The Letters of Anne Gilchrist and Walt Whitman

Oh, may I be full of sweet comfort for my Beloved’s Soul and Body through life, through and after death.

Anne Gilchrist.

LETTER XXXIV

WALT WHITMAN TO ANNE GILCHRIST

Camden, New JerseyMarch, 1876.

Dearest Friend:

To your good & comforting letter of Feb. 25th I at once answer, at least with a few lines. I have already written this morning a pretty full letter to Mr. Rossetti (to answer one just rec’d from him) & requested him to loan it you for perusal. In that I have described my situation fully & candidly.

My new edition is printed & ready. Upon receipt of your letter I sent you a set, two Vols. (by Mail, March 15) which you must have rec’d by this time. I wish you to send me word soon as they arrive.

My health, I am encouraged to think, is perhaps a shade better – certainly as well as any time of late.

I even already vaguely contemplate plans (they may never be fulfilled, but yet again they may) of changes, journeys – even of coming to London & seeing you, visiting my friends, &c. My dearest friend, I do not approve your American trans-settlement. I see so many things here you have no idea of – the social, and almost every other kind of crudeness, meagreness, here (at least in appearance).

Don’t do anything towards it nor resolve in it nor make any move at all in it without further advice from me. If I should get well enough to voyage, we will talk about it yet in London.

You must not be uneasy about me – dearest friend, I get along much better than you think for. As to the literary situation here, my rejection by the coteries and the poverty (which is the least of my troubles), am not sure but I enjoy them all – besides, as to the latter, I am not in want.

LETTER XXXV

ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

1 Torriano GardensCamden Rd., LondonMarch 30, ’76.

Yesterday was a day for me, dearest Friend. In the morning your letter, strong, cheerful, reassuring – dear letter. In the afternoon the books. I don’t know how to settle down my thoughts calmly enough to write, nor how to lay down the books (with delicate yet serviceable exterior, with inscription making me so proud, so joyous). But there are a few things I want to say to you at once in regard to our coming to America. I will not act without “further advice from you”; but as to not resolving on it, dear friend, I can’t exactly obey that, for it has been my settled, steady purpose (resting on a deep, strong faith) ever since 1869. Nor do I feel discouraged or surprised at what you say of American “crudeness,” &c. (of which, in truth, one hears not a little in England). I have not shut my eyes to the difficulties and trials & responsibilities (for the children’s sake) of the enterprise. I am not urged on by any discontent with old England or by any adverse circumstances here which I might hope to better there: my reasons, emotions, the sources of my strength and courage for the uprooting & transplanting – all are inclosed in those two volumes that lie before me on the table. That America has brought them forth makes me want to plant some, at least, of my children on her soil. I understand & believe in & love her in & through them. They teach me to look beneath the surface & to get hints of the great future that is shaping itself out of the crude present, & I believe we shall prove to be of the right sort to plant down there. – O to talk it all over with you, dearest Friend, here in London first; I feel as if that would really be – the joy, the comfort, of that. I cannot finish this to-day but send what I have written without delay that you may know of the safe arrival of the books. With reverent, grateful love from us all.

Anne Gilchrist.

LETTER XXXVI

ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

1 Torriano GardensCamden Rd. LondonApril 21, 1876.

My Dearest Friend:

I must write again, out of a full heart. For the reading of this book, “The Two Rivulets,” has filled it very full. Ever the deep inward assent, rising up strong, exultant my immortal self recognizing, responding to your immortal self. Ever the sense of dearness, the sweet, subtle perfume, pervading every page, every line, to my sense – O I cannot put into any words what I perceive nor what answering emotion pervades me, flows out towards you – sweetest, deepest, greatest experience of my life – what I was made for – surely I was made as the soil in which the precious seed of your thoughts & emotions should be planted – try to fulfil themselves in me, that I might by & bye blossom into beauty & bring forth rich fruits – immortal fruits. So no doubt other women feel, and future women will.

