28, 1870: - "You ask for some particulars of my friend Whitman. You know I first fell in with him years ago in the army; we then lived awhile in the same tent, and now I occupy the adjoining room to his. I can, therefore, gratify your curiosity. He is a large-looking man. While in the market, the other day, with a party of us, we were all weighed; his weight was 200 pounds. But I will start with him like with the day. He is fond of the sun, and, at this season, soon as it is well up, shining in his room, he is out in its beams for a cold-water bath, with hand and sponge, after a brisk use of the flesh-brush. Then, blithely singing,--his singing often pleasantly wakes me,--he proceeds to finish his toilet, about which he is quite particular. Then forth for a walk in the open air, or, perhaps, some short exercise in the gymnasium. Then to breakfast--no sipping or nibbling--he demolishes meat, eggs, rolls, toast, roast potatoes, coffee, buckwheat cakes, at a terrible rate. Then walking moderately to his desk in the Attorney General's office--a pleasant desk, with large, south window at his left, looking away down the Potomac, and 367 across to Virginia on one side. He is at present in first-rate bodily health. Of his mind you must judge from his writings, as I have sent them to you. He is not what is called ceremonious or polite, but I have noticed invariably kind and tolerant with children, servants, laborers, and the illiterate. He gives freely to the poor, according to his means. He can be freezing in manner, and knows how to fend off bores, though really the most affectionate of men. For instance, I saw him,--was with him, the other day, meeting, at the railroad depot, after a long separation, a family group, to all the members of whom he was attached through the tenderest former associations, and some he had known from childhood, interchanging great hearty kisses with each, the boys and men as well as the girls and women. Sometimes he and I only--sometimes a large party of us--go off on rambles of several miles out in the country, or over the hills; sometimes we go nights, when the moon is fine. On such ocassions he contributes his part to the general fun. You might hear his voice, half in sport, declaiming some passage from a poem or play; and his song or laugh about as often as any, sounding n the open air." / Then as talker and public speaker; for Whitman besides his [more] 368 3 Death of Lincoln speech, has appeared [p] in public many times even [of] in his elder age. His best biographer, Dr Bucke, says "he does not talk much anyhow". The New Jersey mechanics and young men have a flourishing literary society [here] in Camden called the "Walt Whitman Club;" and, some [while] time since, they gave a musical and other entertainment for the benefit of the poor fund, at which Whitman readily appeared as reader of one of his own poems. There was a crowded house, the report in the local paper saying: "Probably the best part of the audience drawn to the entertainment by a mixture of wonder and uncertainty what sort of a being Walt Whitman really was, and what wort of a thing one of his poems might prove to be." The report goes on to give the following account of his appearance and reading:-- "A large, lame old man, six feet tall, dressed in a complete suit of English gray, hobbled slowly out to view, with the assistance of a stout buckthorn staff. Though ill from paralysis, the clear blue eyes, complexion of transparent red, and fullness of figure so well known to the New Yorkers and Washingtonians of the past [15 years], and in Camden and Philadelphia of late, all remain about the same. With his snowy hair and [fine] beard, and in a manner which singularly combined strong emphasis with the very realization of [over] 369 self-composure, simplicity and ease, Mr Whitman, [for it was he, (though he might be taken at first sight for 75 or 80, he is in fact not yet 57)] proceeded to read, sitting, his poem of the 'Mysti Trumpeter.' His voice is firm, magnetic, and with a certain peculia quality we heard in admiring auditor call unaffectedness. Its rang is baritone, merging into bass. He reads very leisurely, makes frequent pauses or gaps, enunciates with distinctness, and uses few gestures, but those very significant. Is he eloquent or dramatic? No, not in the conventional sense, as illustrated by the best known stars of the pulpit, court-room, or the stage--for the bent of his reading, [in fact, the whole idea of it,] is evidently to first form an enormous mental fund, as it were, within the regions of the chest, and heart, and lungs--a sort of interior battery--out of which, charged to the full with such emotional impetus only, and without ranting or any of the usual accessories of clap-trap of the actor or singer, he launches what he has to say free of noise or strain, yet with a power that makes one almost tremble." / There are warm personal relations between him and the English