Kitabı oku: «The Letters of Anne Gilchrist and Walt Whitman», sayfa 11

LETTER XL
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

Sept. 3, ’78.

Chesterfield, Mass.

I am half afraid Herby has got a malarious place by his description.

My Dearest Friend:

I had a lingering hope – till Herby went south again – that I should have a letter from you, in answer to mine, saying you were coming up to see us here. In truth, it was a great disappointment to me, his going back to Philadelphia instead of your joining us, or him, either here or somewhere near to New York. I wonder where that North Amboyna is that you once mentioned to me – and what kind of a place it is. I have had a long, quiet time here, and have enjoyed it very much – never did I breathe such sweet, light, pure air as is always blowing freely over these rocky hills. Rocky as they are – and their sides & ravines are strewn with huge boulders of every conceivable size & shape – they nourish an abundant growth of woods, and I fancy the farmers here do a great deal better with their winter crops of lumber and bark and maple sugar than with their summer one of grain & corn. I expect Herby has described our neighbours to you – specially Levi Bryant, the father of my hostess – a farmer who lives just opposite and has put such heart & soul and muscle & sinew into his farming that he has continued to win quite a handsome competence from this barren soil (it isn’t muscle & industry only that are wanted here – but pluck and endurance) hauling his timber up & down over the snow & through the drifts, along roads that are pretty nearly vertical. I am never tired of hearing his stories (nor he of telling them) of hairbreadth escapes for him & his cattle – when the harness or the shafts have broken under the tremendous strain – & nothing but coolness & daring have got him or them out of it alive. Generally, as he sits talking, his little boy of eleven who bids fair to be like him and can now manage a team or a yoke of oxen as well as any man in the parish – and work almost as hard – sits close by him leaning his head on his father’s shoulder or breast – for the rugged old fellow has a vein of great gentleness and affectionateness in him & I notice the child nestles up to him always rather than to the mother – who is all the same a very kind, amiable, good mother. Then there are neighbours of another sort up at the “Centre” – Mr. Chadwick, &c., from New York, with whom I have pleasant chats daily when I trudge up to fetch my letters – now & then I get a delightful drive or go on a blackberrying party with the folks round – I expect Giddy over to-day & we shall remain here together for about a fortnight – then back to Round Hill – where I am to meet the Miss Chase whom you may remember taking tea with & liking – then on to Boston to see dear Bee – & then to New York, where we shall meet again at last, I hope ere long. Love to Mr. & Mrs. Whitman – I enjoy her letters. Also to Hattie & Jessie – who will hear from me by & bye. With love to you, dear Friend.

Good-bye.

A. Gilchrist.

LETTER XLI
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

Concord, Mass.

Oct. 25th.

My Dearest Friend:

The days are slipping away so pleasantly here that weeks are gone before I know it. The Concord folk are as friendly as they are intellectual, and there is really no end to the kindness received. We are rowed on the beautiful river every day that it is warm enough – a very winding river not much broader than your favourite creek – flowing sometimes through level meadows, sometimes round rocky promontories & steep wooded hills which, with their wonderful autumn tints, are like a gay flower border mirrored in the water. Never in my life have I enjoyed outdoor pleasures more – I hardly think, so much – enhanced as they are by the companionship of very lovable men and women. They lead an easy-going life here – seem to spend half their time floating about on the river – or meeting in the evening to talk & read aloud. Judge Hoar says it is a good place to live and die in, but a very bad place to make a living in. Beatrice spent one Sunday with us here. We walked to Hawthorne’s old house in the morning, & in the afternoon to the “Old Manse” and to Sleepy Hollow, most beautiful of last resting places. Tuesday we go on to Boston for a week very loth to leave Concord – at least, I am! – but Giddy begins to long for city life again. And then to New York about the 5th Nov. Herby told you, no doubt, that I spent an hour or two with Emerson – and that he looked very beautiful – and talked in a friendly, pleasant manner. A long letter from my sister in England tells me Per. looks well and happy & is so proud of his little boy – and that Norah is really a perfect wife to him – affectionate, devoted, and the best of housewives. How glad I am Herby is painting you. I wonder if you like the landscape he is working on as well as you did “Timber Creek.” Miss Hillard has undertaken the charge of a young lady’s education, and is very much pleased with her task. She is in a delightful family who make her quite one with them – live in the best part of New York, and pay her a handsome salary. She has the afternoons and Saturday & Sunday to herself. – Concord boasts of having been first to recognize your genius. Mr. Alcott & Mr. Sanborn say so. Good-bye, dear Friend.

A. G.

LETTER XLII
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

39 Somerset St.

Boston

Nov. 13, ’78.