Do not dissuade me from coming this autumn, my dearest Friend. I have waited patiently – 7 years – patiently, yet often, especially since your illness, with such painful yearning your heart would yearn towards me if you realized it – I cannot wait any longer. Nor ought I to – that would indeed be sacrificing the prudence that concerns itself with immortal things to the prudence that concerns itself only with temporary ones. But, indeed, even so far as this latter is concerned, there is no sacrifice for any. It is by far the best step, for instance, I could take on Beatrice’s account. She is heartily in earnest in her medical studies. I am persuaded, too, it is a splendid training for her whether or no she ever makes a money-earning profession of it. And in England women have at present no means of obtaining a complete medical education. They cannot get admission to any Hospital for the clinical part of the course. So that she is exceedingly anxious to come where it is possible for her to follow out her aims effectually. Then, I am confident she will find America congenial to her – that she is in her essential nature democratic – & that she has the intelligence, the sympathies, earnestness, affectionateness, unconventionality needed to pierce through appearances surface “crudeness” & see & love the great reality unfolding below. So I believe has Herby. Then an artist is as free as an author to work where he pleases & reaps as much from fresh and widened experiences. He does not contemplate cutting himself off from England – will exhibit here – very likely take a studio in London for a season, a couple of years hence to work among old friends & associations & so have double chance & opportunities. Then above all, dearest friend, they too see America in & through you – they too would fain be near you. Have no anxiety or misgivings for us. Let us come & be near you – & see if we are made of the right sort of stuff for transplanting to American soil. Only advise us where. If it be Philadelphia (which as far as offering facilities for Beatrice would, as far as I can learn, suit us very well). We must not come, I think, till the end of October, because of its being so full. Perhaps indeed, dearest Friend (but dare not build on it) we shall talk this over in England. If you are able to take the journey, it might, and would, be sure to do you good as well as to rejoice the hearts of English friends. But if not, if we are not able to talk over our coming, do not feel the least anxious about us. We shall light on our feet & do very well. Percy seems getting on fairly well, considering what a bad time it is in his line of business. I think he will be able to marry this autumn or following winter. I shall go and spend a month with him in July. Perhaps, indeed, if, as many are prophecying, the iron trade does not recover its old pre-eminence here, he may be glad by & bye that I have gone over to America & opened a way for him. But if he does not follow me then, if I live, I hope to spend a few months with him every three or four years, instead of as now a few weeks once a year. Anyhow we have to live widely apart. Thanks for the papers just received. Specially welcome the account of some stranger’s interview with you – for me too before very long now the joy of hearing the “strong musical voice” read the “Wound Dresser” or speak.

I have happy thoughts for my companions all day long, helping me over every difficulty – strengthening me. Good-bye, dearest Friend. Love from us all.

A. Gilchrist.

LETTER XXXVII

ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

1 Torriano GardensCamden Rd., LondonMay 18, 1876.

Just a line of birthday greeting, my dearest Friend. May it find you enjoying the beautiful spring-time & the grand sights of people & products & the music at Philadelphia, notwithstanding drawbacks (but lessening drawbacks, I earnestly hope) of health, lameness. Rejoiced, too, perhaps with the sight of many dear old friends occasion has brought to your city. May all that will do you good come, my dearest Friend. And not least the sense of relief & joy in having fulfilled the great task, in the teeth of such difficulties relaunched safely, more fully, richly equipt, the ship to sail down the great ocean of Time, bearing precious, precious freight of seed to be planted in countless successions of human souls, helping forward more than even the best lovers of your poems dream, the great future of humanity. That is what I believe as surely as I believe in my own existence.

The “low star,” the great star drooping low in the west, has been unusually resplendent of a night here lately & by day lilacs & the labernums wonderfully brightening dear old smoky London, constant reminders all, if I needed any, of the Poet & the Poems, so dear to me.

If I do not hear from you to the contrary I am to take our passage by one of the “States” Line of Steamers that come straight to Philadelphia sailing about the 1st Sept. – & I am told one ought to secure one’s cabin a couple of months or so beforehand. But if there be indeed an increasing hope of your coming here in the course of the summer, or if you think it would be best for us to go to New York (only I want to go at once where we are likely to stop, because of my furniture), let me hear as soon as may be, dear Friend. Looking at it purely as concerns the young ones, for some reasons it is very desirable to come this year & for others to wait till next. With Bee, for instance, we are both losing time & wasting money by going over another winter here when there is no complete & satisfactory medical course to be had. Then as regards dear Percy, he writes me now that though he is doing fairly well, he does not think he will be able to take a house & marry till next summer – & that I am very sorry for. But then I think that as I could not be with him nor help him forward, the balance goes down on Beatrice’s side, if I am able to accomplish it.

Good-bye, my dearest Friend. Loving, tender thoughts shall I send you on the 30th. Solemn thoughts outleaping life, immortal aspirations of my soul toward your soul. The children’s love too, please, dearest Friend.

Anne Gilchrist.

LETTER XXXVIII

ANNE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

Round Hill, Northampton, Mass.Monday, Sept., ’77.

Dearest Friend:

I have had joyful news to-day! Percy’s wife has a fine little boy – it was born on the 10th, and Norah got through well & is doing nicely; so I feel very happy.

Since then Per. has gone to Paris where he is to read a paper before the “Iron and Steel Institute” on the Elimination of phosphorus from Iron – which is also a little triumph of another kind for him – for the Council which accepted his paper is composed of eminent English scientists, & eminent foreign ones will hear it. – I need not tell you it is indescribably lovely here now – no doubt Kirkwood is the same – the light so brilliant, and yet soft – the rich autumn tints just beginning to appear – the temperature delicious – crisp & bracing, yet genial.

