Study Edition · Essay 74
A Visit to Walt Whitman
Source: From Ivory Apes and Peacocks (1915). Text from Project Gutenberg #31017. Abridged: this edition keeps Huneker's memoir of meeting Whitman and a few lines of his verdict; omitted passages are marked “…”. Much of the omitted critique sneers at Whitman's sexuality in the prejudiced language of its time. Archaic verb forms modernized; vocabulary kept and glossed.
James Huneker was an American music and art critic from Philadelphia, famous for his energetic, gossipy, name-dropping style. In 1877, as a teenager in love with Whitman's Leaves of Grass, he crossed the river to Camden, New Jersey, and rang the poet's doorbell. Nearly forty years later he remembered the visit with affection and irony. Notice how the older Huneker mocks his younger self, how the great poet turns out to be a better listener than talker, and how the comments of a policeman and his parents bring the visit down to earth.
54 sentences: 26 simple, 22 moderate, 6 complex. Hover a number for its paraphrase; click it for the full note.
Key Vocabulary
- autographa famous person's signature
- proceedsmoney raised by a sale or event
- nonchalantcalm and casual
- characteristictypical of a person
- barda poet
- apparitiona ghostly or striking appearance
- convalesceto recover from illness
- sonorousdeep and full in sound
- improvisatora person who makes things up on the spot
- adolescencethe teenage years
- cordiallywarmly and politely
- egoismthinking too much about oneself
- averseunwilling; opposed
- sphinxa mysterious, silent person
- rhapsodista reciter of epic poems in ancient Greece
- timbrethe quality or tone of a voice
- irreverencea lack of respect
- magnetismpersonal charm that attracts others
- amiablefriendly and pleasant
The Essay
My edition of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass is dated 1867, the third, if I am not mistaken, the first appearing in 1855.1 Inside is pasted a card upon which is written in large, clumsy letters: “Walt Whitman, Camden, New Jersey, July, 1877.”2 I value this autograph, because Walt gave it to me; rather I paid him for it, the proceeds, two dollars (I think that was the amount), going to some asylum in Camden.3 In addition, the “good grey poet” was kind enough to add a woodcut of himself as he appeared in the 1855 volume, “hankering, gross, mystical, nude,” and another of his old mother, with her shrewd, kindly face.4 Walt is in his shirt-sleeves, a hand on his hip, the other in his pocket, his neck bare, the pose that of a nonchalant workman—though in actual practice he was always opposed to work of any sort; on his head is a slouch-hat, and you recall his line: “I wear my hat as I please, indoors or out.”5 The picture is characteristic, even to the sensual mouth and Bowery-boy pose.6 … I had convalesced from a severe attack of Edgar Allan Poe only to fall desperately ill with Whitmania.7 Youth is ever in revolt, age alone brings resignation.8 My favourite reading was Shelley, my composer among composers, Wagner.9 … The reading of a magazine article by Moncure D. Conway caused me to buy a copy, at an extravagant price for my purse, of The Leaves of Grass, and so uncritical was I that I wrote a parallel between Wagner and Whitman; between the most consciously artistic of men and the wildest among improvisators.10 But then it seemed to me that both had thrown off the “shackles of convention.”11 (What prison-like similes we are given to in the heady, generous impulses of green adolescence.)12 I was a boy, and seeing Walt on Market Street, as he came from the Camden Ferry, I resolved to visit him.13 It was some time after the Fourth of July, 1877, and I soon found his little house on Mickle Street.14 A policeman at the ferry-house directed me.15 I confess I was scared after I had given the bell one of those pulls that we tremblingly essay at a dentist’s door.16 To my amazement the old man soon stood before me, and cordially bade me enter.17