My Dearest Friend:

I feel as if I didn’t a bit deserve the glorious budget you sent me yesterday, for I have been a laggard, dull correspondent of late, because, leading such an unsettled kind of life, I don’t seem to have got well hold of myself. Beautiful is the title prose poem – the glimpse of the autumn cornfield: one smells the sweet fragrance, basks in the sunshine with you – tastes all the varied, subtle outdoor pleasures, just as you want us to. A lady who has just been calling on me – Miss Hillard – no relation of the odious Dr. H. – said, “Have you seen a lovely little bit about a cornfield by Walt Whitman in a New York paper?” She did not know your poems, but was so taken with this. By the bye, I am not quite American enough yet to enjoy the sound of the locusts & big grasshoppers – ours are modest little things that only make a gentle sort of whirr – not that loud brassy sound – couldn’t help wishing for more birds & less insects when I was at Chesterfield – but I like our English name “ladybird” better than “ladybug”. Do your children always say when they see one, as ours do, “Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home: your house is on fire, your children are flown”? But for the rest – I believe I am growing a very good American; indeed, certain am I there is no more lovable people to live amongst anywhere in the world – and in this respect it has been good to give up having a home of my own here for awhile – for I have been thrown amongst many more intimately than I could have been otherwise. What you say of Herby’s picture delights me, dear Friend. I have been grieving he was not with us, sharing the pleasant times we have had and enlarging his circle of friends – but after all he could not have been doing better – he must come on here by & bye. I wonder if you are as satisfied with his portrait of you as with the landscape. I suppose he is gone on to New York to-day. I have sighed for dear little Concord many times since I came away – beautiful city as Boston is & many the interesting & kindly people I am seeing here: but the outdoor life & the entirely simple, unpretending, cordial, friendly ways of Concord & its inhabitants won my heart altogether – one of them came to see me to-day & to ask us to go and spend a couple of days with them there again before we leave & I could not say nay, though our time is short. There are some portraits in the Art Museum here, which interested me a good deal – of Adams, Hancock, Quincy, &c., – & of some of the women of that time – they would form an excellent nucleus of a national portrait gallery, which (together with good biographies while yet materials & recollections are fresh & abundant) would be a very interesting & important contribution to the world’s history. – Tennyson’s letter is a pleasure to me to see – considering his age & the imperfection of his sight through life, matters are better rather than worse with him than one could have expected. Since that was written a friend (Walter White) tells me they – the Tennysons – have taken a house in Eaton Sq., London, for the winter. And last, not least, thanks for Mr. Burroughs’s beautiful letter – that young man is indeed, as he says, like a bit out of your poems.

There are two or three fine young men boarding here, & Giddy & I enjoy their society not a little. Love to your Brothers & Sister. I shall write soon as I am settled down in New York to her or Hattie. Love to Mrs. Stafford. And most of all to you.

Good-bye, dear friend.

A. Gilchrist.

I will send T’s letter in a day or two.

LETTER XLIII
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

112 Madison Ave.

New York

Jan. 5, ’79.

My Dearest Friend:

Herby has told you of our difficulties in getting comfortable quarters here – and also that we seem now to have succeeded – not indeed in the way I most wished & hoped we had – in 19th St., taking rooms & boarding ourselves – so that we could have a friend with us when & as we pleased. It seems as if that were not practicable unless we were to furnish for ourselves. Certainly our experiences there of using another’s kitchen were discouraging – it was so dirty and uncomfortable that we were glad to take refuge in a regular boarding house again before one week was out. It seems to me more difficult to get anything of a medium kind in New York than elsewhere I have been – if it isn’t the best, it is very uninviting indeed. Herby is enjoying his work and companionship at the League very much. We stand the cold well – how does it suit you? Is your arm free from rheumatic pains? When you come to Mr. J. H. Johnstons, which will be very soon I hope, we shall be quite handy, and have a pretty, sunny room – a sitting room by day! – with a handsome piece of furniture which is metamorphosed into a bed at night – and a large dressing closet with hot & cold water adjoining – all very comfortable. O how wistfully do I think of one evening in Philadelphia, last winter. I shan’t begin really to like New York till you come and we have had some chats together. I have news from England which makes me rather anxious. The Blaenavon Co., to which Per. is chemist, has gone into liquidation – & I don’t know whether it will continue to exist – or how soon in these dull times he may find a good opening elsewhere. Should things go badly for him, either Giddy and I will return to England to share [our] home with him there, or else I want him to take into serious consideration coming out here, instead of our going back. Of course it would be a risky thing for him to do with wife & child, in these times, unless some definite opening presented itself, but I cannot help thinking that, being an expert in his profession, with first rate training & experience, and iron work & metallurgy promising here to have such enormous developments, he would be sure to do well in the end; and meanwhile we could rub on together somehow. However, we shall see. I have laid the matter before him, he & his dear little wife wrote me a very brave, cheery letter when they told me the bad news – & I shall have an answer to mine, I suppose, by the end of the month. Kate Hillard read an amusing paper on Swinburne at a meeting of the Woman’s Club in Brooklyn – & we had some fine music too. For the rest, I have not yet presented any introductions here.