The throng of people is gone – but a few of the pleasantest of the old set remain – & a few interesting new ones have come! – among them Mrs. Dexter from Boston, who was a Miss Ticnor, daughter of the author of the book on Spanish literature – she and her husband full of interesting talk. Also Mr. Martin B – and his wife – a fine specimen of a leading Bostonian. Besides these also a physician from Florida whom I much admire – with a beautiful firm tenor voice – very handsome & graceful too, a true southerner, I should say – (but of Scotch extraction).

Next week we go to Boston.

I went over the Lunatic Asylum here the other day & saw some strange, sad sights – some figures crouched down in attitudes of such profound dejection I shall never forget them – some very bright and talkative. It is said to be the best managed in America. Dr. Earle, who is at the head, is a man of splendid capacity for the post – a noble-looking old man (uncle of those Miss Chases you met at our house).

I can’t settle to anything or think of any thing since I received Percy’s letter but the baby & Norah. Love to you & to Mrs. Whitman25 & Hattie26 & Jessie.27

Good-bye, dear Friend.

Anne Gilchrist.

LETTER XXXIX

BEATRICE GILCHRIST TO WALT WHITMAN

New England HospitalCodman AvenueBoston Highlands

Dear Walt:

Hospital life is beginning to seem a long-accustomed life. I enjoy all the duties involved & all the human relations. Even getting up in the night is compensated for by yielding a sense of importance & independence. I sleep in a large room with three windows, & three beds in a row. Breakfast at 7, & we are supposed to have seen all our patients before breakfast, but do not keep to that rule.

After breakfast, round to count pulses & respirations, note condition, dress any wound, in charge, etc. At ½ past 8 o’clock go the rounds with the resident physician (Dr. Berlin), all the students, & superintendent of nurses. Then put up medicine, each for her own patients (about 8 in no.), give electricity, etc. If one’s patient has an ache or pain, the nurse whistles for the student (my whistle is 2). She sees the patient orders what is necessary, or if serious reports to Dr. Berlin. Then there is some microscopic work, & copying out the history & daily record of the case & making out the temperature charts more than fills in the day. At 8 o’clock we all in conclave report about our patients & talk over any interesting case. One of my patients has empyema following pleurisy. I inject into her chest about a doz. of different preparations. Several of my patients (I have all the very sick just now) require very careful watching.

In the evening we go round again & count pulses & respirations & note temperatures. If a very sick patient, in the middle of the day; also take pulse, etc. The number of visits depending on the need & the competency of the nurse. I like introducing lint into wounds (such simple ones as an incised abscess of the breast) with the probe, because if I take trouble enough I can do it without hurting the patient, much to the patient’s surprise.

The other day Mr. & Mrs. Marvin called to see me with Mrs. & Miss Callender – I enjoyed their visit much. To-day Mr. Marvin drove over to fetch me to lunch, & I had a beautiful drive over to Dorchester; in the afternoon a game of lawn tennis, a stroll down to the creek, & drive home by Forest Hill Cemetery & Jamaica Pond. The air was fresh after a shower & golden-tinted, & the drive through beautiful lanes & country. All were friendly & it was refreshing to emerge from the little hospital world. Mr. Marvin’s cordial face greeted me when I was speaking to some patients in hammocks, under the trees, the day he called, much to my surprise.

I was to-day feeling the need of a little change of air & scene, so that the visit was most opportune.

Mr. Morse28 is working away desperately at the bust of you; he feels as if he would get on famously if he could only catch a glimpse of you. Now might not you come to Boston on your way to Chesterfield, ride up in the open horsecars (a very pleasant ride) to see me also and give Mr. Morse the benefit of a sitting? How I wish we could get Mrs. Stafford in here; the patients get most excellent care. I have great confidence in Dr. Berlin & in the attending physician. I do not want her to come for a month, because Dr. Berlin has just gone away for a vacation.

I fear no mere visiting once a day of a doctor will do her any good – she needs hygienic treatment – massage (a woman works here every day on the patients who need rubbing & massage), feeding up (I have never yet seen a patient whom we could not make eat, appetite or not, by aid of beef-tea & milk), perfect rest, & judicious treatment.

Dr. Berlin is a learned, charming woman of 28 – she takes advanced views, gives no medicine at all in some cases, & if any, few at a time, but efficient. She is perfectly unaffected, very intelligent, & has been thoroughly trained. She is a Russian.

Please give my love to Mrs. Whitman & remember me to Colonel Whitman. This afternoon, when driving with Mr. Marvin, I thought of the pleasant drives I have had with Colonel Whitman.

Yours affectionately,

Beatrice C. Gilchrist.

If it were not for records accumulating mountain high I should have time to write to my friends.

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.BostonNov. 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.