I have been trying, since my return to Germany,1 to find out that essay you allude to
in the N.A. Review article you sent me2—on the
question 'Has America produced any great poet?' But as yet I have had no success. I
fancy the thing fell through. There are very few ideas in Germany about American
literature, past, present, or future. I got a few days ago a book called 'Aus dem
Amerikanischen Dichterwald', by Dr Rudolph Doehn. It has about 300 pages, &
professes, with justice, to be the first comprehensive properly historical and
philosophical account of American literature, which loc_af.01010_large.jpgit treats in 3 periods—the
Colonial, Revolutionary and Literary epochs. It was greatly praised in an excellent
German weekly paper, the Gegenwart.3 I was much
disappointed with it. There seemed to be a great lack of intelligence about
it—no recognition at all that anything particularly American was to be
expected of American literature; just the conventional praise and blame—plenty
of the former, for such qualities as melody, elegance, fine sentiment, &c. Doehn is
rather celebrated in Germany & has lived 12 years in America. He must be a rather
wide-minded man, for he is not very greatly offended at you. But that's just
it—he is so appreciative that a shock scarcely affects him and a vacuity
affects him not at all. And his tone of mind is just that of his countrymen
loc_af.01013_large.jpgin general towards
things American. He treats of you in a page, together with Stedman, Holland,
Halpine, Winter.4 Here is what he says (I translate, as
you mayn't be familiar with German).
"Not to be forgotten here is Walt Whitman, born on May 31st
1819 in a farm village on Long Island, N. York—of whom the saying holds
"He bears Eagles in his head, and buries his feet in the mire" (Er trägt
Adler im Haupte und steckt mit seinen Füssen tief im Kothe.) His father was
of English descent, his mother (Louisa van Belsor , of Dutch origin.5 His brother, George M.
Whitman served during the Civil War as officer in a New York Regiment. Sprung
from a low social position (aus niedrigem Stande) W.W. was now farmer, now carpenter, now printer. Shortly before the outbreak of the civil war he
composed, and set up with his own hands, his Leaves of Grass, a set of
mystic-democratic poems which are rough and wholly without art, but not without
loc_af.01014_large.jpg strength
and content (Inhalt, substance). W.W. often pays no regard whatever to the
ordinary rules of morality and propriety (Anstand), but he does this, not from
attenuated deficient moral sense
(sittliche Verkommenheit), but because he regards the traditional observances of
morals and propriety as contemptible and hypocritical formalities. During the
civil war he was active for some time in the Sanitary Corps & in the
hospitals; and also received a post in the Home Department;—but his
opponents, who saw in him a defender of "Free Love" were soon able to have him
removed therefrom. His "Drum Taps" appeared in 1865—are poetical
monologues on the war, suffer however, like almost all his compositions, from
over-monotony (übergroßer Monotonie). Of decided poetic worth is his monody
on Lincoln's death, beginning "When Lilacs" (&c). The same may be said of the
poem "Come up from the Fields, father"—in which a deep
loc_af.01011_large.jpgand warm
feeling expresses itself in a manner which lays hold of the reader (in
ergreifender Weise)."
So Herr Doehn. You see he does not even mention that in your works, for the first
time on a large scale, English poetry is written without rhyme & metre—a
notable fact surely. (I forgot your predecessor Blake). This gives one an idea of
his want of critical intelligence—of a large view of linked facts &
tendencies.—He touches on all American authors in this way, taking them one by
one, giving life, and some brief criticisms; Emerson & Thoreau get little mention.
But the last division of the book consists of longer & more detailed accounts of 6
authors, viz—R. H. Dana, Whittier, Miller (Joaquin), Bryant, Longfellow,
Bayard Taylor. Many poems are quoted in the original, and translated—but none
of yours. loc_af.01015_large.jpgThis I
am surprized at, for they would go well in German. A project I contemplate & would
carry out as soon as I could find a proper German collaborateur, is a full German
translation of the Leaves of Grass & Passage to India. I fancy it would be most
successful here, & be largely understood. I believe Freiligrath has done some?6
I always ask Americans about you here. Sometimes they say 'Oh yes, I heard of him from an Englishman some time ago.' But mostly it is blank ignorance, & in neither case, interest.
I suppose 'Calvin Harlowe' was never published? I have amended it, in accordance with
a friend's advice, & sent it to Kottabos, a magazine belonging to Trinity College
Dublin, & supported by (unpaid) present & past students.7 I write little poetry now loc_af.01016_large.jpgbut am trying to do a little in
writing about German affairs for an Irish paper, & give spare time to Greek &
Gaelic. My 'Encheiridion' ought to be out very soon as I have sent in the last proof
sheets.8 I want to try & get it reviewed in
America. Should I send a copy to the 'Herald' & other papers? I should be much
obliged if you would mention the names of two or three papers to which I might send
such a work for reviewal. And another thing I should like to hear from you, is the
name of the author of the best yet-written history of the American Civil War. I have
read no history of it as yet—would you recommend Draper's?9
The address over this letter will find me for some months now.
I hope you are well. I heard you were coming to England this year—I suppose that's not true.
Yours sincerely T W H Rolleston.If I hear of the prize essay I'll let you have it at once.