“I tramp a perpetual journey, . . .
My signs are a rainproof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the woods . . .
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy.”
People talk of Whitman as if he relied entirely on the “staff cut from the woods”; they forget his rainproof coat and good shoes. Assuredly he has no mind to cut himself adrift from the advantages of civilization.
The rainproof coat, indeed, reminds one of Borrow’s green gamp, which caused such distress to his friends and raised doubts in the minds of Mr. Watts-Dunton and Dr. Hake as to whether he was a genuine child of
In regarding the work of Whitman there are three aspects which strike one especially. His attitude towards Art, towards Humanity, towards Life.
II
First of all, Whitman’s attitude towards Art.
For the highest art two essentials are required—Sincerity and Beauty. The tendency of modern literature has been to ignore the first and to make the second all-sufficient. The efforts of the artist have been concentrated upon the workmanship, and too often he has been satisfied with a merely technical excellence.
It is a pleasant and attractive pastime, this playing with words. Grace, charm, and brilliance are within the reach of the artificer’s endeavour. But a literature which is the outcome of the striving after beauty of form, without reference to the sincerity of substance, is like a posy of flowers torn away from their roots. Lacking vitality, it will speedily perish.
No writer has seen this more clearly than Whitman, and if in his vigorous allegiance to Sincerity he has seemed oblivious at times to the existence of Beauty, yet he has chosen the better part. And for this reason. Beauty will follow in the wake of Sincerity, whether sought for or no, and the writer whose one passion it is