laureate, though they have never seen each other. For years there [have years past there] has been a very friendly personal correspondence [more] 370 4 between Tennyson and Whitman. It first commenced with a letter from the [English] laureate, full of courtesy to his American brother, and warmly inviting him to come to England and accept the hospitality of his roof. An English gentleman, a neighbor and friend of Tennyson's, traveling in the United States, had called on Whitman in Washington, and the latter took ocassion to send Tennyson, by him, an autograph copy of "Leaves and Grass." The laureate's letter followed, as above. Other letters have since been sent from each. In fact, the two old fellows have become quite affectionate toward each tower, not as poets, but as men and brethren, and have interchanged photographs as special mementoes. In a late letter, Tennyson cheers his American friend with good words, and mentions a case of cerebral disease within his own knowledge in England, similar to Whitman's, where the patient got over it, and has been restored to sound health. It is probable that the English poet, with all his admirers, (it is indeed, singular, as one is Democracy and one is Aristocracy), has none who so thoroughly appreciates him, has as warm a personal attachment to him, and so discriminatingly, yet constantly, champions him, as Whitman. [over] 371 Envelope reads: Horace (the print is Springfield Republican Mass: July 23 1875) if used , might be one of the first [?] is - perhaps the very first A sharp critic some time ago said, "I doubt whether Walt Whitman's writings can be realized, except through first knowing or getting a true notion of the corporeal man and his manners, and coming in rapport with them. His form, physiognomy, gait, vocalization--the very touch of him, and the glance of his eyes upon you--all have closely to do with the subtlest meaning of his verse. His manners exemplify his book. Even a knowledge of his ancestry, with the theory he entertains, and which is justified by his own case, of what he calls 'the best motherhood,' would light up many portions of his poems." There are warm personal relations between him and the English laureate, though they have never seen each other. For years there [have] has been a very friendly personal correspondence between Tennyson and Whitman. It first commenced with a letter from the [English] laureate, full of courtesy to his American brother, and warmly inviting him to come to England and accept the hospitality of his roof. An English gentleman, a neighbor and friend of Tennyson's traveling in the United States, had called on Whitman in Washington, and the latter took occasion to send Tennyson, by him, autograph copy of "Leaves of Grass." The laureate's letter followed, as above. Other letters have since been sent from each. In fact, the two old fellows have become quite affectionate toward each other, not as poets, bus as men and brethren, and have interchanged photographs as special mementoes. In a late letter, Tennyson cheers his American friend with good words, and mentions a case of cerebral disease within his own knowledge in England, similar to Whitman's, where the patient got over it, and has been restored to sound health. It is probable that the English poet, with all his admirers, (it is indeed, singular, as one is Democracy and one is Aristocracy), has none who so thoroughly appreciates him, has as warm a personal attachment to hm, and so discriminatingly, yet constantly, champions him, as Whitman. I Shall depend on you to send the Symonds letter. All well here - meter all right but getting on slowly R M Burne ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE LONDON. ONTARIO London, Ont., 27 Aug 1890 Yours of 24th enclosing "Rejoinder" and Boston Herald editorial came to hand yesterday. I had not seen the "Rejoinder" before and have not understood you when you mentioned it in letters. I have (of course) read it, think it is very strong and fine — have sent for the Critic of 16th to have it in original shape & better print. I do not think you have ever written a better piece of prose than those few paragraphs and I marvel that you can still wield your pen with so much vigor. That one sentence: "Yet the lesson of Nature undoubtedly "is to proceed with single purpose toward the "result necessitated and for which the time "has arrived, &c." is worth a shelf full of ordinary criticism. Would you please (if you have one left) send me another "Rejoinder" on printed slip — if you ever sent me one it miscarried — never reached me. [*Then as talker and public speaker; for Whitman besides his Death of Lincoln speech, has appeared [n] in public many times, even [of] in his elder age. His best biographer, Dr. Bucke, says "he does not talk much any how". The New Jersey*] mechanics and young men have a flourishing literary society [have,] [*in Camden*] called the "Walt Whitman Club;" and, some [weeks] [*time*] since, they