Chapter XII. The Last Year
One of the pieces of advice that Lanier gave to consumptives who went to Florida for their health was, "Set out to get well, with the thorough assurance that consumption is curable." He had literally followed his own advice, and had fought death off for seven years. By the spring of 1880 he had won his fight over every obstacle that had been in his way. He had a position which, supplemented by literary work, could sustain him and his family. By prodigious work he had overcome, to a large extent, his lack of training in both music and scholarship. The years 1878 and 1879 were his most productive. By the "Science of English Verse" and the "Marshes of Glynn" he had won the admiration of many who had at first been doubtful about his ability. From an obscure man of the provinces out of touch with artists or musicians, he had become the idol of a large circle of friends and admirers.
During all these years he had had to fight the disease which he inherited from both sides of his family and which was accentuated by hardships during the war and the habits of a bent student. His flute-playing had helped to mitigate the disease. Finally, however, in the summer of 1880, he entered upon the last fight with his old enemy. Lanier had laughed in the face of death, and each new acquisition in the realms of music and poetry had been a challenge to the enemy. In 1876 he almost succumbed, but in the mean time three years of hard work had intervened. What he had suffered from disease, even when he was at his best, may be divined by one of imagination. He once referred to consumptives as "beyond all measure the keenest sufferers of all the stricken of this world," and he knew what he was talking about. He wrote to Hayne, November 19, 1880: "For six months past a ghastly fever has been taking possession of me each day at about twelve M., and holding my head under the surface of indescribable distress for the next twenty hours, subsiding only enough each morning to let me get on my working-harness, but never intermitting. A number of tests show it not to be the `hectic' so well known in consumption; and to this day it has baffled all the skill I could find in New York, in Philadelphia, and here. I have myself been disposed to think it arose purely from the bitterness of having to spend my time in making academic lectures and boy's books — pot-boilers all — when a thousand songs are singing in my heart that will certainly kill me if I do not utter them soon. But I don't think this diagnosis has found favor with any practical physician; and meantime I work day after day in such suffering as is piteous to see."* With his fever at 104 degrees he wrote "Sunrise", which, though considered by many his best poem, shows an unmistakable weakness when compared with the "Marshes of Glynn". There is a letting down of the robust imagination. He delivered his lectures on the English Novel under circumstances too harrowing to describe. His audience did not know whether he could finish any one of them.
— * `Letters', p. 244. —
And yet the story of his life shall not close with a pathetic account of those last sad months. Even during the last year he maintained his cheerfulness, his playfulness, his good humor, and also his buoyancy. In August, a fourth son, Robert Sampson Lanier, was born at West Chester, and the father writes letters to his friends, announcing his joy thereat. One is to his old friend, Richard Malcolm Johnston.
West Chester, Pa., August 28, 1880.
My dear and sweet Richard, — It has just occurred to me that you were OBLIGED to be as sweet as you are, in order to redeem your name; for the other three Richards in history were very far from being satisfactory persons, and something had to be done. Richard I, though a man of muscle, was but a loose sort of a swashbuckler after all; and Richard II, though handsome in person, was "redeless", and ministered much occasion to Wat Tyler and his gross following; while Richard III, though a wise man, allowed his wisdom to ferment into cunning and applied the same unto villainy.
But now comes Richard IV, to wit, you, — and, by means of gentle loveliness and a story or two, subdues a realm which I foresee will be far more intelligent than that of Richard I, far less turbulent than that of Richard II, and far more legitimate than that of Richard III, while it will own more, and more true loving subjects than all of those three put together.
I suppose my thoughts have been carried into these details of nomenclature by your reference to my own young Samson, who, I devoutly trust with you, shall yet give many a shrewd buffet and upsetting to the Philistines. Is it not wonderful how quickly these young fledgelings impress us with a sense of their individuality? This fellow is two weeks old to-day, and every one of us, from mother to nurse, appears to have a perfectly clear conception of his character. This conception is simply enchanting. In fact, the young man has already made himself absolutely indispensable to us, and my comrade and I wonder how we ever got along with ONLY three boys.
I rejoice that the editor of "Harper's" has discrimination enough to see the quality of your stories, and I long to see these two appear, so that you may quickly follow them with a volume. When that appears, it shall have a review that will draw three souls out of one weaver — if this pen have not lost her cunning.