“Walt,” I said, for I had heard that he disliked a more ceremonious prefix, “I’ve come to tell you how much the Leaves have meant to me.”18 “Ah!” he simply replied, and asked me to take a chair.19 To this hour I can see the humble room, but when I try to recall our conversation I fail.20 That it was on general literary subjects I know, but the main theme was myself.21 In five minutes Walt had pumped me dry.22 He did it in his quiet, sympathetic way, and, with the egoism of my age, I was not averse from relating to him the adventures of my soul.23 That Walt was a fluent talker one need but read his memoirs by Horace Traubel.24 … But he was a sphinx the first time I met him.25 I do recall that he said Poe wrote too much in a dark cellar, and that music was his chief recreation—of which art he knew nothing; it served him as a sounding background for his pencilled improvisations.26 I begged for an autograph.27 He told me of his interest in a certain asylum or hospital, whose name has gone clean out of my mind, and I paid my few dollars for the treasured signature.28 It is now one of my literary treasures.29
If I forget the tenor of our discourse I have not forgotten the immense impression made upon me by the man.30 As vain as a peacock, Walt looked like a Greek rhapsodist.31 Tall, imposing in bulk, his regular features, mild, light-blue or grey eyes, clear ruddy skin, plentiful white hair and beard, evoked an image of the magnificently fierce old men he chants in his book.32 But he wasn’t fierce, his voice was a tenor of agreeable timbre, and he was gentle, even to womanliness.33 … He never smoked, his only drink was water.34 I doubt if he ever drank spirits.35 His old friends say “No,” although he is a terrible rake in print.36
… I left the old man after a hearty hand-shake, a So long! just as in his book, and returned to Philadelphia.37 Full of the day, I told my policeman at the ferry that I had seen Walt.38 “That old gas-bag comes here every afternoon. He gets free rides across the Delaware,” and I rejoiced to think that a soulless corporation had some appreciation of a great poet, though the irreverence of this “powerful uneducated person” shocked me.39 When I reached home I also told my mother of my visit.40 She was plainly disturbed.41 She said that the writings of the man were immoral, but she was pleased at my report of Walt’s sanity, sweetness, mellow optimism, and his magnetism, like some natural force.42 I forgot, in my enthusiasm, that it was Walt who listened, I who gabbled.43 My father, who had never read Leaves, had sterner criticism to offer: “If I ever hear of you going to see that fellow you’ll be sorry!”44 This coming from the most amiable of parents, surprised me.45 … Yet dogs followed him and children loved him.46 I saw Walt accidentally at intervals, though never again in Camden.47 I met him on the streets, and several times took him from the Carl Gaertner String Quartet Concerts in the foyer of the Broad Street Academy of Music to the Market Street cars.48 He lumbered majestically, his hairy breast exposed, but was a feeble old man, older than his years; paralysis had maimed him.49 He is said to have incurred it from his unselfish labours as nurse in the camp hospitals at Washington during the Civil War.50
… But there is rude red music in the versicles of Leaves.51 They stimulate, and, for some young hearts, they are as a call to battle.52 … Instead of essaying the varied, expressive, harmonious music of blank verse, he chose the easier, more clamorous, and disorderly way; but if he had not so chosen we should have missed the salty tang of the true Walt Whitman.53 … And he was a gay old pagan who never called a sin a sin when it was a pleasure.54
Sentence Notes
In plain English: My copy of Whitman's Leaves of Grass is dated 1867; I think it's the third edition, since the first came out in 1855.
Reference & context: Whitman kept revising and expanding Leaves of Grass all his life. The 1867 printing is usually counted as the fourth edition, so Huneker's “if I am not mistaken” is apt.
In plain English: Pasted inside is a card with “Walt Whitman, Camden, New Jersey, July, 1877” written on it in big, clumsy handwriting.
In plain English: I treasure this signature because Walt gave it to me; or rather, I paid him for it, and the money, two dollars I think, went to a charity home in Camden.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The quick correction, “rather I paid him for it,” sets the gently ironic tone.
In plain English: The “good grey poet” also kindly added a print of himself as he looked in the 1855 edition, “hankering, gross, mystical, nude,” and another of his old mother, with her sharp, kind face.
Reference & context: “The good grey poet” was the title of an 1866 defence of Whitman by his friend William D. O'Connor. “Hankering, gross, mystical, nude” is from Whitman's “Song of Myself.”