gave a musical and other entertainment for the benefit of the poor fund, at which Whitman readily appeared as reader of one of his own poems. There was a crowded house, the report in the local paper saying: "Probably the best part of the audience drawn to the entertainment by a mixture of wonder and uncertainty what sort of a being Walt Whitman really was, and what sort of a thing one of his poems might prove to be." The report goes on to give the following account of his appearance and reading:-- A large, lame old man, six feet tall, dressed in a complete suit of English gray, hobbled slowly out to view, with the assistance of a stout buckthorn staff. Though ill from paralysis, the clear blue eyes, complexion of transparent red, and fullness of figure so well known to the New Yorkers and Washingtonians of the past [15 years], and in Camden and Philadelphia of late, all remain about the same. With his snowy hair and [?] beard, and in a manner which singularly combined strong emphasis with the very realization of self-composure, simplicity and ease, Mr Whitman, [for it was he, (though he might be taken at first sight for 75 or 80, he is in fact not yet 57)] proceeded to read, sitting, his poem of the 'Mystic Trumpeter.' His voice is firm, magnetic, and with a certain peculiar quality we heard an admiring auditor call unaffectedness. Its range is baritone, merging into bass. He reads very leisurely, makes frequent pauses or gaps, enunciates with distinctness, and uses few gestures, but those very significant. Is he eloquent and dramatic? No, not in the conventional sense, as illustrated by the best known stars of the pulpit, court-room, or the stage--for the bent of his reading [, in fact, the whole idea of it,] is evidently to first form an enormous mental fund, as it were, within the regions of the chest, and heart, and lungs—a sort of interior battery—out of which, charged to the full with such emotional impetus only, and without ranting or any of the usual accessories or clap-trap of the actor or singer, he launches what he has to say free of noise or strain, yet with a power that makes one almost tremble." [*It may be worth while to give a personal picture of him During his career in Virginia and the war-times, John*] Burroughs, the ornithologist and litterateur, in his [personal and literary] "Notes," thus draws [his] [*Whitman's*] portrait, transcribing verbatim a letter from an officer at Washington, under date of November 28, 1870:-- "You ask for some particulars of my friend Whitman. You know I first fell in with him years ago in the army; we then lived awhile in the same tent, and now I occupy the adjoining room to his. I can, therefore, gratify your curiosity. He is a large-looking man. While in the market, the other day, with a party of us, we were all weighed; his weight was 200 pounds. But I will just start with him like with the day. He is fond of the sun, and, at this season, soon as it is well up, shining in his room, he is out in its beams for a cold-water bath, with hand and sponge, after a brisk use of the flesh-brush. Then, blithely singing,—his singing often pleasantly wakes me,—he proceeds to finish his toilet, about which he is quite particular. Then forth for a walk in the open air, or, perhaps, some short exercise in the gymnasium. Then to breakfast—no sipping and nibbling —he demolishes meat, eggs, rolls, toast, roast potatoes, coffee, buckwheat cakes, at a terrible rate. Then walking moderately to his desk in the Attorney General's office—a pleasant desk, with large, south window at his left, looking away down the Potomac, and across to Virginia on one side. He is at present in first-rate bodily health. Of his mind you must judge from his writings, as I have sent them to you. He is not what is called ceremonious or polite, but I have noticed invariably kind and tolerant with children, servants, laborers, and the illiterate. He gives freely to the poor, according to his means. He can be freezing in manner, and knows how to fend off bores, though really the most affectionate of men. For instance, I saw him,—was with him, the other day, meeting, at the railroad depot, after a long separation, a family group, to all the members of whom he was attached through the tenderest former associations, and some he had known from childhood, interchanging great hearty kisses with each, the boys and men as well as the girls and women. Sometimes he and I only—sometimes a large party of us—go off on rambles of several miles out in the country, or over the hills; sometimes we go nights, when the moon is fine. On such occasions he contributes his part to the general fun. You might hear his voice, half in sport, declaiming some passage from a poem or play; and his song or laugh about as often as any, sounding in the open air." see notes Sept. 6, '90 Horace (the print in Springfield Republican Mass: July 23 1875) Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.