Have had some beautiful glimpses of the North & East River effects of the shipping at sunset, &c. – Have subscribed to the Mercantile library, – & are beginning to feel at home. Herby & Giddy had been to hear Mr. Frothingham this morning, & were much interested. Bee missed us sorely at first – but writes – when she does write, which is but seldom – pretty cheerily. Friendly remembrance to your brother & sister. I wonder where Hattie & Jessie are spending their holidays. Love from us all. Good-bye, dear friend.

A. Gilchrist.

Had a letter from Mr. Marvin – all well – he is doing the Washington letter of a N. Eng. paper. Hopes & trusts you are really going to Washington.

LETTER XLIV
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

112 Madison Ave.

14 Jan., ’79.

Dearest Friend:

The pleasantest event since I last wrote has been a visit from Mr. Eldridge. We had a long, friendly chat that did me good. Saturday evening we went to one of Miss Booth’s receptions – met Joaquin Miller there, who is just back from Europe – of course we talked of you. Mrs. Moulton too is hoping so you will come to New York during her stay here, which is to last a week or two longer. John Burroughs has just sent me a post card to say he has returned from a 3-weeks stay with his folks in Delaware Co. – that he hopes to come here soon – wants Mrs. Burroughs to come too & board for a month or so – wants also “Walt to come – & lecture” – but “Walt will not be hurried.” Did I tell you that we found boarding here a young man, Mr. Arthur Holland, one of the family who were so very friendly to me & made my stay so pleasant both in Concord & Cambridge? He often comes to our room of an evening for an hour or two’s chat, & by the bye, being connected with the iron trade he has been able to make some enquiries for me as to what Per’s chances as a scientific metallurgist would be in this country – & I am sorry to say he thinks they would be very poor indeed. Prof. Lesley said the same thing; so it is clear I must not urge him to try the experiment, seeing he has a wife & child. Herby & Giddy both well. Love from us all. Good bye, Dear Friend.

A. Gilchrist.

Friendly greeting to your brother & sister.

LETTER XLV
ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

112 Madison Ave.,

Jan. 27, ’79.

My Dearest Friend:

Are you never coming? I do long & long to see you. I am beginning to like New York better than I did and to have pleasant times. Had some friendly chats with Kate Hillard last week, & went with her to call on Mrs. Putman Jacobi, who has a little baby 3 weeks old & is still in her room, but has got through very nicely – She talks well, doesn’t she? & has a face with plenty of individuality in it. Also we went together on Saturday again to one of Miss Booth’s receptions, & there met Mrs. Croly, & had the best talk about you I have had this long while. I like her cordiality – we are going to her reception on Sunday & to one at Mrs. Bigelow’s Wednesday. It is true there is not much that can be called social enjoyment at these crowded receptions, but they enable you to start many acquaintanceships, some of which turn out lasting good. We had some fine harp playing & a witty recital at Miss Booth’s. Miss Selous is back in America. I should not wonder if she comes on here soon. Bee is living at the Dispensary now, instead of in the Hospital, & finds the comparatively outdoor life – & the freedom from being “whistled” for all hours of the day and night as she was there – a wonderful refreshment. That coloured lady, Mrs. Wiley, whom you met once at our house, is her fellow labourer & room mate at the Dispensary. Bee likes her much. I am not sure whether you know the Gilders? We spent a couple of hours delightfully with them yesterday afternoon. She has a very attractive face, a musical voice, & such a sweet smile. They are going to Europe for a four months’ holiday this spring. I admire the simple, unconventional way in which they live. Herby is working away in the best spirits. He is going to paint that bowling alley subject on a large scale. Giddy is sitting by me with her nose in the French Dictionary, working away at a novel of Balzac’s. I have had scarcely any letters from England lately! – and the papers bring none but dismal tidings; nevertheless I don’t believe our sun is going down yet awhile – we shall emerge from this dark crisis the better, not the worse, because compelled to grapple with the evils that have caused it, instead of passively enduring them. Please give friendly remembrance from me to your brothers & sister. Have you been at Kirkwood lately, I wonder? I suppose Timber Creek is frozen over. Good-bye, dear Friend. Write soon, or better still Come!