In plain English: In the picture Walt wears shirt-sleeves, one hand on his hip and the other in his pocket, with an open collar, posing like a relaxed working man, though in real life he avoided any kind of work; on his head is a soft, floppy hat, which reminds you of his line, “I wear my hat as I please, indoors or out.”
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A sly aside punctures the heroic workman image.
Reference & context: The famous frontispiece engraving of the 1855 Leaves of Grass. The quoted line is from “Song of Myself.”
In plain English: The picture is true to life, down to the sensual mouth and the street-tough stance.
Reference & context: The Bowery was a rough street in New York; “Bowery boys” were swaggering young working-class men.
In plain English: I had just recovered from a bad case of Poe-worship only to fall seriously ill with Whitman-worship.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Literary enthusiasm described as a series of diseases.
In plain English: The young always rebel; only old age brings acceptance.
In plain English: My favourite poet was Shelley, and my favourite of all composers was Wagner.
In plain English: After reading a magazine article by Moncure Conway, I bought a copy of Leaves of Grass at a price I could hardly afford, and I was so uncritical that I wrote a comparison of Wagner and Whitman, the most deliberate artist and the wildest improviser.
Reference & context: Moncure Conway (1832–1907) was an American preacher and writer who visited Whitman and wrote about him. A sentence about Wagner's Centennial March is omitted before this.
In plain English: But at the time it seemed to me that both had broken free of “the chains of convention.”
In plain English: (What prison comparisons we like to use in the excited, generous moods of our early teens!)
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The older writer gently mocks the clichés of his younger self.
In plain English: I was a boy, and when I saw Walt on Market Street coming off the Camden ferry, I decided to visit him.
Reference & context: Market Street is the main street of Philadelphia. Camden is across the Delaware River in New Jersey.
In plain English: It was some time after July 4, 1877, and I soon found his small house on Mickle Street.
Reference & context: Whitman actually bought the Mickle Street house in 1884; in 1877 he lived with his brother George on Stevens Street in Camden. Huneker's memory, nearly forty years later, has slipped.
In plain English: A policeman at the ferry building gave me directions.
In plain English: I admit I was frightened after I tugged the bell, the way we nervously try a dentist's doorbell.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A comic, universal comparison.
In plain English: To my amazement, the old man soon appeared and warmly invited me in.
In plain English: “Walt,” I said, since I'd heard he didn't like being called “Mr. Whitman,” “I've come to tell you how much Leaves of Grass has meant to me.”
In plain English: “Ah!” was all he said, and he asked me to sit down.
In plain English: I can still picture the plain room, but I can't remember what we said.
In plain English: I know it was about literature in general, but the main topic was me.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A self-deprecating punchline.
In plain English: Within five minutes Walt had got everything out of me.
In plain English: He did it quietly and kindly, and, being as self-centred as boys that age are, I was happy to tell him all about my spiritual adventures.
In plain English: You only have to read Horace Traubel's records of his conversations to know Walt could talk well.
Reference & context: Horace Traubel visited Whitman almost daily in his last years and published his conversations as With Walt Whitman in Camden (nine volumes).
In plain English: But the first time I met him, he was silent and mysterious.
Reference & context: A sentence quoting Whitman's insult to the poet Swinburne is omitted.
In plain English: I do remember him saying that Poe's writing was too gloomy, as if written in a dark cellar, and that music was his favourite pastime, though he knew nothing about it; it was just background sound while he scribbled his poems in pencil.
Reference & context: Whitman loved opera, especially Italian opera, and said it influenced his poetry.
In plain English: I begged him for his signature.
In plain English: He told me about a charity home or hospital he supported, whose name I've completely forgotten, and I paid a few dollars for the precious signature.
In plain English: It's now one of my most prized literary possessions.
In plain English: Even if I've forgotten what we talked about, I haven't forgotten the huge impression the man made on me.
In plain English: Vain as a peacock, Walt looked like an ancient Greek reciter of epic poetry.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Praise and mockery in the same breath, typical of Huneker.
