7:45 P.M. W. in best of moods, talking freely for full half an hour. I found him writing—as he said— "matter to fill up the envelope you brought me yesterday." On "just such size sheets." "Pot-boiling?" I asked. And he said, "Yes—these articles, I'm afraid, will be much of that order. I am writing two—one on 'Old Poets'—then another on the theme Rideing set. I don't know how they will go: they do not come easily." He would have it to know "the news" of today. I showed him letter from Baker, which he much enjoyed, at one moment calling it "model"—then exclaiming, "So, too, it is the Colonel's show," and so on. And he still would smilingly tell me, "Well, I give you Richard's words again and again—'May God prosper you in all your good intents!'"
I wrote Baker this evening, sending proof of ticket. Have also passed on proof of poster, which is to be printed tomorrow.
Bulletin yesterday contained editorial headed "A Foolish Board of Directors."
The action of the Board of Directors of the Academy of Music, in refusing to grant to Robert G. Ingersoll the use of that building for the delivering of a lecture on "Art and Morality," is not a creditable performance. The reason assigned for the refusal is that the board passed a rule in 1884 forbidding the dissemination on their stage of atheism or infidelity. But as Ingersoll had not announced an intention to express opinions on religion, and as his discourse was for the benefit of an aged poet, who, whatever we may think of his literary work, possesses the general respect of the people of this community, The Times this morning had a brief note from Westbrook—"Is Ingersoll an Atheist," and the Post a paragraph, which I left with them: "Liberty and Literature." W. interested and querying. Told him after I got Morris' article in type, Morris wished me to print anonymously—that I would not do that. W. said, "That's quite New Yorkish—rather—not New Yorkish, for New York is itself big enough—but literaryish. It has an unmistakable habit, flavor of that bad, unheroic spirit, to spoil all its best promise. I know it so well! New York is ahead in engravings, in printing, in certain of the fine arts—in
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enterprise, business—in venture, hazarding for trifles: but in all big things, in the heroics, it is left without a sign. I can see no future for literature in New York. All seems so hedged in—closed, closed. It is the characteristic of the Gilder crowd—the magazines—without faith—without real belief." What was his feeling about Ingersoll. They had told me at Harned's he (W.) seemed Sunday to show some fear. He looked at me as if astonished. "Well, you did not believe that? You must have understood my position better. I cannot remember just what I did say, but it could not have been in that direction. I have nowhere put myself on record as I should like about Ingersoll—but I think it should be understood once for all that though I have not been demonstrative about it—am not now demonstrative—am not to anyone—I have been thoroughly aware what it all signifies. Nor is it only the generosity, the vitality of Ingersoll—it is his genius, as well: I am proud to have him associated with us. I think that Colonel Bob is much a vaster force in this, our time, land, than we are today willing to allow. Someday it will be acknowledged. Not for a moment have I dreamed of objecting to him—it never entered my head." And as to Ingersoll's subject: "As Baker says, it is a splendid one. I know none other that could so appear inviting." Again, "It would appear from Baker's letter as though you were all preparing for a big event. Look out, lest the pitcher may break! Just in the time of of your certainty, then you drop it! There's that in me always to keep me from admitting a success till I see it right before my eyes. And I confess I have the same feeling today. We seem to be way up on the crest of the wave today—this Academy of Music business, a hundred other things, have swept us up—but where will we be tomorrow?" He laughed and to my confidence that things would come out all right, only nodded his "hope." Commented on the "cowardly literate."
And of Bucke, "Did you ever notice how he mounts in discussion? And then, in each cheek, a little color comes. Bucke
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has beliefs." I referred to William O'Connor: "If we had him today, he would rush in the thick of this fight!" W. then: "Yes, and enjoy it. O'Connor enjoyed a mêlée—liked to take up causes—the more unpopular the better—and whip down opposition. He was a born swordsman. Yes, we had the hardest discussions in old days—brutal ones, I should call them. We went on the principle of frankness; and I am sure I was if anything cruelly frank at all times. The tone might have been clipped off." I said, "Yes, at the risk of clipping off all but the tender shades." W. assenting, "That is a big thought: there is that risk, and what can compensate for the loss? O'Connor was more catholic than I was—would include them all—all the literary fellows: indeed, not only admit them, but fight for them—give them positive adherence. I could never do that quite—at least, never did it, in William's way—though my philosophy—if I have that—would include the literary with all the other fellows. But William had a sort of natural chivalry and acceptivity, and never gave a scholar to neglect." At this he got up and went to the round table. "I have an indistinct remembrance of a note sent you by Mrs. O'Connor through me—in the last week sometime. I am sure I have not given it to you"—as he had not. Then gave me a letter from S. Noell of the "British Prince"—written today—Philadelphia:
Noell did not get in today.
W. also gave me letter received from Bucke. I myself had received letter from Bucke saying he would be down and bring his wife.
Read W. following note received the other day from Mrs. Fairchild:
Much touched. "The noble woman. And she is a handsome noble woman in appearance, too." Admired her handwriting, "especially the signature"—considered the letter "flavored all through with a rare personality." Told him I hoped to have strong words from Clifford and Bucke in Conservator about Ingersoll, now Morris had retreated. "Yes," he said, "either one ought to be able to do it—or both."
W. said, "Burroughs was wrong when he discovered signs of ill-nature in O'Connor. O'Connor was sweet by that essential nature which gave welcome to all heroes, all men—which was first of all hospitable and chivalrous."
He wonders about Mrs. O'Connor's reception of Preface—was it cold, or disappointed, or what? He says little about it.
I picked up a Tribune clipping from the Table. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "That is the Edwin Arnold letter—that is the great message: and the Boston Transcript has printed it, too. How surprised Sir Edwin would be to see how well his letters read when they reach me! But I guess he don't see them—and blessed the man who does not!" And then, "Everybody has read them. I met Ben Starr when I was out today. He said, 'I am glad Mr. Whitman you hear from Sir Edwin Arnold'—and I said 'Ah!' and then relapsed. What else could I do?"
W. said, "The only apology—or make for it—for the Academy men I have seen so far is that piece in the Record—the little squib. And it amounted to nothing at all." I met Record reporter today—the big-hearted handsome man who came to interview me about Weston weeks ago. Told him— "Your Record editor refused Saturday to take that item, which he had after all to print Monday when it was stale." He admitted and
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explained— "There's no accounting for that. I have known him to get mad if people take news there, and get mad if they do not: so you see how it is." W. remarked on my recital of this— "And a bright newspaper man he must be."
Explained his O'Connor heat by saying— "I was younger then: I am much less likely to make that breach today."