A. Gilchrist.

LETTER XLVI
HERBERT H. GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

New York

112 Madison Avenue

February 2nd, 1879.

Dear Darling Walt:

I read your long piece in the Philadelphia Times with ever so much interest, & with especial delight the delicately told bit about the dear old Pond, artistic, because so true. I know that it will please you to hear that I have gained tenfold facility with my brush since the autumn. It has agreed uncommonly well with me having enlisted under such an experienced & able painter as Chase; as a manipulator of the brush he is agreed by the experts (Eaton) to have no rival. I may yet be able to paint a head of you in one sitting that will do justice to you. Three of my pictures are nicely hung at the Water Colour Exhibition Academy of Design, the first time that I have exhibited in New York. We had two & three engagements every night (with one exception) last week, & go to Mrs. Croley’s to-night. Your friend John Burroughs called last Wednesday – came to try Turkish baths for his malarious trouble, but it seemed to bring on his attacks of neuralgia worse. I am sorry that I can report but poorly of his health, so painfully excruciating was his neuralgia about his arms at times that a Dr. was sent for & morphia injected in his wrist, but I am glad to say he reported himself a little better. He hopes that you will come and give the lecture on Lincoln this winter; why not, confound it, it would be most interesting.

Quite often we go to Miss Booth’s receptions. Saturday evening, they are gay & amusing. Met Mr. Bliss, the gentleman that talked like “a house afire” one Sunday at your house last winter, you remember.

Last Wednesday I, mother, Giddy, & Kate Hillard went to Mrs. Bigelow’s reception. Miss H. was asked to recite & she recited the “Swineherd” (Anderson’s) charmingly, & “The Faithful Lovers,” which took every one. “Walk in” Miller was there (I can’t spell his name) & lots more.

This morning being Sunday, I took my skates to the Park. The wind was high & whirled us about fantastically; ladies seated in wicker chairs were pushed rapidly along the Pond’s smooth icy surface by their gentlemen escorts, tall men kissed the ice or sprawled full length on their backs, while others flew by like swallows; all this with a church spire peeping behind hills dappled with snow & sunshine: what more inspiriting than this?

And now dear Walt.

Good-bye for the present.

Herbert H. Gilchrist.

LETTER XLVII
BEATRICE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

33 Warrenton St.

Feb. 16, 1879.

Dear Mr. Whitman:

Although not in word, I have thanked you for your letter & papers by enjoying them thoroughly.

Down at this Dispensary we work just as hard as at the Hospital, but our spare minutes are our own (no records to write out); our work is under our own control; we are out in fresh air half the day, sometimes half the night, making intimate acquaintance with all sorts of people & places & with far distant parts of Boston.

We have all the responsibility that it is good for young doctors to have, i. e., in all difficult or obscure & dangerous cases we are obliged to call in older heads & are obliged to report verbally to the visiting physician of the month all our cases & our treatment. Only two students live at the Dispensary – Dr. Wiley (the coloured Philadelphia student you saw) & myself. In tastes we have much in common & on the whole I prefer to live with her rather than with any of the other students. We share rooms. We have a bedroom, a drug-room, a treatment room, waiting room for patients, & take our meals in the kitchen.

A widow woman with two children housekeeps.

I think Boston a very beautiful city. The public Gardens & Commons in the busiest part, sloping down from the gilt domed state house on Beacon hill, threaded by paths in all directions, traversed by the business men, the fine ladies, the beggars, etc., etc. One broad, sloping path is given up to the boys who want to coast, temporary wooden bridges being thrown over the cross paths. Then, crossing South Bay to South Boston is a beautiful walk I take from one to four times a day. South Boston looks rather dingy; it is inhabited mostly by artisans & mill hands & fishermen, but walking up 3rd St., as you cross the lettered streets A, B, C, D, etc., you look down upon the harbour – on bright days bright blue, & a few sails to be seen – at sunset the colours of course are reflected gorgeously.

Somehow or other the sea looks doubly beautiful set in dingy S. Boston.

Far over in the West End too we have patients. Last Tuesday I had twins all by myself; only one, however, was born alive; the other had been dead a week. How delightful that you are feeling so much better. Shall you not be coming to Boston sometime before I leave, 1st June?

The Boston I know is not the Boston I knew in books; I am as far off from that as if I lived in England – is not the “hub” – I was reminded of that last Sunday when I had time for once to go to church & went to hear Mr. E. E. Hale preach and went home to dinner with him…

I like his daughter whom we knew in Philadelphia. She is a clever young artist. Dr. Wiley is very popular with her patients, far more so than I.

Please remember me to all the Staffords & give my especial love to Mrs. Stafford. Also to Mrs. Whitman.

Yours affectionately,

Beatrice C. Gilchrist.