In plain English: Tall and large, with even features, gentle light-blue or grey eyes, clear rosy skin, and thick white hair and beard, he called to mind the magnificently fierce old men he sings about in his book.
In plain English: But he wasn't fierce; his voice was a pleasant, light tenor, and he was gentle, almost feminine in manner.
In plain English: He never smoked, and he drank only water.
In plain English: I doubt he ever drank hard liquor.
In plain English: His old friends say he didn't, even though in his poems he is a shocking pleasure-seeker.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The gap between the poet's persona and the man.
Reference & context: A rake is a man who lives a wild, immoral life.
In plain English: I left the old man after a warm handshake and a “So long!”, just like in his book, and went back to Philadelphia.
Reference & context: “So Long!” is the title of the farewell poem that ends Leaves of Grass. Huneker's speculations about Whitman's private life are omitted before this.
In plain English: Still excited, I told the policeman at the ferry that I'd seen Walt.
In plain English: “That old windbag comes here every afternoon. He gets free rides across the Delaware,” he said; I was glad to think a heartless company appreciated a great poet, though the policeman's disrespect for this “powerful uneducated person” shocked me.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The policeman's blunt words bring the hero-worship crashing down, and Huneker turns Whitman's own phrase on the policeman.
Reference & context: Whitman was given a free pass by the ferry company and loved riding back and forth. “Powerful uneducated persons” is Whitman's own phrase, from “By Blue Ontario's Shore”: “Gone freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young.”
In plain English: When I got home, I told my mother about my visit too.
In plain English: She was clearly upset.
In plain English: She said his writing was immoral, but she was pleased when I described Walt's good sense, sweetness, warm optimism and attractive personality, like a force of nature.
Reference & context: Leaves of Grass was widely condemned for its frank sexual poems; in 1882 Boston's district attorney threatened to prosecute its publisher.
In plain English: In my excitement I forgot that Walt had done the listening and I had done the chattering.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The older Huneker sees what the boy missed: the great talker was a great listener.
In plain English: My father, who had never read Leaves of Grass, was harsher: “If I ever hear you've gone to see that man again, you'll regret it!”
In plain English: Coming from the kindest of parents, this surprised me.
In plain English: Yet dogs followed him and children loved him.
Reference & context: Huneker's account of Whitman's bad reputation in Philadelphia is omitted before this.
In plain English: I ran into Walt now and then, but never visited him in Camden again.
In plain English: I met him in the street, and several times I walked him from the string-quartet concerts at the Academy of Music on Broad Street to the Market Street streetcars.
In plain English: He moved slowly and grandly, his hairy chest showing, but he was a weak old man, older than his age; a stroke had disabled him.
Reference & context: Whitman had a paralytic stroke in 1873 that left him partly disabled for the rest of his life.
In plain English: People say it was caused by his selfless work as a volunteer nurse in the army hospitals in Washington during the Civil War.
Reference & context: Whitman visited and comforted thousands of wounded soldiers between 1862 and 1865.
In plain English: But there is rough, red-blooded music in the short verses of Leaves of Grass.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Alliteration (r-r-m) imitating the energy it praises.
Reference & context: Huneker's long, often hostile critique of Whitman's poetry is omitted before this.
In plain English: They excite readers, and to some young people they are like a call to battle.
In plain English: Instead of trying the varied, expressive, harmonious music of traditional unrhymed verse, he chose an easier, noisier, messier way; but if he hadn't, we would have missed the salty flavour of the real Walt Whitman.
Reference & context: Blank verse is unrhymed lines of regular rhythm, as in Shakespeare; Whitman wrote free verse with no fixed rhythm.
In plain English: And he was a cheerful old pagan who never called something a sin if it gave pleasure.
Reference & context: In 1915 “gay” meant merry or carefree.
Fun Fact
Whitman published Leaves of Grass himself in 1855, and even helped set some of the type. When Emerson sent him a letter of praise (“I greet you at the beginning of a great career”), Whitman printed it, without asking, on the spine of the next edition in gold letters.